a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Tag Archives: gift
Cricket
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Tonight, black cricket,
if you sing your golden song,
you can have my room.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
In Caf∞a∞ghan∞a∞stan
a children’s poem by Thomas Davis
Way down in Caf∞a∞ghan∞a∞stan,
Down by the restless, wave-tossed seas,
I met my true love walking home
Through sands, past forest trees.
The flowers, lemon-blossomed yellow
Spread out beneath the sun
And blossomed spring-time on the earth
And put cold winter on the run.
The pearl gray oysters fell to flocks
Of kiwi birds with prying beaks,
And long-eared owls laughed at the moon
And fished from moonless creeks.
Way down in Caf∞a∞ghan∞a∞stan,
Down by the restless, wave-tossed seas,
I met my true love walking home
Through sands, past forest trees.
My love wore golden earrings bright
And a gown of misty, sea-morn blue.
My love turned day into the night
And said to give this poem to you.
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
Empty Hands
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
You come again
with empty hands.
When I meet you
your hands have nothing for me.
Not a small desert blossom.
Not a tiny bit of driftwood.
No rock.
You could have reached down
on your walk across the desert
and picked up a small gift.
I yearn for those hands
to be generous.
My father,
although a tyrant,
always had something for me
in his large brown hands.
But you,
I will rename you
“Empty Hands.”
Tomorrow the light
that floods the high desert
will present itself to me
as my gift.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Tables
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
On my walk
this morning
I reached down to pick
a sacred-colored blossom,
but hummingbird flew out!
I’ll leave this table
for you.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
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