Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"blondes" poems
White folks: pack your bags and go. Our nut-brown world is quite offended. Make your shame-faced exit NOW, And leave your mansions unattended. Wait—before you pass the doors, It's time to settle ethnic scores. No more ragtime Minstrel Show. Our Moorish Science took it down. Black lives matter. White, less so— Now move your pale face out of town . . . But first, shell out for racial shame Caucasian losers of the game. Cultural pride is ours alone: Kings and Egyptian queens we were. The glories of our race, well-known Bedazzle in a darkened blur (Clear to Africa's descendants— Puzzling to you white dependents). Blackness lent your world its light, Taught the Dutch to tend those flowers. Scandinavia grew bright Under our beneficent powers. Negroes gave your blondes their beauty; Helped those Norsemen shake their ***** The Seven Wonders of the world: We built them all. No vain conjecture Dims our banner, black, unfurled, Above eternal architecture. Arts and knowledge gained from us Are what we threaten to discuss. We invented math and science Which you robbed from Timbuktu. Swarthy wisdom's brave defiance Caused Old Europe to renew. All our treasure that you plundered Testifies: your days are numbered. Classics of our Greeks you stole: Philosophy was never yours. Shame upon your racist soul; For Bach and Mozart both were Moors. Misappropriated treasures call for ruthless hard-line measures. Latino fate falls next—but, where ? Jews, Turks, and Arabs: are you. . . white ? Orientals everywhere: Choose your side and join the fight. Blackness rising! Late the hour; Heed your call to fight the power. Crackers need to check your race— Stop rooting for that ****** clown. Rednecks all up in our face; Racist throwbacks got us down. But as your statues bite the dust Your light goes dark (you know it must). So move on out, oppressor, thief. Long have you held our nation back. In some white galaxy seek relief— But here the light itself is black. Stars are racist. So is the sun. Now let God's great black will be done.
0
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
Betting on the Races
White folks: pack your bags and go. Our nut-brown world is quite offended. Make your shame-faced exit NOW, And leave your mansions unattended. Wait—before you pass the doors, It's time to settle ethnic scores. No more ragtime Minstrel Show. Our Moorish Science took it down. Black lives matter. White, less so— Now move your pale face out of town . . . But first, shell out for racial shame Caucasian losers of the game. Cultural pride is ours alone: Kings and Egyptian queens we were. The glories of our race, well-known Bedazzle in a darkened blur (Clear to Africa's descendants— Puzzling to you white dependents). Blackness lent your world its light, Taught the Dutch to tend those flowers. Scandinavia grew bright Under our beneficent powers. Negroes gave your blondes their beauty; Helped those Norsemen shake their ***** The Seven Wonders of the world: We built them all. No vain conjecture Dims our banner, black, unfurled, Above eternal architecture. Arts and knowledge gained from us Are what we threaten to discuss. We invented math and science Which you robbed from Timbuktu. Swarthy wisdom's brave defiance Caused Old Europe to renew. All our treasure that you plundered Testifies: your days are numbered. Classics of our Greeks you stole: Philosophy was never yours. Shame upon your racist soul; For Bach and Mozart both were Moors. Misappropriated treasures call for ruthless hard-line measures. Latino fate falls next—but, where ? Jews, Turks, and Arabs: are you. . . white ? Orientals everywhere: Choose your side and join the fight. Blackness rising! Late the hour; Heed your call to fight the power. Crackers need to check your race— Stop rooting for that ****** clown. Rednecks all up in our face; Racist throwbacks got us down. But as your statues bite the dust Your light goes dark (you know it must). So move on out, oppressor, thief. Long have you held our nation back. In some white galaxy seek relief— But here the light itself is black. Stars are racist. So is the sun. Now let God's great black will be done.
Continue reading...
60
Blondes illuminate 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 *** 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. Marshalg @theBach Mangere Bridge 19 January 2010
0
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 10:30 PM UTC
Blondes
Have you ever Questioned beauty What is beauty Is it short skirts Low tank tops Long blonde hair Tons of makeup Lace Beauty comes differently Everyone thinks beauty Differently Some do think blondes Define beauty Some think the nerd Defines beauty Some think the loner Defines beauty You don’t have to be skinny To be considered beautiful How do you Define beauty
0
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
Define Beauty
You say I'm controlling and a sneaky ***** but you don't really know me, you only wish. You want your freedom, your brunettes, red heads and blondes. All your beauties keep you love drunk and high strung. Go ahead and write them your lyrics & sing them your songs. When you realize you miss me I will be long gone. You think one of them will bring you happiness but guess what? Your wrong. One day you'll wake up reeking of ***** smoke and *** and you'll realize that the hole you're trying to fill is not full yet. You'll think of my love then, this I bet. How I gave you my heart, all the memories of me you've tried so hard to forget. Eventually all your beauties will tire of your ******** and mind games and you will be left alone with nothing but your aging face, regret and shame.
