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I'm a daydreamer.

quote by Sara Paretsky
Added by Lucian Velea
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Some Whispers Provoked a Wife to Lie

We were sitting, and a vernal breeze playing,
Yet she was looking, he wasn't any attention paying.
A passing concubine granted her part for the playing breeze
And whispered in the man's ears,
Then, gone with the wind
She just wanted her greetings to send.

The wife started to gasp,
Consoling herself it was a mishap.
He, a daydreamer, caught of his wife a glimpse
Trembling, shaking, and raging were her lips.
Were the concubine's whispers uproarious?
Or was his love thought to be glorious?

She'd twist the veil of expressionless.
She'd put on an edifice of deceitfulness.
And ask, 'would an infant loathe his father? '
Some whispers had a wife her husband to bother.

The husband, daydreaming of the whispers footsteps
Of whom passed and evoked the ribs
Of a wife to beseech her doubts
To fade away behind the shouts
Of lying truths, those serenity should trigger
Yet the husband's ignorance, cruelty would river.

Suddenly, the wife faced the truth with its death
And drowned herself in myrrh to act a myth
She said, 'of my thoughts you are the leader! '
Yet her husband was merely a daydreamer!

poem by Eiz Qarqash
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Driving Music

(s. kipner/t. emmanuel)
Im a taxi driver on an all-nighter
Dont wanna fall asleep at the wheel
Play me some feel
4 am business is slow
I listen to my radio
If no one flags me down, I turn up the sound
Moving to the beat
I cruise the empty streets
Changing the gears
Filling up my ears
Help me stay awake
Dont take a commercial break
I need another fare
So stay on the air
Wont you play me some driving music
Wont you play me some driving music
Im a daydreamer
My speedometer says
Id better take it slow
Or my speakers gonna blow up
Help me stay awake
Dont take a commercial break
I need another fare
So stay on the air
Wont you play me some driving music
Wont you play me some driving music
Please wont you play me my request
I wanna hear it one more time
Just for luck
Spin it again fore the sun comes up
Seems like Im always changing dials
Station to station, mile after mile
Wont you play me some driving music
Wont you play me some driving music

song performed by Olivia Newton-John
Added by Lucian Velea
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I was a daydreamer, and there is a lot of history and geography and science I missed out on because I was in my head. And I regret that.

quote by Gillian Anderson
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Daydreamer

I am a daydreamer
escaping from the real world
and into my very own.
In my world there is no black clouds
to sadden anyone’s face
only sunshine and a world full of smiles
that radiate out from everyone.
No harsh words are spoken
only kind and loving ones.
Everyone is a brother or a sister
in this daydream world of mine.
There are no wars,
no mother’s son is sacrificed
to die on a battlefield.
Love fills the air with music
and warmth for everyone,
so come along with me
and let us retreat
into that daydream world of mine.

22 January 2009

poem by David Harris
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Daydreamer

I'm a daydreamer
I dream away
Another dream
Another day

I can't quite cope with the real world
I would prefer

To take a nap
And slip into
Another world
Another view

I can't quite cope with the real world
I would prefer

What is the use in being
Unhappy with the truth
When you can just go to sleep
And revert back to your youth

Happy times
Happy days
Get rid of wrinkles
Get rid of greys

Can't quite cope with the real world
I would prefer
To dream
To daydream
To dream away

poem by Lucy Vernezze
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I’m a Blinky Bill

An awestruck daydreamer
I cut words into lights
Beep warned still blind
Silence spelled and bound
Freedom sought redeemer
Reaching peaceful heights
Where words in mills I grind
Language prone
Euthanasia patches
To let them rise to the throne
Of a silent word that matches
The silence which outstretches
A hand in a hidden sign
The word beautiful and most benign
The word that hurts no one’s soul
The word which echoes the highest pole

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Eminent Scholar

Creaking crushed me when I spoke,
A civil chain chased my law of beliefs.
The eminence of a scholar spoke one day,
This denouement from a man was outspoken.
Daily, we are in the book of his writing,
This academic has authority of life;
His debut worked on my time as a day
That warned as a fitness, as a legality.
He is a daydreamer, a worker of books
And life, that worked one day like a book
Hazy and obscure, like one of the laziest
Volumes, yet the eminence of a scholar
Is accused when we begin, when we say.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Imperfections Of Me

I'm an unfinished product
A work that's in progress
Though I no longer call myself young
I'm flawed and I'm broken
I'm a promise unspoken
and a song that may never be sung

Though I'm dumb and I'm blind
I'll not be definded
By what I dont hear or can't see
I gladly will take
each days small mistake
and love the imperfections of me

I've spurned some romances
missed risks, ignored chances
I've letters that will never be sent.
There are regrets and there's sorrow
and perhaps my tomorrow
may be another day that I've mispent.

