Your beauty is beyond compare,
Your brown eyes and bleach blond hair,
Your lips so smooth yet strangely firm,
And cheeks so smooth they’ve never been stained.
Your hair so smooth and bright,
Its like it's its own light,
The sun shines off and blinds all,
All who dare to be so tall.
Six foot two, how tall you stand,
With thy dagger In thy hand,
You scrape it deep across thy wrist,
And make a bloody mess.
When they find you,
Thoust shall weep,
But for your secrets,
I will forever keep.
what if i were a blonde bombshell
would it be different if i changed
would it be a little better
could i be a pulse on your radar
a blip on the screen
a little bit of static flipping through the channels
or maybe just me
could i have a place in line
a moment of your time
would it be different if i changed?
patient yet forlorn on saint valentine's day
The dizzy world of men,
Confident and forthright
And simply, oozing acumen.
So sensually brazen
In a silly sort of way
Yet intuitively capable
Of leading all of them astray.
Blondes are irresistible
When they catch the errant eyes,
When their pearly, sky blue peepers
Irradiate and mesmerize.
When they catch him glancing
At a nicely rounded bum,
When rosebud lip's apouting
Leave him breathless, limp and numb.
Blondes move in a manner
Which defies all things right,
It's a sweet undulation
Which turns day, straight into night.
It's suggestion incarnate
And quite breathlessly so.
Causing pulses to race
And his expectations to grow.
Blondes think in straight lines
Periferals are lost,
And woe betide myopics
Who underestimate at their cost.
Golden locks breed pushiness
The will to have her way,
And the man who calls a challenge
Won't survive another day.
Blondes are soft and fluffy
Dimpled cheeks and curve of thigh,
And are specialists in the art
Of come hither to the guy.
But just beneath the garnish
Is a mind that calculates
And a passion for success
And a taste for wealth that rates.
19 January 2010
having decided that your duty is to bring music
and a little bit of danger to the lifeless streets
of suburbia, you draw yourself up as a rebel with a cause,
hold your arms out like the spirals of the milky way,
sending the glowing children congregating around you
into a feverish whirl, because space is curved
and so are the suburbs you traversed across to bring them here,
winding through hills and streets to conduct
this sermon on a mount, so even the things that
appear to move straight are really spinning around.
you have stolen your father’s turntable,
and his old records, and his oversized coat,
and while the sunset begins to stain things
in a golden light, you put the needle
on the vinyl and open old wounds
while the only voice you have ever loved
claws its way out of the box and into
the grooves of the sky, making the stars
scratch and whir, and time instead
settles into the beats, breaks its lineage,
and begins to, like everything, spin.
There she is
the girl with the dirty blonde hair
Shes takes form of the sun
and brightens my day
I hang on every word from her
no matter what she has to say
When i see her
my heart begins to pop
She is my dirty blonde, acid drop
Why cant i have her
I dont know why
When it comes to the girl with the dirty blonde hair
she is my life's
I spent my life
staring down at his hair
blond and shimmering under the light of the screen.
never to see his face only the hair
his life so tough,
life on the streets,
became a whore ,
the shimmery waves
attract attention on the street
a charming photographer stops him,
you'll be big young sir
the child stares up his water blue eyes welling will impassioned tears.
flashed before him
nought but money and lust
A life on the surface
lies upon lies
he imagines a throne to the sky,
in the clouds, his hair is greasy now,
the shimmer comes from within as he wakes up
amongst friends and foes
the cost of fame
A beehive of sweaty
Nail a headache
Through my skull
I am awkward
Out of place
Pacing through the crowd
Or not drunk enough
Across the room
A pretty blonde
To salvage my night
And I’m off
Twenty minutes later:
In the back of a cop car.
I’m an artist
I've never had luck with blondes.
I've had lots of luck
falling ever so
in love with them.
With their eyes
of bright hues in
blue, green, and greys.
Going head over heels
for their charming smiles
that make your eyes linger a little longer
that what's permitted.
to feel their
That was easy.
But what surprised me,
kicked the backs of my knees
and made me crumble to the pavement
were that those handsome
heavenly faced blondes,
have no soul.
And I am sure of it,
they leave me...
Alone in the dark,
with not a single word.
Which leaves my thoughts
to echo in the emptiness,
rummage around inside my skull,
looking in the hollow cabinets
searching for clues
and slowly growing
But not at the blonde boys.
As of what I did wrong?
Why did they go?
How could I let this happen again?
And every time,
I can never find the reason.
Those blonde boys
just appear in the rays of the summertime
with their golden locks of hair
and leave with their icy dark souls
in the cold breeze of the fall.
And I know,
they will be back next year.
With the sun,
and my stupidity.
Until then though
I'm stuck with the abusive markings and stabbing aches.
I followed a man down a dark road
That twists into a mute galaxy.
And all that follows is Silence.
But the Silent inherit the stars
In a quiet struggle of wills
While the lines on the clouds
Fade into the withered sky.
And all that follows is
An anonymous cry.