0
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
Your Freedom
Some are Platinum, Some pale yellow, Some are Gold and fair of face. Sometimes their choice is questionable and the tint seems out of place. Some are babes and some are ****** It must be in the DNA. Some use preference by L’Oreal. Some are straight, others are gay. Some are called Strawberry Blondes Some have hair like golden sands. What each one has in common Is they dyed at their own hands.
0
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
Suicide Blondes
Five minute street artists and insomnia mongers. ****** drunk blondes and finger snapping phat booties. Street geniuses bred by Machiavellian philosophies cypher dreams over tokes of marijuana smoke. Color worshipping narcotic traffickers,   and bread winners parole corners sporting fitted caps and twisting fingers. Senile war veterans beg for change in cardboard boxes from the American dreams they afforded. Hard workers with every ethnicity molded into each pore of their face, rub shoulders with tourists at traffic stops barely escaping tires crushing their feet. Sartorial geniuses with no pants switch hips in knock-off stellos heels, selling the origin of the world on avenues next to Arab Halal food. Cooperate ties and blue collars chafe ***** on subways. nodding in and out of Daily News articles   while oxygen blessed by asparagus **** pump through their noses. Summa *** laude number runners dictate economies From sky-crapper offices, And powered rain swallows their concrete each winter, With no apologies.
0
Jun 2, 2011
Jun 2, 2011 at 11:01 PM UTC
New York.
or Redheads. Crimson Irish curls that cling to curves like my lips cling to your name. Natural.
0
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 9:10 PM UTC
Gentlemen prefer Blondes
All the Latinas are sitting together. All of the Asians are sitting together. All of the Middle Easterns are sitting together. The whites are everywhere in the room. I am sitting next to the Latinas, Behind the Middle Easterns and in front of a black dude. A Puerto Rican is wearing a hat saying "Reckless". I am wearing a hat saying, "Cape Cod". I am in the middle of the room. 5 blondes are clumped together... ...no hats We are all learning about ****** inheritance of different physical traits. *** caused all of this.
0
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
Genetics Class
*blondes, brunettes and redheads, the goodbye colors of the street's tree choir members and their leafy gowned denizens, the good stiff chill upon them, the selfsame chill in my anguished mind now hiding, sing a comfort food song heard above the quiet terror of the noises of a fall winters-wind precursor "once we green, once we were renewal, life everlasting emblems once, you were wee, green uncaring and free, presuming that you too, were in possession of life everlasting your colors have changed as well, endless is the process, only slower than a tree's scheduled maintenance, moreover, returning you to your first crayon drawing youth unlike us, an impossibility we will turn young again for many seasons more, you never will new eyes will feast upon our glories refreshed and love our cast shade cast yet special are you the man, poet who was chosen to see and tell, witness to our resurrection, during our overlapping, parallel continuum in time when to the shade of hades you physic sent, our limbs, our leaves, our perennial lives, for-as-long-as-they-shall-last, will cover thy remains and give your poems back to the sultry summer breeze from whence they came and the colors of your words will be the colors of a free life everlasting"*
0
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
blondes, brunettes, and redheads,
I miss you like sadness. I used to wrap around myself like some lovelorn python with a desire for suicide blondes. Called yourself a wrecking ball, but you had no choice. Maybe you wanted to caress my house softly without destruction. Maybe you cried afterwards like a lost child on a mountain of doubt. Full of maybes! You make me full of maybes! I was taught as a child that maybe was just a watered down no. Stop watering the truth down, I'm not your flower. I'm a **** And I'll just continue to grow until I can't fit in anything except for my own grave. You make me want to go to church. I was baptised once, I forget as what. I honestly don't even know what religion is, but I can religiously blacken my lungs with nicotine and lies. Lie with me. Caress my sins. My body is world war three, I have nuclear bombs in the dips of my collarbones and every single freckle you used to compare to the galaxies are bullet holes. Save your prose for someone who gives a **** Pull the blinds baby, we don't need light in here. Did you know that with three minutes of asphyxiation you become brain dead? Let's try it baby, suicide pact? Let's dance with the dead darling. You always said the devil was our best friend. My tarot cards turned black when you turned them over. You said that I was hard to read. I had trouble reading anything except the bell jar. And now it's my turn to ring it. You're prettier with a necklace made of fingers. I want to collect your energy in a mason jar and sell it at a garage sale. I want to smash it in the middle of a highway and lay in a ditch until the wolves eat my body. I want to be lost. Lose me baby. I'll lose myself in your lies. Lie with me. I just want to be held.
