"blondy" poems
My mom sleeps early.
She isn't a night owl.
She lives in the day.
And everything around when
the sky is bright.
the streets are loud.
She leaves the house at 9pm. sharp
And went off in her snores.
My dad stays up late.
Until twelve.
And when the last 60 seconds
ended the day.
He'd turn off the TV
"Has been a long day"
he'd say.
Yawn.
And he'd go to bed.
And me.
I'm no bubbly girl.
or pretty.
cheesy blondy.
Maybe just a good nerd.
But I know the night.
And I love it.
1a.m. is free.
My private afternoon.
with cookies and tea.
And I'd turn on the lights.
Walk with my ankles light
off the ground.
Turtle hasn't sleep.
no he's like me!
He'd wiggle his tail and
swim
towards my face.
As if to say,
"heya buddie"
he should have eaten but
he knows.
he knows.
I feed my Turtle at
one
in the morning.
And he never says no.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC
she was young
and had struggled all her life
like a cursed devil doll
with the darkest impulses
pain was ***
*** was pleasure
and death she thought
oh wow thats an ******
while her little girl friends
all
may berry kittens and sunshine
screamed in terror
at the horror films
like minced mice in cleavers
she thrilled to the part
where little innocent
katty bratty blondy
got it hard and ******
with an ice pick in the belly
and then stumbled
around
waring her surprise face
blink-less
trailing blood
finally getting to the ice box
pulling out her last
ice cream on a stick
and while eating it
fell head first into the cooler
dead
she thrilled witnessing
the girl poked through
like butter
by a guy with eyes
like spider bites
in a jet black
motor cycle jacket
and electric bolt tattoos on his face
all blond
duck assed
jelled like filigree in
wild root cream hair tonic
she imagined his ****
pink longish arterial
a real throat gager
she, helpless, sacrificial
and oh so willing
being murdered by a boy
who loved her that way
his **** a
a piercing blade
the very death of her
her little hot pink ***** *******
a gooey cauldron
of drooling tears splatter
she thought
how can any body want this
Oh but i do
*** yes please
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
Go find for me in all of botany;
The rarest green amidst the sweetest mire.
That blooms of petals white like cottony,
Of growth 'twas serenaded by a lyre.
Replant with gentle skill by window's sill
Repose the eye that sunlight does not steal.
The blondy gaze, so fixed herein and still,
Unless the breezes kiss corona's seal.
Then flowered dance shall sway to hymns of bay
And whom shall follow trance'd with steady eyes;
Be titled botanist, of beauty's play.
Degree that yields each morn' when sun does rise.
Find that and glimpsed what fair does lay this bed,
But 'pare her side the flower, flower's dead!
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 8:34 AM UTC
when i started to smoke marijuana aged 20
with this russian cupcake of falling asleep in a seashell entwined
i took to listening to: ***** & the maytals, culture,
israel vibration, damian marley, stephen marley, ziggy,
basil daley, brenton dowe, bunny wailer,
burning spear, cornel & the brentford rockers,
earl zero, freddie mckay, jackie mittoo,
keith hudson, king tubby, lloyd robinson & brentford disco,
lone ranger, peter tosh, soul vendors, sound dimension,
the heptones, the new establishment, wailing souls,
willie & the brentford rockers,
winston & the new establishment...
i sometimes wish i went into the stoner rock direction
to experience that side of the ethnic cultural exploitation
of a certain intoxication... anyway, whatever...
i forget to mention barrington levy, gregory isaac,
alpha blondy and sort of classify collie buddz as reggae’s eminem.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
Your love seems to every morning
Clouding by darkest wind
I'm driest as slime
Oh you , Oh soul
Take my tear
And pick up my candle
Poor in my happiness
Days and me !
Without you in lethargy
Plonk there , and here !
Will you come?
Take him from here
A Heart didn't roaring
No longer revenging
Take him ,oh Ishtar
If he belong to antar
Afflicted to your love
You ,Oh blondy
I'll sailing without get boring
Poseidon wishing me leaving
I'll foraying hearts doesn't get bored
& Villages and grain
Singing a love without illness
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
i can still look into the velvet depths of the night,
whether in forest or perched on a windowsill grazing
my eyes into the night, and still see nothing except myself;
or you should see me walking down for a refill
of ice-cubes listening to ***** & the maytals'* 54-46
that's my number - i know whitey boy albino given
an injection of rhythm, well at least you were given
a creative outlet under the stiff-upper lips of the redcoats,
the jews weren't even told to build the pyramids under ******
you gave us the blues, jazz, and pirate reggae,
what could the ******* jews offer us to compensate the atrocities?
**** all apart from memorable guilt and autobiographies!
oh yeah, and german industrial music, what fun!
ha ha... robo- -boy with alias Kraftwerk.
in my long gone list of artists i forgot to mention
Alpha Blondy & Barrington Levy - high fidelity poetry
by someone not called nick hornby.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 7:21 PM UTC