Blond Poems - Poems about Blond

Remembering the frantic little boy with strawberry blond hair who didn't say boo

Remembering the frantic little boy with strawberry blond hair who didn't say boo

Nonverbal (though he could talk)
most of his responses
happened to be witnessed
as his characteristic
and courtesy enigmatic
trademark shoulder shrug.

If born free and clear today
skilled professional diagnosticians
employed within the mental health field,
would probably unanimously agree
he met criteria
as high functioning autistic spectrum
predicated upon withdrawn
and introverted behavior classic

Driving alone in the Monts de Blond

I drive alone down misty roads
where the morning’s frost still lingers
on the earth, grass, leaves unreached
by the feeble winter sun 
whose fingers slowly withdraw
into the white blankness
of unmoving air.

The road bends as it climbs between
the shadowed pines and 
leaping across the road
two roe deer, almost always two,  
run from the shrouded trees 
slowing my

Congressional Alliteration Of The Century

Many writers, poets and academics know how a beautiful
And striking alliteration is in a grammatical, congressional
Contextual and conventional debate or literary debacle
Like: blank blind badly bounced blue bowl
Oops! I meant to quote the beautiful Congresswoman
Jasmine Crockett, word for word, verbatim; man
I can never get it right. I fell short, because I’m not tall
Enough to reach

Saturday Nights At Barney's

Saturday nights at Barney’s
Rowdy Cowboy Honky-Tonk,
Our band sang soulful love songs
That cried while our guitars wailed.
We oozed moods for fresh lovers,
And throbbing hearts on the mend,
Through those timeless tuneful nights
While Gus wiped his rosewood bar.

After crowds slunk off with night
We sang our most heart-felt songs
To the posters on the walls.
We sang for the fallen stars
Who

American Beauty

Hair golden like the suns rays, 
Figure that was va-va-voom,
That wiggle when you walked,
Men stared women frowned,
That beauty spot was not needed, 
Acting like a dumb blond,
Not dumb, nor blond a redhead she was,
Actress and sex symbol,
Talented through and through,
She died to young,
Legend, icon remembered by everyone,
Murder, accident or suicide,
We will never know,
Norma jean remembered.

My Long Lost Blond

When I was young, my hair was blond
and my Mom even kept some locks
saved from a buzzcut when Dad came
home from overseas. They are long gone
now but I still have a pair of bronzed baby
shoes, which were  popular at the time, 
especially for firstborn males.

My hair stayed light, through childhood
and adolescence but darkened in

My Strawberry Blond

Early each morning 
When I was a wee lad 
I looked for the maiden 
Who danced by the swing. 
Her eyes were as green as 
The grass in the meadow 
And all of that summer 
My heart was in spring. 

She told me her dreams. 
Her lips were like flowers. 
Her arms were as dainty

Cross Between Purple and Blond

Cross Between Purple and Blond

Write poem about cross between  purple and blond;                                         In your

Little Blond Boy

Setting is Germany 1943
Seven-year old wide-eyed
Little blond boy four foot three
Loves the freedom of running outside
Life is grand he cries out with a smile
Naïve to the ways of the world
Blissfully happy and without guile
Oblivious to the fates suddenly unfurled
For little boys with dark colored hair
While he greets every sunrise with bliss
Innocently carries on debonair
Blind to

The Blond Assassin

“. . .The blond assassin passes on.
The sun proceeds unmoved . . .”
( from "Apparently With No Surprise" by Emily Dickinson)

A blond assassin was he, but not quite the same as the one
personified by the poet Dickinson; her assassin was the frost.
Mine had a similar cool veneer and a masquerade of beauty.
His heart, though, was

Fond of a Beautiful Blond

Fond Of A Blond

What I did was to have waved a wand;
Before me appeared a beautiful blond; 
Was fond of.
And did love; 
Now brunette when blond washed off in a pond.

Jim Horn

PS. Dedicated to Tuniabjc.

My Blond Dream 17

If she say,she is an angel she humbles
When her hair waves my heart tumbles
When she talks,the heaven rumbles
When she talks,the earth crumbles
When seeing her,mytongue fumbles

My Blond Dream 16

When will my dream become feasible. In this darkness,your eyes become visible.
The part way of sleep and reality is vague. Come to me and make it tangible.

Thoughts of a Blond Tyrant

coltscoach56
When summer rain, tackles the sun. Blinding the willing, and then again none. Directive span, stretching in the sand. From whom, will we demand, this lacking warmth. you may say, I have gone daft. that you may be right. Locked in this mental, waking frustration. what am I to do? sit and view the blond

My Blond Dream 15

You found a way to my heart,and came inside.You looted my heart like a pirate.It was written on my heart;No entries,You came in and said i am illiterate.

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