Jimmy Ray Davis Poetry

Jimmy Ray Davis Poetry Jimmyraydavis.com

08/18/2026

VIOLA BEAUREGARD

Viola,
Play for me.
Play Misty for me.
Play Harold in Italy,
Berlioz would be so proud.
A simple reverie,
minus unnecessary complexity.
Viola, play for me.

Vi, to your friends.
Miss Beauregard to all
who dance in happenstance,
to whom a breath
would wither,
and we wander thither,
Julian's Pond,
where I stole a kiss,
and you…my heart.

Viola,
Play for me.
Strike tough, yet tenderly.
Telemann’s concerto
in the major of G.
Fingers lithe, strings taut
bow moving at light speed.
Enchantingly elusive,
transcending endlessly.
Viola, play for me.

Farmers leave
their plows behind.
Churches unconvene.
Children gather in the grove,
for Miss Beauregard
has made the scene.
Everyone still
as a frozen pond.
just leaning in,
just listening.

Viola,
Play for me.
Of rowing boats, twinkling stars
or something with
classical clarity.
For you Wolfgang with ease.
Sinfonia concertante,
in E-Flat major,
if you please.
Viola, play for me.

C'mon Vi…
our own symphony
as the world disappears.
Viola…play me.

©2026
J. Raymond Davis
Wordmachinist Publishing
All rights reserved.

08/17/2026

BACK ON THE WALL

Been a good while since you felt right,
since the rain stopped coming down.
When you could still
spot a rainbow,
and the porch lights lit the town.
Your mom is East of Eastwick,
your dad, somewhere on the road.
Bring it down a notch,
the evening's not yet botched,
your shouldering a heavy load.

Don't you do that,
don't get so down,
There's no winter, without fall.
Pick yourself up,
take my hand,
put that picture
back on the wall.

Broken trust and dirty mirrors,
leaving you in a haze.
You wanna scream and shout
but no one's about,
and you've sure seen better days.
God won't save you,
too many prayers overdue,
you've got no tithe for the plate.
Twist and turn,
as your dreams burn,
just a simple twist of fate.

Don't you cry now,
for I hear you,
I'll leave the light on in the hall.
I'm just a man ,
but it takes four hands
to hang that picture,
back on the wall.

I can picture you in a sundress,
with no jacket in the rain.
In a field green with fairy grass,
or on the platform of a train.
There are folks who care about you,
some a thousand miles away.
This jaunt is free,
we'll share a coffee,
and swap stories of love and pain.

I see you, really see you,
Let's go out and have a ball.
We'll have a t**e,
tell dirty jokes,
then put that picture
back on…the wall.

©2026
J. Raymond Davis
Wordmachinist Publishing
All rights reserved.

08/14/2026

LAND OF WRONG

Never stray at sunset,
towards the land of Wrong.
For it is palpable and real,
when the shadows grow long.

When your shadow twin
stretches nearly taut,
connection to your soul weakens,
possession becomes your lot.

The grey ones play conniving,
waiting in the Land of Wrong.
They will replace, your shadow trace,
at sunset's darkening song.

Never look back to see,
nor mingle in their toil.
One misstep, you've overslept,
they'll become your mortal coil.

If they take over at dusk,
you'll stay trapped
in the Land of Wrong.
Becoming someone else by morn,
yet trapped
where the shadows grow long.

Next eve at sunfall onset,
you've one chance
to disrupt the throng.
Overtake at shadow break,
or stay trapped
in the Land of Wrong.

©2026
J. Raymond Davis
Wordmachinist Publishing
All rights reserved.

08/13/2026

OLD DEAD ROSES

You play that broken banjo,
hear them running in the corn.
The pigeon dogs howl at
a moon that glows with scorn.
The Maxwell's barn goes up
because it's doused in kerosene.
Sirens split the night in half,
like an old longshoreman’s dream.

Throw those old dead roses,
on the ground at our feet.
Even though it's July we'll
shout out, “Trick or treat!”
I'll show you what I've hidden,
but you cannot say a word.
just hold me until
the sandglass breaks.

Find out if the jukebox
has any Johnny Cash.
or maybe Moons of Jupiter,
by good old Scruffy the Cat.
Kick the tires on
that old Ford Probe,
as the nuns all grab shotguns,
We'll meet up in New Orleans
at the house of the rising sun.

Throw those old dead roses,
out into the street.
Sal the Squid’s candy shop,
still has nickel treats.
I'll tell you my worst secret,
if you promise not to scream.
we'll ride a train until
we're out of track.

Put on that bikini, y'know
the one that matches your hair.
Itty Bitty is all the rage
and I really just don't care.
We'll ride just like a riptide,
til the sand is wet with silt,
I'd give you all my roses,
if they didn't already wilt.

Take these old dead roses,
press them in an old red book.
I'd offer to help but my will
is something you already took.
I'd bleed my inner fantasy,
but you'd faint fast away,
so meet me here again
tomorrow night.

©2026
J. Raymond Davis
Wordmachinist Publishing
All rights reserved.