0
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
darkness has a hold on me
I miss you like sadness. I used to wrap around myself like some lovelorn python with a desire for suicide blondes. Called yourself a wrecking ball, but you had no choice. Maybe you wanted to caress my house softly without destruction. Maybe you cried afterwards like a lost child on a mountain of doubt. Full of maybes! You make me full of maybes! I was taught as a child that maybe was just a watered down no. Stop watering the truth down, I'm not your flower. I'm a **** And I'll just continue to grow until I can't fit in anything except for my own grave. You make me want to go to church. I was baptised once, I forget as what. I honestly don't even know what religion is, but I can religiously blacken my lungs with nicotine and lies. Lie with me. Caress my sins. My body is world war three, I have nuclear bombs in the dips of my collarbones and every single freckle you used to compare to the galaxies are bullet holes. Save your prose for someone who gives a **** Pull the blinds baby, we don't need light in here. Did you know that with three minutes of asphyxiation you become brain dead? Let's try it baby, suicide pact? Let's dance with the dead darling. You always said the devil was our best friend. My tarot cards turned black when you turned them over. You said that I was hard to read. I had trouble reading anything except the bell jar. And now it's my turn to ring it. You're prettier with a necklace made of fingers. I want to collect your energy in a mason jar and sell it at a garage sale. I want to smash it in the middle of a highway and lay in a ditch until the wolves eat my body. I want to be lost. Lose me baby. I'll lose myself in your lies. Lie with me. I just want to be held.
Continue reading...
39
I've never had luck with blondes. Well, I've had lots of luck falling ever so deeply 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. Dying to feel their godlike comforting powerful touch. That was easy. Horribly 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, because every single ******* time, they leave me... Alone in the dark, confused, disoriented, 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 frustrated and angry, angrier, angriest. But not at the blonde boys. At myself. 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 happiness and my stupidity. Until then though I'm stuck with the abusive markings and stabbing aches.
0
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 9:41 PM UTC
Blonde Boys
@X5 BMW vehicles are truculent Where have the real blondes gone to? Bring back Orion Pictures to remake Doom Watch, resurrect Analogue tv, ban militant cyclists from the roads and yes the Chartists were right annual suffrage too.
0
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
Christmas wish list
.*oh forget Disney H'america... technicolor H'america was the bomb... gentlemen prefer blondes... oh **** no... the seven year itch... the Rachmaninoff scene... bell, book & candle scene... whoever the genius was behind the technicolor project, outmatched the Disney in 1950s H'america... little town America... big little ******** worth of Europe... eddi reader...more like: keep the cats, a woman may desire luxury, but a man a freedom... keep the town, the summit, the fireplace... keep your luxury... just give me the shadow, the sun, the moon, and the road: perpetually greeting me.* oh forget looking for scapegoats these days... full blown schizophrenia, happening, all over the anglophone world... me? i'm just looking at the lampoons... sorry... lemmings... and the English? top the table in western world... they thought they'd be bailed out by the H'americans... good luck rolling that pin-ball... not gonna happen... they have their own **** to deal with...    it could have... but now it will never work out, no anglophone alliance bail-out plan... it's a ******* farce... it's a bogus in the bogie in the ******* coalmine... forget the canary...    **** i'm seriously flipping the coin on phrases... FDR contra DJT?   magic! no... the politicians were always going to place the card... the joker... free-fall dance-loose feet...          my bet is... it'll fall flat on its face... the eastern European Achilles heel of the europhiles... that's a supposition, not a proposition...                      or thereby, pre-.... but i do love being a spectator of rare sport... en masse schizophrenia... a nation, divided...              what a load of ******** the English thought that their anglophone alliances would last, would encrust them in a new globalization mechanism... even the ******* Icelandic people think they're European... what did the English think? just east of Las Vegas?!            an island surrounded by a massive prehistorical lake "facility"?! no one is looking for scapegoats these days, there's no one to blame... mea culpa, mea culpa...     these days?! everyone is looking for the lampoon brigade! - and let me tell you... mea culpa mea culpa... no one is looking for a scapegoat worth kristallnacht; people are looking for a lampoon...      or...         karmesinrotherznacht, the night of... broken hearts; broken, crimson hearts.
