Poems about blondes

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 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.

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
19 January 2010

Fuck me
Or
Forget me
I really don't care
Please
Just make up your mind
Because the guy
Staring across the room
At me
In math class
Has done this
A million times
And he
Has made up his mind
So have I

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 fondle 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.

I can't forget my roots.

When,
They grow back every six weeks.

But
No matter how hard
I
ВЂњmay try “
To
ВЂњcon”
The people
Into
THINKing
That I am
The
Head librarian
At a library
Full of knowledge.

Nature will always
Prove me wrong.
&
The
Sunlight-honey gold,
Sun-shine
Always
Shines through all
The dyed on, dried up,
Darkness.

To reveal the
Glory
Of
My
Natural-blonde-stupidity.

& It's okay.

Blondes are better in bed
Anyways.

; )

It's up to you if you place rinse in your hair,
Phony blondes think they're debonair,
They're buying chemicals, who cares?
Blonde ambition, bit passo, my dears?

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 bimbos.
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.

Everyday I wake in Black and White,
Only to hear the world's in colour,
I stare into those hollow eyes,
ВЂњCan my life be any duller? ”
I thought the stage would save me,
And the lights would make me smile,
But instead, they only made me worse,
They turned my thoughts more vile.
ВЂњUh, do I feel happy in life? ”
They'll remember that quote forever,
ВЂњI hope I'm finding happiness... ”
What I meant to say was “Never. ”

Or Redheads.
Crimson Irish curls
That cling to curves
Like my lips cling to
Your name.
Natural.