Freezing in my own heart’s winter,
Clutching myself with my self,
Hunching against wordwinds,
Grabbing soul tatters,
Clenching teeth,
Dying,
Proud.
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...is not a bad thing to be. Many of us called daydreamers as children grew up to be poets, writers, artists. I celebrate daydreaming. It saved my mind as a child. Here are a few of my daydreams.
Becca Burke Allison
Daydreamer
I was pretty old before I figured out that being a daydreamer meant I was a writer. Couldn't figure out why I chose jobs like cook and truck driver until I realized those jobs let me work for a living while allowing much of my mind to...daydream.
I continued writing. Now it made sense.
Blog Archive
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2012
(35)
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April
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- Poem One - Daydreamer
- Poem Two - Roses
- Poem Three - Math
- Poem Four: Tornado
- Poem Five: Southern Kid Food, ca 1960
- Poem Six - Rocket Dog
- Poem Seven - Lallie
- Poem Eight - Night Ride
- Poems Nine and Ten---Highway Haiku
- Poem Eleven---Tumble
- Between Blogger and my browser
- Poem Twelve---Poetry Fail
- Poem Thirteen - Lucky
- Day Fourteen - Heartchildren
- Day Fifteen - Relationship
- Poem Sixteen - Smarts
- Poem Seventeen - Normal
- Poem Eighteen - Old
- Poem Nineteen - Pastoral
- Poem Twenty - Truckstop Twilight
- Poem Twenty-one - Night Drive
- Poem Twenty-two - Unforgiving
- Poem Twenty-three - Waiting
- Poem Twenty-four - Poem
- Poem Twenty-five---Rain
- Poem Twenty-six---Soul Healing Circle
- Poem Twenty-seven - Argument
- Poem Twenty-eight - Fall Morning
- Poem Twenty-nine - Terry is Six
- Poem Thirty - The Finish
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April
(30)
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