0
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
FDR contra DJT times
.*oh forget Disney H'america... technicolor H'america was the bomb... gentlemen prefer blondes... oh **** no... the seven year itch... the Rachmaninoff scene... bell, book & candle scene... whoever the genius was behind the technicolor project, outmatched the Disney in 1950s H'america... little town America... big little ******** worth of Europe... eddi reader...more like: keep the cats, a woman may desire luxury, but a man a freedom... keep the town, the summit, the fireplace... keep your luxury... just give me the shadow, the sun, the moon, and the road: perpetually greeting me.* oh forget looking for scapegoats these days... full blown schizophrenia, happening, all over the anglophone world... me? i'm just looking at the lampoons... sorry... lemmings... and the English? top the table in western world... they thought they'd be bailed out by the H'americans... good luck rolling that pin-ball... not gonna happen... they have their own **** to deal with...    it could have... but now it will never work out, no anglophone alliance bail-out plan... it's a ******* farce... it's a bogus in the bogie in the ******* coalmine... forget the canary...    **** i'm seriously flipping the coin on phrases... FDR contra DJT?   magic! no... the politicians were always going to place the card... the joker... free-fall dance-loose feet...          my bet is... it'll fall flat on its face... the eastern European Achilles heel of the europhiles... that's a supposition, not a proposition...                      or thereby, pre-.... but i do love being a spectator of rare sport... en masse schizophrenia... a nation, divided...              what a load of ******** the English thought that their anglophone alliances would last, would encrust them in a new globalization mechanism... even the ******* Icelandic people think they're European... what did the English think? just east of Las Vegas?!            an island surrounded by a massive prehistorical lake "facility"?! no one is looking for scapegoats these days, there's no one to blame... mea culpa, mea culpa...     these days?! everyone is looking for the lampoon brigade! - and let me tell you... mea culpa mea culpa... no one is looking for a scapegoat worth kristallnacht; people are looking for a lampoon...      or...         karmesinrotherznacht, the night of... broken hearts; broken, crimson hearts.
Continue reading...
80
There is a deep pleasure vibrating inside of me and it's reflected in your juices washing away the shaving cream. It’s your total surrender The pulsating of your veins. Pushing against a mixture of rough and breathtakingly soft skin… I often mistake your shyness as a rejection because I could die buried in your black hair.
0
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
Gold nails & blondes
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, hanging on these little things life grants us is the reason of our survival;] in his feels I know I see the drowned drips of the feet smiles of the fakes he sweeps lick the lips and motion the blondes to touch hearts to brush always as also so little as much thinking when he means of the ones and the twos the whispers and the apples to smell to near hairs so dark for the safe to fear maybe then the want would not haste or not for the come to paste invisible to the seen to the face on the yellows they still remain or blue flowers on the neck I wish the belongs come to make -------ravenfeels
0
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 4:56 PM UTC
Sweet Sours
i am abrasive personality functionality deficit yet i attract beautiful women to befriend the hermit of solidarity will you go out with me brought answers on no my friend i could not lose yet for the end of altruistic bargaining i end up ahead with false promises of a beginning to an end my own personal apocalypse david lee roth would understand that as i write in this mindset brought on by reading 778 comics in 12 hours and a 4 day binge of job for a cowboy my mind wanders as insomnia sets in would i be one of the great dissociative poets? a dose of the unrequited free associative minds free thinking form of diet coke with a side of purple strawberries no i meant blueberries my mind wanders and yet i look forward to pad thai on wednesdays with cute blondes whom with i stand the chance of a bat in the mosh pits of a metal band suckers i win for you all know the taste of yellow mustard ramble ramble