by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Here
we breathe in sky
and out sky,
like the trees
that grow out of rocks,
breathing in sky and living.
He is our father,
the one who made us,
the one who takes
the sky sounds
of hummingbird wings
and gives them to us,
to be our hearts.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
a photograph by Alazanto, Kevin Davis, our son
Taken November 18, 2007 near Ouray, Colorado
Filed under Art, Photography
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
What else could
I do today?
What else but work the soil?
Work the soil
around the corn and beans,
the green squash.
The beans are vining,
feeling for the corn’s torso.
The corn is up
to my shoulders
and beginning to tassel out.
The afternoon clouds
have brought
a hard male rain
in the hottest
and driest year
we remember.
What else could we do
but work the soil?
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
a children’s poem by Thomas Davis
“I’m going fishing,” said the king.
“I’m going early in the morning.
I’m going with my counselors.
We’re all to go a fishing.
“I’ve hired a boy to bait the hook.
I’ve hired a lad to hold the pole.
I’ve paid a boy to slip the fish
From off the hook into the creel.
“I’m going fishing,” said the king.
“I’m going early in the morning.
I’m going with my counselors.
We’re all to go a fishing.”
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
A memory
of rain
in a night
when
the wind filled
and spread the sky
a
rain
upon us
and
through us,
on sounds
little known
as feet
of deer,
a rain
falling
between us,
upon
two voices
almost heard
above
the wind.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
a photograph by Sonja Bingen
Taken at the Wild Spirit Wolf Sanctuary in Candy Kitchen, New Mexico on July 16, 2012.
Filed under Art, Photography
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
All the holy books
of the world
could fit on the tip
of a swallow’s wing
as she dips and sways,
diving for flying
insects.
All the wisdom of mankind
could balance on her
unpretentious head
as she cares for
her young
under the eves
of our house,
eyes showing no deception,
fighting off the blackness
that sits all around her.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
a photograph by Sonja Bingen
The bunny came to where the garden was being watered, trying to find something to eat in the drought.
Filed under Art, Photography
