Abra cadaver
What’s all this palaver
You’ll saw her in half
Can I have her?
Her sexuality constantly vaunted
Nakedness continually flaunted
With long shapely legs
Lets do it she begs
Then away she casually sauntered
The neighborly thing to do would be
to ask them over for a drink, those
four lovely blondes living next door.
But I know they would refuse - it
may not be Christian of them to
drink alcohol. Perhaps I should offer
them lemonade. No Kool Ade, thank you;
ever since Jim Jones I never mix it
with religion.
Anyway, they look
more like the Perrier types. I'll
put out my Bible and tune the radio
to the inoffensive Muzak station.
As long as the conversation on
religion stays generic, it might actually
go ok. I may get on quite well with
the flour blonde-haired Jesus girls.
I doubt there will be any real close
encounters between the sinner
and the saints, but you never know.
I'm gold God works in mysterious ways.
They say her hair remembers sunlight,
even when the rooms are windowless,
even when the questions stack like files
no one wants to open.
From Tampa’s salt-stung air she rose,
a practiced smile, a courtroom voice,
a lacquered certainty that learned
how to live inside microphones.
Power is a mirror with bad lighting—
it shows you only what it needs.
Behind her, paper storms keep forming,
names half-redacted, dates that bleed.
She walks through corridors of flags,
through praise that claps like shuttered doors,
while somewhere, whispers learn to swim
in darker, colder drawers.
Is it guilt? Or just the gravity
of standing near the grinding wheel?
Even clean hands smell like iron
when history decides to feel.
The cameras love her confidence,
the way it doesn’t flinch or break—
but truth is a slow, patient thing
that never hurries for our sake.
So she stands—bleached, branded, framed—
between the oath and what it hides,
a silhouette of certainty
with doubt stitched softly in the sides.
And Tampa’s sun keeps shining anyway,
as suns have always done before:
indifferent to who holds the keys,
or what is buried in the floor.
THE BLONDE
To the most beautiful blonde women I know
She isn't a person with a lot of dough
She has beautiful long blonde hair
And I will tell you this person always will care
This women has beautiful blue eyes
That is bright as the beautiful blue sky
Just by me knowing her you know she has a big heart
With some days your blood pressure will be off the chart
She is one person that will always listen
And all men around would be wishing
This is a women that loves people
And she knows in life everyone is equal
This is one women I'm glad I know
And in my life I will enjoy watching her grow
Strawberry blond curls bouncing as she dances
Quickly stealing hearts country music romances
Universal love for music maroon mood enhances
A little tip of his hat he winks a tall strapping lad
Red flannel shirt blue jeans work charming fad
Emerald eyes full of delight the barn is a glow
Denim jackets boots matching as we Do-Si-do
Amber moon hangs this June like pearl earring
New music swells cowboy yells playing tambourine
Come one come all let’s dance till fall a happy hour
Energetic night a bluegrass night blooms like flower
she walks in smiling
like a billboard,
all blonde shine
and polished teeth.
the laws bend for money,
she knows it—
she’s danced long enough
with men in suits
to sell the dance twice.
you ask about morals,
hell, she keeps them
in a purse—
zippered tight,
pulled out only for the camera.
the rest of the time
she is like the others—
slick, practiced,
and waiting for her next check.
I thought I had finally found my bride
Gorgeous figure, long blonde hair and blue-eyed
Her looks, mesmerizing
Her voice, tantalizing
Swore she sewed, cleaned and cooked ~ pity she’d lied
My hair! My hair! Where has it all gone?
I had more yesterday, long and blonde
But now it falls, like leaves on a tree
How could my hair be so mean to me!
Well, I must admit, I was not fair
Can I help if I wanted blonde hair?
It was my trademark, it made me fine
But now that's gone, I can only whine.
Each three weeks, I punished any brown
with peroxide, I'd disdain and frown.
I'm sure it burned and gave my scalp pain,
but how lovely to be blonde again.
But now revenge has begun in full.
(I think it has broken all hair rules!)
First, it traded my sweet blonde for grey,
Then, not long after, that went away.
Then white appeared, what? I am not old!
Who said this tale just had to be told?
I still have some hair, but it goes fast.
If I lose all, a blonde wig will last!
Tiny dots around your eyes,
facial changes and disguise.
I am the bird with no wings,
but my eyesight sees the old Egypt.
My thoughts carry my visionary distances,
I will find you even if I can't imagine you.
I can create you in my deepest visions,
the world inside my darkest dreams,
you are my queen; you are what I can't see or be.
You are on top of the oldest mountain,
where earth meets the sun,
where clouds meet the gods,
of unknown worlds,
my touch feels your senses.
But the lines of lost dimensional feel,
can't find what's real.
As long as I have your blonde hair in my hands,
nothingness will disappear,
and I my darling, I will heal.
Nearer My God To Thee
eight musicians
lost to the sea
the ship went down, unsinkable
forty minutes to three.
Critics will stoop
so low as to blame
the ghost of
Marilyn Monroe,
accuse her of being easy
say that she
was only sex
with legs and hips
how can you have
it without?
those lips
never realized
that she was,
never considered
her heart
her mind that now
remains observed
while here
her image
in eternity
a beauty
in ways she
will never know,
a vision.
Alfred Hitchcock
Filmed movies about folks which stalk.
If you watch one, don't let your fears overpower
You, or you'll never get into the shower!
Hitchcock is known to have been very fond
Of beautiful ladies whose hair was quite blond.
Kim Novak and Grace Kelly
Make men's brains turn to jelly,
And, also, this filmgoer to respond!
Ten times, I've watched every film Hitchcock has made!
Let's watch one in my lonely motel, can I persuade?
You know, maybe, one thing might lead to another,
But I'm not sure it would be OK with Mother.
He was hooked by bleach blond fish
Only concerned with his
Onyx deed and red tie to please
Kinda dumb to be at
Ease
Really Trump is a rump
I hate that Nellie Olson
—Laura Ingalls, Little House on the Prairie
I’ll fix her. You’ll see.
—Nellie Olson, Little House on the Prairie
(regarding Laura)
Season 6, Episode 2: The two get muddy fighting over a man. Nellie gets even but guess who gets the man and the husband?! Don’t worry Nellie finds her match and he helps to turn her into a better person, well she wants to be better because she loves him.
Blonde
B leached before birth, bright
L ocks with buoyant curls
O nerous trimmings with foxy tail
N ellie was notorious, jealous,
D emanding all of Laura’s suitors
E at out of her hands, nest in her blonde lair
Her wide blonde petals
once rose to the sun
now but drooping
browned 'n beiged tresses
swaying gingerly softly
contemplating the dark turf
of dirty brown carpet below.
'You had your moment in the sun,'
comforted breezy wind.
'But I so thought my beauty
would be for much longer,'
softly wept that faded rose.
So be the lament
so be for beauty all
all to meet the chill
the sad of brilliance fade
of beauty lost
in the dust decay
of yesterday.
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