a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Tag Archives: Ethel Mortenson Davis
Mourning Dove
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
Door
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
There,
in the bright morning,
hepatica,
whose leaves stay alive
under the dead layer
all winter,
send up flowers
before all others.
It is here where
the pale pink and lavender
are the door opening
to where my god lives:
Her angels are the birds
opening their wings.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Publications
Ethel and I continue to have success at getting poems published. We both had poems in this year’s Wisconsin Poets Calendar: http://www.wfop.org/poets-calendar-1/2016-poets-calendar. We got our copies when we went to the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets fall convention in Madison, Wisconsin this weekend. Door County Living Magazine released an article Gary Jones, a fine poet in his own right who had a poem in the last release of the Blue Heron Review that also included a poem by Ethel, wrote at https://doorcountypulse.com/spirits-born-light-poet-tom-davis. At the end of the article the magazine published a Miltonian sonnet I wrote called “Cherry Orchard.”
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis, Uncategorized
House of Tomato Post of Thomas and Ethel Mortenson Davis’s Green Bay Reading
The House of Tomato website, developed by Tori Grant Welhouse, one of Wisconsin’s most important poets, a graduate of Antioch University London, and the Vice President for the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets in northeast Wisconsin, has posted a podcast from the poetry reading Ethel and I did in Green Bay on Thursday at the Reader’s Loft Bookstore. The website address is http://www.houseofthetomato.com/march for those who might be interested.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis, Uncategorized
Ladies Need Fur Coats
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
She went to the great black first,
then the bay.
She had carrots
in one of her coat pockets.
“Which pocket?” she asked.
Their soft muzzles always
found the right one,
happy to munch the carrots.
Then one day
the black was gone,
his stall cleaned out,
and shovels put in his place.
“Where’s Dick?” she asked.
“He went to the fox farm because
ladies need fur coats,” he said.
The bay remained for
a number of years,
sleeping in the winter sun
with his head too low to the ground.
Then one day the bay too
was gone,
his great body and his work
folded into the fields
outside his window.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry, Uncategorized
Barn Owl
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Uncategorized
Cardinal
a pastel drawing by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Uncategorized
Earth
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
If only it would snow,
white covering red;
red now is everywhere
in this world.
If you go up into space
all that is made by man is gray;
gray is everywhere
in this world.
I want to put a ladder
further up
so that what I see
is the red-brown
of the earth,
the green of vegetation,
and the lovely blue of water,
shrouded by a white,
see-through shawl
around her shoulders
where there is no longer gray.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry, Uncategorized
Discovery
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
It is because
the earth is tilted
this time of year,
the sun brightest at sunrise,
October light exceptional,
that I can see
silver threads strung
across my path
among the oldest trees,
thousands of gleaming strings
made by tree snails or slugs —
trails of lubricant
caught by sunlight
in a mathematical moment;
glistening chains we put
around our necks
to take home with us
to put in our favorite drawer —
the one labeled “DISCOVERIES”—
there in the back of our mind.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
fourwindowspress 