ramble this indie pop poem would it be ironic to like it if one truly hates the wording and yet loves the idea one of lives greatest life mysteries alcohol i bid thee a fair welcome nimble bubblegum monkey wrench how long will you read? enough to to see my lack of coherent sentence structure or that i am a flawed creation going on and on about existential non existent problems for i shall exist regardless of my best intentions as the wheel continues to roll on despite the moss covering this ice slicked track metal boar slayer of a thousand suns would be a good metal name from sweden the mooring dove coos to the beat of an undead drum boo hoo boo hoo cries the witch at the stake i am done
0
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
***
i am abrasive personality functionality deficit yet i attract beautiful women to befriend the hermit of solidarity will you go out with me brought answers on no my friend i could not lose yet for the end of altruistic bargaining i end up ahead with false promises of a beginning to an end my own personal apocalypse david lee roth would understand that as i write in this mindset brought on by reading 778 comics in 12 hours and a 4 day binge of job for a cowboy my mind wanders as insomnia sets in would i be one of the great dissociative poets? a dose of the unrequited free associative minds free thinking form of diet coke with a side of purple strawberries no i meant blueberries my mind wanders and yet i look forward to pad thai on wednesdays with cute blondes whom with i stand the chance of a bat in the mosh pits of a metal band suckers i win for you all know the taste of yellow mustard ramble ramble ramble this indie pop poem would it be ironic to like it if one truly hates the wording and yet loves the idea one of lives greatest life mysteries alcohol i bid thee a fair welcome nimble bubblegum monkey wrench how long will you read? enough to to see my lack of coherent sentence structure or that i am a flawed creation going on and on about existential non existent problems for i shall exist regardless of my best intentions as the wheel continues to roll on despite the moss covering this ice slicked track metal boar slayer of a thousand suns would be a good metal name from sweden the mooring dove coos to the beat of an undead drum boo hoo boo hoo cries the witch at the stake i am done
Continue reading...
49
The Doll House I stumble, I tumble into a house of prostitution, well it is the oldest professional institution. I stare, I sit and I look around, suddenly my tongue dropped to the ground. Had my choice of fifty ****** each room had curtains for doors. Plenty of blondes, brunettes and red heads, laced satin sheets on all the beds. Fat girls, skinny girls and ugly ones too, with only twenty dollars my choices were few. They sent me back into a room, a blow up doll and a plastic broom. After an hour, I was very confused, doll had a smile, but my ******* was bruised. Walked out of the place with a limp, dressed up my broom, just like a **** I kept the doll free of charge, ugly desperate men kept me living large. I charged sixty dollars an hour with the doll, hundreds of men were giving me a call. Making thousands of dollars every week, pretty good for a doll that doesn't speak. Now I've cornered market on dolls that are inflatable, one for any occasion, I have available. Birthday parties for the geeks and nerds, nothing like ******* who say no words. Handicapped and retards love my prices, I even supply them with special devices. I even get women with their strap on dildo's, some girls even like to pick my nose. This went on for many years, when I retired, millions were in tears. My doll house is now a famous museum, I call it the Blow Up Coliseum.
0
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
The Doll House
She reads Neil Gaimen by the light through the window, a facing forward seat on the only train in Greater Anglia without any heat, yet still she peruses the pages with a flick and a ****** and her eyes begin to wander in marvellous repeating horizontal lines. She is blonde and reading Neil Gaimen. Another blonde another book, this time Mr King under her palm, spread like her great legs, wide and easy to read, yet not easily led; telephone-line straight eyes on a north country face, buttoned up below her is a white blouse, lace-trimming hiding last night’s pudding- cake baked by a daughter, I heard her conversation earlier: there was laughter. She is blonde and reading Stephen King.
