Tag Archives: drought

Bullet Train

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

There is a bullet train
speeding through our town,
our country,
with the letters CRISIS
written on it.

We cannot put
our arm out
to catch it,
or wrap our legs around it
to hold on to it.

With lightning fastness,
it is melting the ice
at the poles,
changing the seas forever.

It is ripping apart
the land around it
with drought, flood and wildfire,
diminishing wildlife and songbirds.

Like a giant spring,
loaded and set
to snap at our face,
it will take out
the whole eye of the world.

4 Comments

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

Drought

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Had I not gone the extra mile
this morning,
I would have missed
the unexpected
deep purple flowers
of the Desert Lupine—
shockingly beautiful–
with undertones of crimson

among the death-like color
of the gray rabbit brush.

14 Comments

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

Smoke of Cedars

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

We need
to wash our faces
in the cedar smoke,
for the spring
is in drought.

We need to do
all that is right,
all that any god
would surely admire.

Look!
There is the green grosbeak.

He has returned
to nest even though
our world is dying.

I will lay water
out for him,
and he, in turn,
will help us forget
our hair is white.

6 Comments

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

Jays

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

We saw
jays
emaciated
from the drought,
crying in the desert.

I remember…
As little girls
we leaned close
to listen
to the tallest
of us
as she said,

“I know how the world will end…

Man will destroy himself.”

8 Comments

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

And the Clouds Brought No Rain

a photo essay by Sonja Bingen

15 Comments

Filed under Art, Essays, Photography