Tag Archives: spirit

Slipping Away

a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis

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Spirit Born of Light

To Donald Sharp

By Thomas Davis

A rain of sunshine through the tattered clouds –
And then he stands there speckled by the light.
A man not yet a child, his spirit crowds
It’s way into a pulsing song in flight
Across the years of heartbeats pumping blood,
Light shining in his eyes, his voice more sky
Than earth, his presence like a dancing flood
Of sunflower gold stirred by a breeze’s sigh.

Born in a rain of light, he travels trails
Where thunderclouds are luminous with storm
And even pain, mortality’s travails,
Are metamorphosed to a time-bound form
Of breath exhaling light into a field
Where spirit born of light becomes life’s yield.

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Metamorphisis

by Thomas Davis

I lay beside an ancient, quiet pool
and put my idle hand into the water.
A rainbow trout swam nibbling past.
Without a thought I held its thrashing fast.
The trout became a whiskery, wily otter.

I squeezed as if I’d turned into a ghoul
whose only thought was how to hold
an otter in my thrall forevermore.
The otter twisted like a fiend,
and when that failed, it bared sharp teeth and screamed.

My spirit quailed and heart turned icy cold.
Between two breaths the eagle was a child.
He looked at me and slowly, sadly smiled.

I dropped her when her human voice began to sing.
I looked into the shine of golden eyes;
the child became a woman beautiful and wise.

The woman turned and swiftly swam away.
I jumped into the pool, but she was gone —
And now I’ve spent these many years
bedazzled by an otter with a woman’s face,
Ensorcelled by a quiet water place.

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Lost

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

This morning,
when we saw a cedar forest
whose trees seemed
as if they were from another world,

we saw a child’s tale—
witches and goblins hiding
behind every tree trunk
on the soft fallen cedar floors.

Since we have moved
to this land of lakes and forests,
my body has moved,
but not my spirit.

It is still circling,
soaring in the sky,
keeping from lighting,
not sure whether
it will land

like

the Sandhill Crane
this morning
circling the marsh,
not lighting,
appearing to be lost.

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Spirit Bear

by Thomas Davis

As cold as fish, as gray as slate, a bear
Rose from a foaming wave and walked to shore.
Above gray limestone cliffs a fiery glare
Of maples bent into the tempest’s roar.

Out in the lake clouds churned a waterspout
Into a weave of water, waves, and sky
As frenzied schools of salmon, whitefish, trout
Leapt from the wind-whipped waves and tried to fly.

The bear, eyes black as lodestone stone, stood, roared
Into the roar of waves and shrieking wind
And tipped its massive head, its voice a chord
That stilled the storm and brought it to an end.

As winter gnarled inside the bear’s black eyes,
Its breath spilled geese into the lake and skies.

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The Cup

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

I will give you
a cup to drink
the night sky
and watch you
as you savor
each constellation.

I’ll watch your spirit
soar as the earth
swells up
and carries you along
to the top of the mountain.

And I’ll watch your face
as you see
the perfect gem,
a coral blossom
growing within
the kneeling turquoise juniper.

I will watch you sigh—
for my opiate too
is the earth and the sky.

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Snow

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

The snow laid down
on the ground
thick and deep,
covering over
the mistakes
we made yesterday—
white covering
over red–

like the wounded deer
that winter
in the swamp
missed by tracking hunters.
He found refuge
among the cedars
in the water.

He laid still,
but spirit still moved
in his eyes
as snow
quietly covered him—
white covering
over red.

Copyright © I Sleep Between the Moons of New Mexico, 2010.

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