0
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
TWO BLONDES, TWO BOOKS
Pretty ugly They claim she’s beautiful; I wanna watch her fall, Because she sold her soul and now I just want her type to go! Plastic surgery; left her with a ruined nose, Her heart has decomposed and a---ll I can scream is n---o!!! She has a striking face; Shallow beauty is a disgrace. They say she must be idolized; No!  She must be improved upon And replaced! She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly to a loser who looks like me. She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly to a loser who looks like me. Where are the nice ones? I hate the rich ones! The golden age of beauty has come and gone And all that is left, to use, are the blondes! I hate vanity!  I have vanity; I hate everything that you have done, To challenge me with your beauty. She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly to a loser who looks like me. She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly to a loser who looks like me. She lacks sympathy; I lack mercy! There is no dignity in selling your body to a magazine page. These are just my conscious thoughts; Where are the pretty souls? There is nothing left inside to hide And all we have to use are these knowledge bombs of rage. *(Repeat these lines as the song becomes quieter and fades out.) *She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly, Yeah she’s s---o, Very, pretty, ugly. She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly, Yeah she’s s---o, Very, pretty, ugly. She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly, Yeah she’s s---o, Very, pretty, ugly. (C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
0
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
Pretty ugly
Pretty ugly They claim she’s beautiful; I wanna watch her fall, Because she sold her soul and now I just want her type to go! Plastic surgery; left her with a ruined nose, Her heart has decomposed and a---ll I can scream is n---o!!! She has a striking face; Shallow beauty is a disgrace. They say she must be idolized; No!  She must be improved upon And replaced! She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly to a loser who looks like me. She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly to a loser who looks like me. Where are the nice ones? I hate the rich ones! The golden age of beauty has come and gone And all that is left, to use, are the blondes! I hate vanity!  I have vanity; I hate everything that you have done, To challenge me with your beauty. She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly to a loser who looks like me. She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly to a loser who looks like me. She lacks sympathy; I lack mercy! There is no dignity in selling your body to a magazine page. These are just my conscious thoughts; Where are the pretty souls? There is nothing left inside to hide And all we have to use are these knowledge bombs of rage. *(Repeat these lines as the song becomes quieter and fades out.) *She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly, Yeah she’s s---o, Very, pretty, ugly. She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly, Yeah she’s s---o, Very, pretty, ugly. She’s pretty ugly, she’s pretty ugly; She’s pretty ugly, Yeah she’s s---o, Very, pretty, ugly. (C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Continue reading...
45
Marilyn Monroe (who lived next door, and swore more than anyone I know) reckoned blondes had all the fun. It didn’t seem so to me, when her old man was home. She was as glamorous as our Mum was dowdy. Her lot lived on freezer-food and fizzy, while our Mum slogged over a ****** gas-stove, and washed-up without gloves on. Marilyn Monroe told our Mum that she should fight. Our Mum gave, to Marilyn Monroe, secret recipes for dog-food stew and koi carp pie.
0
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
Our Mum taught Marilyn Monroe to cook.
Some people think I make rash decisions Like I'm not aware They tell me I should be more careful I shouldn't assume such positions That I should use more precision But am I the only one aware of the time we have here And how important it is to live without limitations I don't want to be old and look back in regret and fear I don't know the repercussions of what I may do And who I may hurt, may end up hating me too But sometimes I'd rather have that than never knew And it's sad, really sad to look back And see all of your mistakes piling up in stack And saying hey, things would be different if I hadn't have ****** up so bad But sometimes funny things happen in life, and can lead you to the right people And if that's the case than maybe the others were wrong Maybe life is more than just a sad song When everybody's all bent from the throng The song can take a variety of pitches and tones It's the sound of opportunity that I'm trying to hone It's hard to keep a clean slate when you're all caught up brunettes and blondes And alcohol in the name of the yesteryear All caught up in love and song and you can't seem to grasp the time like it's sifting through an hourglass Just trying to enjoy my time here, so please don't hold my decisions too seriously
0
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
Getting serious about not taking things too seriously
anxiety creeping on anxiety taking over i'm the youngest in a room filled with folks i don't know three old blondes one middle aged man i don't belong just like out there so how am i supposed to learn when my stomach is in this churn like butter i want to be spreadable anywhere, and in everything butter is so much smoother than me for once i'd like to be credible maybe, one day, incredible.
