Ethel Mortenson Davis has two poems in the new issue of Poetry Hall, an English/Chinese journal that is available in the United States and and China. A Chinese scholar translated Ethel’s poems, and they appear in English and Chinese. You can order the journal at amazon. It’s really inexpensive. The title of Ethel’s poems are “The Room” and “Snow Goose.” “Snow Goose” was written when we joined Francha Barnard in Egg Harbor at the library for a session on writing Ekphrastic poetry!
Category Archives: Poetry
Seed
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
A Vision
Out of the fire,
with the splitting
of the cone,
a seed emerges.
Thunderstorms
bring it to the soil.
A new tree begins
it’s rapture.
Out of the fire
we have found
new pathways,
a new vision.
We bring the least of us
along in our wagons.
There are no slaves or rich men.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Bramble, the literary magazine
Ethel and I guest edited the latest issue of Bramble, the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets publication. Ethel’s art is on the cover. We want to thank by Christine Kubasta and Tori Welhouse for their help. This was a great experience, and we hope lots of people will look and see what fantastic poets Wisconsin has! If you want copies you can order them from amazon now, or you can read the entire issue online!
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis
Mammals
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
They tried to tell us
you didn’t have souls—
but I knew better.
Your eyes showed it.
Your sense of humor
spoke it.
The way you took care
of your young
screamed it.
They tried to tell us
you didn’t have souls,
but I knew better.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Winter, with bellowing cheeks,
blew and spat ice and snow
across the fields and streams,
across the woods and sides of lakes,
leaving a jagged and spiked print—
Like the Australian Aborigine
who puffed out his cheeks
and spat minerals
across his hand
in a cave on a wall,
leaving his print for humanity.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Review of Under the Tail of the Milky Way Galaxy
Carolyn Kane, the author of an award winning novel, Taking Jenny Home, a Professor Emeritus of English at Culvert-Stockton College in Canton, Missouri, just reviewed Ethel’s book, Under the Tail of the Milky Way Galaxy, for the Peninsula Pulse. The review can be read here:
https://doorcountypulse.com/review-under-the-tail-of-the-milky-way-galaxy-by-ethel-mortenson-davis.
In the review Kane says that “Davis’ poems might be described as extended haiku because their images are sharp and spare, and because they contain the element of contrast that a reader should expect in a well-crafted haiku.” It is a wonderful review.
Filed under Essays, Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Poetry
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I will call you dignity.
You are my mother.
You elevate our character.
And I will call you generosity;
you are my father.
You give us a largeness
that frees us from small meanness.
As for you, humanity,
I will call you lost.
Remember when you said,
“What good is poetry?”
“I cannot shape it into a vessel
and drink water out of it.”
“I cannot form it into a purse
and hold my money in it.”
Now, my lost one,
you have fallen into a hole.
You are on your hands and knees,
calling in the darkness
for your mother and father,
calling for poetry to be written.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Should Poets Only Sing of Love and Light?
a sonnet by Thomas Davis
What responsibility do poets
assume once they have started writing verse?
Walking through the universe inchoate
has been rejected when their words immerse
them in the streams of dreams, emotions, thoughts
taking shape upon an empty page
and reaching out to other spirits caught
in living’s fears, hopes, love, joys, dread, and rage.
Should poets only sing of love and light?
Images that burn the retina like a flash
of lightning streaking through a sky’s black night?
Or is there reason for their lifetime’s cache
of words to speak of justice, truth, destruction,
the possibility of life’s extinction?
Filed under poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis
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