by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Stepping
from flat Texas
with wind-driven snow
into New Mexico
surprised us.
Suddenly
the earth changed plans
and rocked us
with red-browns and pinion greens,
flooding the cornea
of our eyes
with brightness.
Kneeling before us
you appeared.
We ran to embrace
your holy prostration.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
by Thomas Davis
We strung along a priceless string of stars
And made the moon a pendant just to show.
I cut the night into a dress, the bars
Of moonlight setting stars and dress aglow.
You laughed with love deep in your doe-brown eyes.
You swirled the universe upon your hem.
As dizzy as a lover filled with love’s first lies,
I watched your eyes grow dazzled by your gems.
Then, with a shrug, your dress fell to the ground.
The night became a puddle at your feet.
Stars glistened in a heap, their skies cut down.
The moon gleamed silver-cold without your heat.
We swirled together deep into the night,
Our years illuminated, blazing light.
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
She rolled
up the mat,
turned out
the lights,
and we are plunged
into darkness.
December is like
living in a cave,
but the earth
will not hear of it,
unfolds her fetal position
in her darkened room
and allows light to emerge
longer in the morning
and afternoon—
Sunlight able
to warm our deepest bones.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Canadian geese,
gleaning after
the harvesting tractor,
is like
the soul searching
for a place
to enter,
or escape,
into the shafts of light—
like the light
outside the basement door
this morning…
Or was it two maples
that propelled me
across the bay?
Or
the wing
of the Monarch
in the afternoon’s late light?
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
a photograph by Sonja Bingen, our daughter
Filed under Art, Photography
a photograph by Alazanto, Kevin Davis, our son
Filed under Art, Photography
a photograph by Alazanto, Kevin Davis, our son
Note: This is a photo that takes some looking at before you actually see what’s there.
Filed under Art, Photography
fourwindowspress 