0
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
anxiously incredible
Look men made a habit out of wanting her see men like blondes men like curves men like *** some men want it all because I guess all men want to date actresses Norma Jean little girl never had a home passed around like nothing never had a home and was passed door to door abandoned because her mother lost her marbles a girl who was only wanted by men since childhood Norma Jean she heard a chorus of lies every time someone called her name and she was not good enough so she dyed her hair not good enough so she changed her name not good enough so she became an object and when she could act no more when she looked into the mirror and couldn't see herself looking back it was not good enough Marilyn a star with the most useful tool looks but couldn't focus the little things so three men left instead she focused on the audiences clapping focused on the people loving her focused on the men in the front row whispering Marilyn as they let her beauty invade their souls like a main street ballyhoo playing praise to her not knowing each note was bittersweet making her feel elated and crushed crushed beneath the chains holding her too strongly to her past behind every compliment she felt his wandering hands the hands of a man an orphan was supposed to call father or the hands of a boy the boy she was supposed to call brother because her whole life she was only wanted for one thing and the men in the crowds only echoed what she had known all along that she was not good enough so she dyed her hair not good enough so she changed her name not good enough so she became their object not good enough so they mocked the woman who only aimed to please calling out to her holding her up not knowing she would fall see the depressed have an intimacy with death it’s there in their dreams but sticks around for their nightmares and the fans turned to one another trying to determine the distance between joy and sorrow not realizing that depression can push the distance making the tallest mountains look like ant hills creating decrescendos so soft they fade out of existence and for a moment it felt like the entire universe had begun to cry distance must be an illusion the woman can’t be dead Marilyn her life taken transforming the way people think about emotions and for an instant it was like sadness was a tangible thing like you could reach out and feel it like for the first time you could see happiness and sadness tango in a dance so slow and delicate that we finally understood the history was so important to know the woman all we ever had to do was look.
0
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
Monroe (After Koyczan's Beethoven)
Look men made a habit out of wanting her see men like blondes men like curves men like *** some men want it all because I guess all men want to date actresses Norma Jean little girl never had a home passed around like nothing never had a home and was passed door to door abandoned because her mother lost her marbles a girl who was only wanted by men since childhood Norma Jean she heard a chorus of lies every time someone called her name and she was not good enough so she dyed her hair not good enough so she changed her name not good enough so she became an object and when she could act no more when she looked into the mirror and couldn't see herself looking back it was not good enough Marilyn a star with the most useful tool looks but couldn't focus the little things so three men left instead she focused on the audiences clapping focused on the people loving her focused on the men in the front row whispering Marilyn as they let her beauty invade their souls like a main street ballyhoo playing praise to her not knowing each note was bittersweet making her feel elated and crushed crushed beneath the chains holding her too strongly to her past behind every compliment she felt his wandering hands the hands of a man an orphan was supposed to call father or the hands of a boy the boy she was supposed to call brother because her whole life she was only wanted for one thing and the men in the crowds only echoed what she had known all along that she was not good enough so she dyed her hair not good enough so she changed her name not good enough so she became their object not good enough so they mocked the woman who only aimed to please calling out to her holding her up not knowing she would fall see the depressed have an intimacy with death it’s there in their dreams but sticks around for their nightmares and the fans turned to one another trying to determine the distance between joy and sorrow not realizing that depression can push the distance making the tallest mountains look like ant hills creating decrescendos so soft they fade out of existence and for a moment it felt like the entire universe had begun to cry distance must be an illusion the woman can’t be dead Marilyn her life taken transforming the way people think about emotions and for an instant it was like sadness was a tangible thing like you could reach out and feel it like for the first time you could see happiness and sadness tango in a dance so slow and delicate that we finally understood the history was so important to know the woman all we ever had to do was look.
Continue reading...
120
That was then, this is now Who was where when what was how? Hear them take their last breath as they're shot down I scream Floating in the gene pool, expecting the man who can walk on water to arrive Sell outs and everyone who has had a bad week even though it's only Monday Whippersnappers hang their heads in shame I am one of twelve So expendable We live in gluttony Lineleaders, math teachers, bottom-feeders have no idea Watch them fall and be forced to crawl on their bellies We laugh Lewandowsky-Lutz dysplasia, getting back to your roots Progeric clock-makers, lying dead on The Yellow Brick Road Thin-skinned Transsexuals putting bricks in their purses We live by eight We die from our weight And go unbloomed        -Tommy Johnson Standing in a nuclear reactor somewhere in Chernobyl looking for the truth It might be in my contaminated endoplasmic reticulum I am a radiant Doppler radar Monopoly dollar Singing in the shower, amateur hour Projecting sour notes Pouring out their hearts and souls, hear them Trying Moo-juice nectar, spilling off The Round Table Blondes in red bracelets, Kabbalah saves them Henry pays no tax, John Berryman's bats tell us You are the lunatic We are the two quarters of a half-wit This whole thing is insane -Tommy Johnson
0
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
A Horse Of A Different Color