by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The undiscovered land
of the high desert
takes our faces
in her hands
and asks,
“What kind of people
are we?”
“What kind of people
do we want to become?”
She has a way
of changing us
as we walk past
the rocky, dark soils
with giant cedars,
the singular mountain,
white-capped,
and the coyote
moving in his spring dance.
This undiscovered land
takes our faces
in both her hands….
and asks….
and asks….
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
a love poem by Thomas Davis to Ethel
The thunder is silence.
It came upon the morning
With clouds more enormous
Than mountains
(Mountains etched against
The dome of sky)—
And now it is silence.
First it rumbled, clouds black,
Anger on quick gusts of wind.
Then it roared, cluttering day
With grumbling songs
And skies of darkened gray.
Now the thunder is silence.
The noonday light is blackness.
We walked into the field…
The daisies were trembling.
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
On the rim of the canyon
you came to me
and with piñon winds
kissed my ears.
You came
in last night’s snowfall
as sheets of white
dropped from the sky
on red rock valleys
And then again
as you pushed the clouds away
this morning, dazzling us
with red, white, green, and blue colors.
Now, with feather sounds,
you come,
bringing juices and sustenance
in the piñon seeds—
enough to get us
through the night.
Perhaps the world will live
one more day
while piñon wood warms us,
breaking our fevers in the night
so we can dream
good dreams
before dawn.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
photography by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
inspired by Kevin’s photograph and a conversation with Rita Hawes
I hope you
have found the light.
Remember when you
scrambled up the cliff
to photograph the light
between two converging
rock faces?
Laughing at my old bones
down at the bottom?
All we can do
in this world of chaos
is set our bearings
by the stars.
I think we will always
have chaos
in this world.
We will never have
a sustainable earth
where men cooperate
with each other.
But instead
living will be about
how we maneuver
our way through chaos
with integrity and valor,
like the old knights
pointing their mast
north,
to the North Star.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
fourwindowspress 