Our grandson, Will Bingen, just finished making his own guitar, and here it is:
He is a brilliant guitarist and singer who has opened for bands like Kansas with his group.
Lightning Bugs
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
We, as children,
celebrated the arrival of fireflies,
calling them lightning bugs.
We danced with them
in the meadows,
collected them in glass jars.
Some of us
took their thoraces,
rubbing them on the backs
of our T-shirts,
letters glowing in the dark.
We didn’t know their light
was sacred–
that this gift brightened
our backwoods swamp,
lighthouses called to mind
in our walled-off childhood.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Knotted Swing
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I remember
when we went into
the high haymow,
way to the farthest corner
of the barn,
to swing out across
the drop-off edge,
holding the knotted rope
between our legs.
You would say,
“Jump off now.”
“Jump off.”
And when we climbed
the tallest maple tree
in our yard,
and we were at the top,
you would say,
“Jump down now.”
“Jump down.”
I knew somehow
that you were
not right in your mind,
but I did not care
because I loved you
anyway.
Now, when I think
about our rope swinging,
I have placed a large pool of water
underneath the knotted swing—
as big as Lake Michigan,
a cushion—
so when I swing out across the barn
I have something
just in case I fall.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Cover for In the Unsettled Homeland of Dreams
All Things That Matter Press (ATTMP) has just sent me the cover for In the Unsettled Homeland of Dreams, my new novel about the black fisherman community that settled on Washington Island off Door County before passage of the Fugitive Slave Act. ATTMP is shooting for an early August release. After better than sixteen drafts, I’m ready!
Filed under poems, Poetry, Published Books, Thomas Davis
Doorway at Chaco Canyon, a poem about the photograph by Kevin Davis
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Summer solstice
was the day you chose
to photograph the open doors.
Only then was the light
brightest at the last door.
Ancient doors aligned
to summer’s celestial calendar—
when the sun hangs
lowest on the longest day,
when the light is brightest
at the last door,
showing us the path
to enlightenment—
all we will ever want
in the world.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Doorway at Chaco Canyon, In Memory of Kevin Michael Davis
Kevin Michael Davis, our son, has been gone for nine years. He took this photo while visiting us while we lived in Continental Divide, NM. We wish we could walk through these doors and see him for at least one more time.
Filed under Art, Photography
Ethel Mortenson Davis Book Named Among Outstanding Poetry Collections for 2018
The Wisconsin Library Association (WLA) gives out yearly awards for outstanding books published each year. This year Ethel Mortenson Davis’s book, Under the Tail of the Milky Way Galaxy has just been recognized as one of seven outstanding books of poetry by Wisconsin poets.
The announcement by the WLA is below:
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry, Published Books
What Kind of People are We?
By Ethel Mortenson Davis
Many people are hired
to view disturbing pictures
on Facebook in order
to take them off.
The video is so disturbing
that the people viewing these
cannot continue in their jobs
because they take home
these images in their heads,
and ghosts haunt them
throughout the night.
These are pictures
of rapes of men, women, and children,
and the killings and torture
of women and children and men
along with animals.
People viewing the images
have to leave their jobs with PTSD.
What kind of people are we?
What kind of people do we want to become?
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry, Uncategorized
The Hope of Trees
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Our president shakes
the hand of the Brazilian leader,
congratulating him on
destroying the Amazon Rain Forest —
faster now than we can imagine.
The Hope of Trees
In the heavy rain
this morning
I waited for you,
but you did not come.
No walkers came at all;
so the dog and I
headed into the deep forest
in pouring rain.
As we walked deeper
into the trees
the rain lessened
until it nearly stopped,
except for a few large drops
that pinged down
from the canopy above.
See, you should have come.
You missed an unforgettable silence
and a white mist
that rose from the bottom
of the forest floor.
It looked so eerie!
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
In the Land of Flaming Green Lights
To the Sami people, Jon Henrick Fjallgren
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
My ears are pointed
towards your song,
O Northern son.
It is the call
of the wild arctic wolf,
the sound of icy rivers
rushing over rock,
the kiss of hummingbird wings.
It is a siren call
that has captured me
and now brings me home
to the land of flaming green lights.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
fourwindowspress 