Tag Archives: Davis

Wood Duck

a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis

img_0447

1 Comment

Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis

Solstice 2

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

It is the darkest
of all days so far
this year.
I’m sure it will
never be light again,
never with bright sunshine
and hidden breezes.

But tomorrow
will show up,
and the light
will gain over the dark,
and you will be running
down spring’s path,
clinging to my arm.

6 Comments

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

Creativity

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

to: Standing Feather

When we become
the most fragmented,
the most broken,
or so we think,
we step
onto the track,
the furrow
that is the circle
of the universe.

It is a river
that pulls us along,
connecting us
to something greater
than ourselves,
to the great spiral,
to the circle dance of the honey bee.

5 Comments

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

Blackberry Moon

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Blackberry moon,
moon of the blackberry month,
snags at me,
rips at my skin.

Star-gazers come
and get caught
in her sweet clutches,

but are overtaken
by a storm
with brittle, scratchy fingers
of lightning
that blackens out the moon.

Now we must wait
for the harvest moon
as she ripens
on top of the waters.

Note: This is Ethel’s contribution to the moon-night organized by Francha Barnard and Write-On Door County.

7 Comments

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

Beside the Cottonwood

a villanelle by Thomas Davis

“Beside the cottonwood,” I start to say.
She looks at me. Words fade out of my head.
What now? I think. I focus on the way

She’s standing by the massive tree, the gray
Streaked through her hair a halo that has wed
Her essence to the glinting interplay

Of light and shadow dancing leaves that sway
And flutter in a breeze that seems to tread
Out from the tree into the fields of day.

The sudden silence morphs into dismay,
Confusion, even, maybe, just a hint of dread.
What if, inside a moment, disarray

Has somehow found our lives and cutaway
The passion in our hearts that’s always led
To moments that are glorious and fey.

But then she smiles. The tree’s roots dig through clay
And living sustenance flows to the spread
Of branches reaching to the sky, the play
Of light her spirit as my spirit’s quay.

8 Comments

Filed under poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis

Holding My Breath

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

I keep looking
for the breathing holes
beneath this thick sea ice,

a place where
I can propel
up towards the light,
grasping for a breath of air
that smells like earth
and soil and green things.

I keep looking
for that rare space
because I cannot hold
my breath much longer.

There. Over there
I see some light
through honey-colored ice.

5 Comments

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

Portrait

pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis

IMG_0433

3 Comments

Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis