“Into Your Thought” by David Davis

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

Vintage key and letterI 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.

Suspend Their Disbelief

The Creation of Adam by Michelangelo

Back in the mid-‘90s, I really enjoyed The Bridges of Madison County, a bestselling book at the time that resulted in a good movie as well. What’s surprising is that everything about it was stuff I normally wouldn’t like. It was a romance, and those are always cheesy to me because it’s always women authors writing about how they would like romance to be, not how it is. Interestingly, this one was written by a man, Robert James Waller. It concerned adultery, a detestable subject. And the premise was completely unrealistic—the idea that a couple could meet and only spend four days together and never see or hear of each other again and it would have such a profound effect on them every day for the rest of their lives. The fact that Waller could, in spite of those three elements, suspend my disbelief and make me like it and even remember it twenty years later, THAT’S writing. And that’s the standard to which we should rise in our own writing. If your goal is to become a bestselling author, you must strive to suspend the disbelief of not only your target audience, or your “ideal reader”, but also those who don’t think they would like your book to begin with. Sure, it’s a challenge, but if you’re like me, it’s a challenge that totally excites you. Happy writing!

Tea Time Poetry for Valentines


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.

Selections from “In the Key of D”

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


and those impressions will last


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