Tag Archives: El Morro New Mexico

Goldleaf

poem and photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Stopped
to look
at the Byzantine light
coming out of the morning sky ̶
goldleaf
burnishing the edges,
turning the deep mountains
violet.

Take my hand
before we become
common!

Screen Shot 2019-03-22 at 4.43.39 PM

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Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography, poems, Poetry

Moonpie at the Old School Gallery on a Saturday Night in July

Thomas Davis

“This is a band,” John Pickens said, pointing at the drummer, two women vocalists, and a bass guitarist in a wheelchair below the stage.

When lightning sparked the drums
and songs drove hard as thunder through the small, old school,
young and old women sparked alive
into a place where
black boars dance
and elk begin to trumpet at the moon,

and in their wake their men,
like sock-eyed salmon in the fall,
swam upstream to the place
where life flies in the thump of feet
on wooden floors
and everyday becomes a night
where oceans bigger than the earth
fill up a black hole’s maw
and spirits dance
and sing
with voices driven by the drums
and guitar licks

into a shine of eyes
looking back into the eyes
finding, renewing, confirming who each one of us is
inside our deepest love.

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Filed under Thomas Davis