a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis 
Tag Archives: Ethel Mortenson Davis
The Road I Walk
a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
Climber
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
This is the right time
of the year
to be a climber of trees,
trusting only
the youngest
and strongest limbs
with your life,
your cheek resting
on the nook
of a shoulder—
the right time
of the year
for fireball colors.
This is the place
where one can look
back below
to see if mankind
has become a race
of Renaissance men.
Not yet,
the climber says,
not yet.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Patterns in Potowatomi Forest
a photo essay by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Cedar Fall
Wild Grapes
Filed under Art, Essays, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
Lesser World
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I saw them
in strings,
making the shape of V’s,
Canadian Geese,
flying high enough
to use the lake’s edge
as their guide:
Blue-green water
with white foam
at the edges,
over rushes with dark red plumes
on their trek
southward.
For our world will
become lesser
without them,
not as full of life
as the wet summer
has been
while we wait
for the silent season
of winter—
and for the quiet winter
of our life,
a more diminished one,
a lesser world.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
White Blossoms on a Branch
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
When all human
intervention has harmed us,
when all familia
have spent the fruits,
then the Great Spirit
gives to us our opening
from the darkness,
from the “going down
into the pit of our own agony,”
a candle,
a birth, a rite
into a new life.
Then we are assured—
like the mother tiger
who reassures her young
that they belong
to a family,
that they are important
in this world.
This is what it’s like—
White blossoms on a branch.
Note: I owe the quotation and inspiration for this poem to Herron, Elizabeth. 2010. Poetry for the Ear of God.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Kevin Michael Davis, In Memorium
a photograph by Kevin Michael Davis, Alazanto
The Design Teacher
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
She taught him
to look at the dragonfly—
its color, design,
and to look at why their wings
moved the way they did.
They searched near
the small pond
and found the black and whites,
the emerald greens,
the slim turquoise and black damsels,
the orange and blues.
All had whirling lace wings
above their heads.
One day they saw
a golden dragonfly,
or so they thought–
so they came to find
the new dragonfly
in the late afternoon light
near the small pond
in a universe
that slipped through
a hole in the basket
never to be found
or picked up again.
Filed under Art, Photography, Poetry
Reach
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Her reach finds
small openings
in the forest canopy
until the carpet
at the bottom brings
every kind of plant and fern to formation.
These are true families
that enjoy each other’s company–
some living at the top of hills,
other kinds in depressions–
trees that are dependent
on plants around them,
plants that only live by certain trees.
Step lightly.
Speak in whispers,
for there are babies sleeping
everywhere.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Summertime and the Living is Easy
a pastel drawing by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
fourwindowspress 