Tag Archives: silence

The Silence of Old Men

by Thomas Davis

 As old men sink into their silence, words
Become entangled in the memories
And moments that are like a flock of birds
So dense in time and space they start to freeze
The meanings that an old man means to say,
Or be, or clarify to those who’d listen
As if he still had thoughts that might convey
Some sense beyond the silence of his person.

Inside the living room I watch his eyes.
I feel inside myself and try to hear
The silence as its heaviness denies
Old age’s bucketful of pains and fear —

And as I watch I know the old men in their silence,
Their frozen faces and their look of patience.

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In the Stone Fields

a love poem for Ethel Mortenson Davis by Thomas Davis

In the stone fields
The roots of the pinyon
Interweave with stone.
In the barest silence
Song is worn like a cloak
Of the brightest colors.

May my lips be as a brook
Bubbling forth songs
In praise of my love.
May my heart be as a pinyon,
Drawing forth music
From the barest stones

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Fields

William Bingen’s, our grandson’s, first poem

Going through fields
with soft soil beneath my feet
I stand with the wind
softly flowing through my hair.
I follow the straight path
made by the farmers plow.
It takes me to a hill
where I gaze off into the fields of wheat.
I hear the sound of silence,
the sound of nature.

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Old Woman

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

She dropped her eyes
when a white woman
said, good morning.

Silence
is all there was.

Perhaps she remembered
the Long Walk
and what the whites did:

How they starved
and killed
the Navajo,
down to five thousand—

how they decimated them
until their chromosomes
layed waste
and disease set in,

diseases where the people
cannot go out in the sun
without dying.

Silence is what she spoke.

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Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

A Moment

a love poem by Thomas Davis to Ethel

The aftermath of a moment
Is hard to describe:
The beauty:
A flash of sunlight
Through the storm darkened sky,
The wonder of beauty
Which may never come again.

Love, there was a night
When the stars were slung
Over the sky’s black face.
You were singing a lullaby,
And I was changing words into song.
We were happy and love filled.
The night was a rhythm of ourselves.
You laughed and made me see geese
With white wings in dark skies.
I laughed, and you stopped your lullaby.

Love is a kin to the silence
And also to the song.

You and I were singing,
And both of us stopped
To listen to silence.

It was a wonderful evening, love.
It is a wonderful time.

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The Thunder

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.

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Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis