~Featuring the work of Shelly Davis--artist of words~
A Valentine’s gem from David “Harley” Davis
If I send you a flower
You can throw it away
But the thought will not wither
Only linger
I could send you a timepiece
And by your neglect stop its pace
But not forevermore
The thought will keep its own time
I could send you a note
And by your hand alone
It lay crumpled in waste
But the thought lay indelibly there
I could send you my heart
And unrequited it breaks
And no thought to heal
And I perish evermore.
The world lost a great poet, photographer, and artist this year when my husband, David “Harley” Davis, passed away in July from complications resulting from leukemia. How I miss his talent and creativity, his uncanny ability to find and bring home the unusual and rare antiques, and introduce the rest of us to ideas and worlds we never knew existed. While going through his many treasures and writings this summer, it was especially touching for me to come across poems he’d written that I’d never read before, including this one, a message directly to me from eternal worlds. What better way to pay tribute on my blog, I thought, than by sharing his own words, written October 3, 2014 from his hospital bed, at the beginning of his treatments. These words have been a secret treasure to me these last few months, but it’s time to share them with others now. I’ll let his own words take it from here:
“I’m Calm”
I’m calm as a summer morning
A time when dews distill
On ground alert with creatures
That graze on a distant hill.
I’m calm as whispering heather
That sing in a highland breeze
I’m calm as a crystal lake
With images that mirror me.
No greater peace have I then
Where angels came to tell
I’m calm as a summer morning
When Father found me well.
Fear not this sad refrain then
Time goes ever on
Beats warmly rich responding
Our hearts are ever calm.
No love is lost forever
No psalm is silent sung
No bells go unnoticed
When they ring together as one.
I’m calm to see my Master
Embrace him, linger there
I’m calm to see my mother
And enjoy her perfect fair.
I’m calm as a summer morning
Feet dangle in celestial foam
On heavenly beaches lapping
A familiar din back home.
At last the stars are sparkling
And brighten my heavenly shore
I’m calm and await my darling
And will love thee ever more.
The icy, cold gray post-holiday winter season can be made so much more warm and beautiful with a cozy blanket and a powerful, gracefully written poem. To that end, I bring you “The Elk”, a brand new, original poem by my husband David Davis, who goes by Harley Davis. It’s a fine example of using alliteration and lilting rhythm to conjure up a serene, wild setting and a frozen, magical moment in time. I love how the final stanza brings the reader into the ‘now’, almost making one wonder, did it really happen or was it a dream?
“The Elk” by Harley Davis
The breaking of crusting snow
and the chill of rushing wind
the clatter of brittle leaves below
I pulled my wrap tighter in.
The frozen moisture of my deep breath
obscures my stealth uneasy walk
it forms a veil upon my chest –
like a winter scarf where warmth is not.
I steal around the weathered wood
too close as a snag takes my arm
now gray from days it has long withstood
in the woods near my grandfather’s farm.
The snag gives a snap and me a start
and a jabbing finger is the thump in my chest
adding threat upon threat to my now racing heart
and angst in this challenging quest.
Yet I find the majestic creature there
and my deep breath is held within
while a snort from the beast parted the air
as a loud unpleasant din.
He raised his massive head my way
I raised my lens to meet his glance
and shuttered to think would spook him away
and lose my stealthy wooded chance
to capture the beast and there mount him
on the wall in the hall of my home
but I shifted my weight on a weathered limb
and at once stood in the deep woods alone.
He sprang into life and targeted me
as the clattering shutter fired on
the view in my finder of him running free
as my words condensed on the air, “he’s gone”
I put two fingers between my teeth
and placed my tongue the way I was taught
the shrill whistle arose beneath
and stopped the beast where he did not
advance deeper into the thicketed wood
and spoil my last and rarest and best
I took aim again and frozen stood
brought the lens slowly down on his chest
and fired the trigger that shattered the air
with shutter-clatter that day in the wood
when I stole the creature’s majestic heir
the image is silent but the memory was good.
That memory now hangs in the hall on the wall
of my cabin near the home of my kin
the beast still reigns and bugles his call
inviting me to come back again.
By David Kimball Davis
Butterfly wings gently flutter, filling spring with softness
Sweet lips of lovers lustre in the shining sun
The taste of honey sweetens a savored kiss that’s left
A pounding in my heart and a joy that’s never done
Gentle breezes brush my face, filling my chest with freshness.
The wisp of clouds hush the hues of a brilliant sky.
Beneath the waving tips of trees I watch them passing.
Everlasting, as with love for her lying there nearby.
A smile that brightens cloud-filled skies
That lightens hearts and fills me with hope and gladdened eyes
Enabling me to see beyond eternity
To a place we will share all of our joy and all of our time and all of our love
A gentle voice that shares golden words falling from lips speaking
Only choice thoughts, and reaching
with tender kindness that I am glad to be familiar with
I hear them echoing far into my heart
I hear them coming from her sweet smile
The gift so freely given I have willingly returned all the while
And as the sun sets this day
It will ever and always be this way
Warm winds caress my heart and remind
me of holding you beneath the Eiffel Tower
A gentle breeze wafts through and fixes my
memory of Paris, an Autumn love.
One carefully placed kiss in a quaint room
on the Auteuil was passion-filled and
enriched my thoughts of forever with you.
Oh, we anxiously await another day, a day
that is yet to come, where our hands will
swing as we stroll along the Seine.
Paris is only Paris, if it is Paris with you.
I had the privilege yesterday of acting as one of the judges at the local junior high school’s poetry recitation competition. This was a precursor to a state- and national-level competition called Poetry Out Loud. I had not heard of it before, but it was a very impressive thing. The students had chosen poems from an approved list, memorized them, and had to recite them before the student body. They are judged on accuracy, with a deduction for even one word being incorrect, level of difficulty, physical presence, voice & articulation, and dramatic appropriateness. The students had obviously worked very hard, and all gave great performances. And of course, I love that they got to study poetry so in-depth. Good job, Diamond Fork Junior High students, and congratulations to the winners.
Here is one of the poems recited. It is by a favorite poet of mine, Robert Frost:
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Perhaps you’ve met my husband David as a photographer ~ his photos are featured on Shelly Davis Books. Now I introduce to you, David Kimball Davis, the poet.
One day was filling me
with anxious curiosity
so I gathered up my thoughts
pack-rat like into a box
which had no hinges, handles, locks
I tucked it tight beneath my arm
made my way around with charm
found an open mind – walked in
and dared to share my box with them.
Why did the poet die?
You know his words are yet unsolved.
Will the where and why ever be resolved?
And some hearts will hear
what that heart was meant to know.
It’s the magic in one’s ear
the poets leave before they go.
A vail of watery lace ribbons down,
hides a frown that sad embrace had found.
And a memory of you finds a rift
forms a pool wherein a gift is held within me.
And you shall always pass as water fresh and pure
but sure bound for sea.
We watched colors dance around
in fashioned places where they found
significance for our eye.
The pigments lay a fragrant face
on canvas stretched at corners brace
now blooming on some wall nearby.
If only you knew
what sweeps the hand through
the hour
and keeps
the spring taut
Who pulls the weight
and minds the gait
of pendulum
and of passing.
A wrinkled brow marked me sad
as deeply etched lines bore the weight of a broken heart
and did add to the pain of finding you away – on the very day
I chose to say I love you, you were gone. So I left my love a rose
and it wilted in an awkward pose as if saying hurry home
and tend your garden there, so love and flowers
won’t die in despair.
When crimson skies
share both our eyes,
and holding hands is rushed surprise,
blends with our walks and long poignant talks
will thus bring us closer still.
And –
as always will.
And I’ll take this risk
to offer a gentle kiss
and watch our eyes close
and so…
is how I hope it goes.
“When Stars Die”
Light is sometimes deceiving
though shining seems
but only beams
are reaching my eye
In light of night’s believing
there was something real
that I sought to feel
once came reaching from the sky
It was merely an image
of something that burned
so long ago.
Love is the moon
waxing and waning
cycling through phases
yet always returning
to full.
Of the tides that I recall
none so gently imprint the image
of love and laughter
as do those we’ve shared together.
waves now breaking in.
washing prints that we left then,
yet leaving undisturbed all our fond
recollections,
and those impressions will last
forever.