I'll not know perfection,
but my misquided inflection
will not mar my lifes destiny.
Call me broken and hollow
but the path I will follow
helps me accept the imperfections of me.

The worlds litmus test
that demands but your best
is not for a wandering heart
I'm distracted, its true,
by warm winds...skies of blue
that sets this daydreamer apart.

My oft broken stride
leaves broken dreams on each side
But I'll be who I'm meant to be.
Since nothing is owed
on my strange crooked road
I embrace the imperfections of me

poem by Perry Biggerstaff
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I Am A Daydreamer Too

I am a daydreamer too
for days that always come
with promises broken
even for nights
that always seem colder
(nightdreamer am i too)
my blankets thinner
and shorter

i daydream
on the green grass under the trees
measuring the movement of the sun
rising from the east
and setting on the west

i like to sit
my chin resting on my legs
my hands supporting my body
against the ground
my eyes always gazing
at the sky above

and my brown street dog
always beside me
waggling its tail
as always

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Society's Relief

my country is rooted to the
sultanate tradition,
one sultan and his children
and four wives ruling a
territory
those that block the way
are beheaded,
though not really that literally
in the modern sense of
my world, they finally name it
a dynasty
of political warlords and
rag and drag leaders,
one must know the word kowtow
the figurative language of toeing the line
and fidelity or else
fatality, somehow, in my own little way,
i think, there is a need for relief from
this secretly hated tradition of
putting power to the few
families over a long, long time
like an old classical novel
of War and Peace, and somehow
i like to go on the
Color Purple midway between
Fiddler on the Roof and
Gone with the Wind,
my mind bloats and i become a daydreamer
of sort, detached from reality of
abc, to xyz, i do not quit,
i continue dreaming for change and relief
i travel to America and
Canada, meet some friends, and get to
know how they are doing, flying kites
and rolling snow balls, and chasing rainbows
so to speak,
after all is said and done, i come to the conclusion
that i go back
in my country and meet the Sultan again,
missing me, his long gone
son.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Snow White's Acne

At first she was sure it was just a bit of dried strawberry juice,
or a fleck of her mother's red nail polish that had flaked off
when she'd patted her daughter to sleep the night before.
But as she scrubbed, Snow felt a bump, something festering
under the surface, like a tapeworm curled up and living
in her left cheek.
Doc the Dwarf was no dermatologist
and besides Snow doesn't get to meet him in this version
because the mint leaves the tall doctor puts over her face
only make matters worse. Snow and the Queen hope
against hope for chicken pox, measles, something
that would be gone quickly and not plague Snow's whole
adolescence.
If only freckles were red, she cried, if only
concealer really worked. Soon came the pus, the yellow dots,
multiplying like pins in a pin cushion. Soon came
the greasy hair. The Queen gave her daughter a razor
for her legs and a stick of underarm deodorant.
Snow
doodled through her teenage years—'Snow + ?' in Magic
Markered hearts all over her notebooks. She was an average
student, a daydreamer who might have been a scholar
if she'd only applied herself. She liked sappy music
and romance novels. She liked pies and cake
instead of fruit.
The Queen remained the fairest in the land.
It was hard on Snow, having such a glamorous mom.
She rebelled by wearing torn shawls and baggy gowns.
Her mother would sometimes say, 'Snow darling,
why don't you pull back your hair? Show those pretty eyes?'
or 'Come on, I'll take you shopping.'
Snow preferred
staying in her safe room, looking out of her window
at the deer leaping across the lawn. Or she'd practice
her dance moves with invisible princes. And the Queen,
busy being Queen, didn't like to push it.

poem by Denise Duhamel
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