08/12/2026

INTO THE INSANE

Falling fast into a blue deep lake,
y'know that photo was a deep fake,
dry throat cough that I can't slake,
best w**d but still I'm only half baked.

Gut punch,
won't cry.
Quick fist,
closed eye.
Pink lips,
gray brain,
one way trip,
into the insane.

And all you do is tell me
not to bother.
Pray to someone,
who is not my father.
White line stray gonna
bring the coppers.
Save her,
she is not my daughter,
but she's still
someone's daughter.

And in the white room I fall back,
playing chess, yet no one
ever plays back.
Brought in through the front,
but I leave out the back.
checking in…
into the insane!

When we were kids,
you always had a reason.
To not tell, but that
was family treason.
Lost count of all the
lock box seasons.
Kicked out, left cold
while I was pleading.

Shock me.
I bleed.
Inside my brain.
Can't get off,
the pill cup train.
Night nurse,
sheet stained.
One way trip,
into the insane.

Now go back inside
my mind,
free to be,
free to unwind.
I can forget,
where you have lain,
embrace my trip…
Into the insane!

©2026
J. Raymond Davis
Wordmachinist Publishing
All rights reserved.

08/07/2026

SEVEN NEW POEMS WRITTEN…
HELP ME DECIDE WHICH ONES TO POST FIRST!

I love doing this because it is a fun and interactive way to get YOU involved in deciding the order of my upcoming poetry posts.

Please examine the list below and choose UP TO FOUR TITLES that intrigue you the most. It really does help!

Upcoming poems:

INTO THE INSANE

MONOGHUE AVENUE

LAND OF WRONG

VIOLA BEAUREGARD

BACK ON THE WALL

OLD DEAD ROSES

JUST ANOTHER POEM

______________________________________

08/04/2026

WHERE TIME STANDS STILL

I ran all the way home,
to tell my mama,
but mama had moved away.
Just my daddy
in a broken armchair,
a bottle and a puzzled
look astray.

I cried for hours,
I cried for years.
Looking down
the driveway road.
She'd have to come back,
oh wouldn't she?
Because she said
she'd never leave
me all alone.

Oh mama,
Oh dear mama,
I will never,
ever forgive you.
As I eat TV dinners
with a broken man
I call dad.

Years roll along,
I still remember the song
you sang me to sleep
and I creep into
the attic and the box
of old photos,
where time stands still,
and birds sing off key,
melancholy and shrill.

No birthday cards
or phone calls.
Just me and the old man,
watching tv or the walls.
Funny how you notice
things like paint peeling…
where time stands still
and hills keep getting smaller.

I'm thirty-seven now
and just buried Dad.
He's better off
and I still linger in
this tomb of a house.
He pulled me out of school
the day you left
and I'm bereft of a life
and I have no idea
what to do.

So I guess I'll just
stay here.
Stay here
and wait for you.
Where time stands still.

©2026
J. Raymond Davis
Wordmachinist Publishing
All rights reserved.

Burn the leavesof the pastuntil they smolderover rooftops and villagesSeeding cautionary nostalgiaas wisps of hopeand st...
07/30/2026

Burn the leaves
of the past
until they smolder
over rooftops and villages
Seeding cautionary nostalgia
as wisps of hope
and starlight dreams.

J. Ray



(C)2026
J. Raymond Davis
Wordmachinist Publishing
All rights reserved.

07/29/2026

***from the vault***

DIME STORE INDIAN

Please don't leave
as your crying
Want to picture
you leaning
On the porch rail
stormy summer night.
These aren't tears
in my eyes
It's only my soul
bleeding.
Just can't make
the words
come out right.

Well I feel
like my tractor
broken down
since October
And the booze
seems to num
my aching head.
I can see through
your nightgown
Moonlight
shining down
You might be gone
tomorrow but
I hope you'll spend
the night.

Oh the dreams
are all scattered
dead leaves in the wind
And the mournful
have fallen
for your lies
once before.
All the pine trees
are lonesome
Just dime store indians
before they
we're carved,
put in place
then ignored.

Never believe
when the huckster
says he can heal you
He's a shyster
who's never known
true love, only sin.
Please don't cry
as you're leaving
And my pine heart
is bleeding
I'll be just another
forgotten
dime store indian.

©️2023
Jimmy Ray Davis
Wordmachinist Publishing
All rights reserved.

07/22/2026

GLORY LAKE

I walked out of
the House of God,
picked up my reel and rod,
headed down to
Glory Lake
where the waters
cleanse my soul.

Don't need a church
and spire, crucifix.
evangelical liar.
Got my heart,
got my eyes,
I can always
see the light.

I will go fishing
with thee,
my rod and staff
will comfort me.
We'll pluck the apple
from the tree,
‘cause we still
need to eat.

Every lake,
is Glory Lake.
Pray the Lord
my soul to take.
If I should die
with my line
in the stream,
then I'll die…happy.

©2026
J. Raymond Davis
Wordmachinist Publishing
All rights reserved.

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