Tag Archives: moon

Red Moon

a photograph by Sonja Bingen, our daughter

Red Moon

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Moon and Night Trees

a photograph by Sonja Bingen, our daughter
moon and trees

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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

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Morning Moon, Hills, and Sunrise

Morning Moon and Hills

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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?

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Maori

a pastel drawing by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Maori

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Moon Through Night Trees

a photograph by Sonja Bingen

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

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A Moon

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

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

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The Magic Land

a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis

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I Love the Woman Whom I Love

by Thomas Davis

I love the woman whom I love,
And in the morning’s world of blue
I wake to bellow hearty songs
That say so simply, “I love you.”

Love is the light of human black.
The tone that brings man up to gray,
And though the world is lost and doomed,
I say it makes today a day.

So, blacken out the joyous sun
And ink away the solemn moon.
I love woman whom I love.
She’ll lighten up a tar-black room.

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