Tag Archives: moon


by Ethel Mortenson Davis

The moon is most beautiful
at her beginning, or end.
Like a fine-edged sickle
punctuating the blackness.

A lot like you.
Not outstanding.
Almost missed.
Nevertheless beautiful.

Step outside with me.
We’ll see her
from the steps.
Let your skin
touch the cold.

1 Comment

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems

Red Moon

a photograph by Sonja Bingen, our daughter

Red Moon

1 Comment

Filed under Art, Photography

Moon and Night Trees

a photograph by Sonja Bingen, our daughter
moon and trees

1 Comment

November 2, 2014 · 8:10 am

The Pine

by Thomas Davis

“Well,” Paul was saying. “I’d as soon leave the pine.

That way I’d know the thing and have it out
Where everyone could see the what of what
And not be wondering about the truth
And whether it was just a tale or dream.
If eyes can see, then brains can know.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Pike said. “That tree’s so tall. . .”

“The country’s big!” Paul said. “Tall trees are tall.
But still, I’ve never seen the like of this!
What will they say a hundred years from now?
Especially if it’s written down and made
Into some type of news that’s history past.
‘Why, what?’ they’ll say. ‘A tree so tall that skies
And moon and stars and sun and even wind
Were forced to go around its soaring tall?
Come on! We future fools are not the fools
That built our future up on tales and dreams.
We used good mortar, bricks, and long, hard thought.
You’ll not put anything of fancy here.
We know the ways of nature and of man,
And neither one’s so tall.”

“Perhaps,” Pike said.
“But then the country’s not so big that trees
Can stand in way of lumber. Let’s bring it down.
No one can hear us but the wind and sky,
And even they don’t care for trees so tall.
One day a jagged branch will catch the sun
And tear a hole of night into its side.
We’ll seal our lips and send it cut in boards.
No one will write it down. No one will know.”

Then, with a shrug and nod, they cut it down.

Note: Originally published in Poetry Out of Wisconsin


Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis

Morning Moon, Hills, and Sunrise

Morning Moon and Hills

1 Comment

October 14, 2013 · 9:55 am

Lobster-Colored Sun of Fire

a love poem to Ethel by Thomas Davis

Like a snowflake in August is my love,
Like an August sun on a winter day,
Like the small thunder of a shining raindrop
Striking on a roof of stone.

O lobster colored sunfire,
How can the heavens be strewn with stars
When the sun has not felt the coolness
Of the gently silvered moon?

I have felt snowflakes in August
And been warmed by an August sun in winter.
I have heard small thunder ringing,
Brought by the drumming of raindrops,
Upon the stone roof of my soul.

O lobster colored sunfire,
Do you not know the differences made by love?


Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis


a pastel drawing by Ethel Mortenson Davis



Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis

Moon Through Night Trees

a photograph by Sonja Bingen

a href=”https://fourwindowspress.files.wordpress.com/2012/11/moon.jpg”>


Filed under Art, Photography

A Moon

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

A moon
caught me
the throat
and searched
my pockets
for a soul
till love
the pencil lines
of trees


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

The Magic Land

a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis


Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis