a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Tag Archives: Davis
Unusual Landscape
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson 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
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
Running Free
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
The Room
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The morning walk
was soaking wet and cold,
water flooding down
the sides of hills.
I wonder if we
will end in water?
Sweeping floods from
an inlet sea
changing the course
of our earth.
Then at the top
of the hill in the forest,
maples in a glorious, gold coat
invited us in.
We opened her door
and stepped into
a fire-lit room,
warming our feet
and hands,
sitting awhile,
until the rain stopped.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
