a photo essay by Sonja Bingen, our daughter
Liberation
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
An old man leaves
a federal prison,
free at last.
He has spent
most of his life
behind bars
for a crime
he did not commit.
The air is as sweet
as any he has known.
He steps into freedom.
This morning
a white butterfly,
with black accents
I could not identify,
was caught in a spider’s web.
I pulled him from
his bondage.
He was still alive
and eager to fly.
He flew into the forest
rich with oxygen,
a freedom he had thought
would never again be his.
And there in the sundrenched trees
he became giddy
on pulsing, cooling waves of air.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Troubled Waters
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
A Prophet Arrives on Washington Island
A French Sonnet
by Thomas Davis
The old black man, eyes bright as noonday sun,
Splashed from the wooden boat onto the shore.
He lifted up his voice, the waves Death’s Door
Whipped white behind him, praised the blessed Son
Of God and New Jerusalem and spun
Around, his arms held high, a troubadour
Of his escape from slavery and war
To wilderness, the role of sacristan
To fisherman and men and women freed
From whips and masters and slaver’s creed
Of dominance designed to pinch the soul
And void the human spirit’s vital flame.
“Praise God!” the prophet said, the roll
Of waves against his feet. “Praise God’s sweet name!”
Filed under poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis
Sisters as Flowers
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I think of one as a rose,
feminine yet voluptuous,
a powerful scent,
delicate like no other,
the first flower you go to
in the garden —
the oldest as a lily,
singular and strong,
standing apart from all the rest,
an example to all her sisters —
and then the white daisy,
clean and fresh
and wholly authentic—
one to have in your corner.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
About Men and Geese
A French Sonnet
by Thomas Davis
The child Konrad Lorenz was read a book.
Nils Holgersson hopped on a goose’s back
And flew into a flock of geese whose lack
Of sympathy for greedy boys, that look
Into their selves and quickly see how rooks
And geese and other creatures cannot hack
The glory of a monomaniac,
Was clearly honking, stupid gobbledegook.
Hooked by a story, vexed by lack of wings,
Konrad Lorenz began to think of things
He saw in ducks that waddled in his yard —
Until he seemed to see with goose’s eyes,
A man not just a man, but mage and bard
That flapped mind’s wings into a goose’s skies.
Note: Konrad Lorenze was a Novel Prize winning ethologist who became famous for studying the evolution of behavior in geese.
Filed under poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis
