Long Blonde Poems
Long Blonde Poems. Below are the most popular long Blonde by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blonde poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh you know the type—
the orchid woman
a cosmopolitan who cosmo sips
between snips of gist
her charisma a starship —collides
with your star-full eyes
supernova for Casanova
her pouty lips knit a glamour-mag smile
rows of sugar-white pearls
strung shiny straight
behind wet-red slicks of a Revlon stick
—cherry-juice bait dilates your want to taste
orchid woman’s glamorized mouth
for the masses to idolize
for many to fantasize
for her to tantalize
and advertise
there’s no need to compromise
with you
or your penny-candy conversation—
when beauty is legal tender
why invest in a waste of words?
ooh, orchid woman is w-i-l-d
an exotic sun-tanned narcotic
erotic her despotic bloom
quixotic your contemplation;
your entangled-limbs-expectation
that this frilly filly blooms just for you
and oh! just look how the honey makers buzz
watch the money-makers spend their sums—
worker bees blinded by her blonde neon
fall in her wake…
or maybe ‘diamond pro’s’ bling
stings and wrings their eyes
…who cares who falls..
when mere red rose adorations
and sticky sap Hallmark incantations
bear not the fruits of 24-karat donations—
Mmm! Mmm!
her traipse does shake like mango jelly sweet
orchid woman’s long-stemmed catwalk walk
full-rounded bouncy-buoyant racy-lacy-ecstasy
yup.. a thoroughbred— she’ll have you ridin’ high
to your credit and blame
you won’t feel her stiletto tips
when she diva-gold-digs ya
as nothing more than a runway-ramp
all slinky-strut-hips
and stay-the-night-vamp
till fly girl wields her strappy high-heels
in a rhythmical click-clack
all over the next middle-age stage
indeed! orchid woman
a hot-house hottie
fussy stuffy lil hussy—
...too much water?
….not enough water?!
oh no! she’s wilted—
sniffle.. snivel.. “where did I go wrong?!!”
mm-hmm.. high maintenance is s-u-c-h a turn on…
yeah… orchid woman is w-i-l-d (eye roll..)
Let's applaud our
Adored Lord Broad
Fame and awards
Crossing swords &
Bossing visiting hordes
Name in the frame
On Lords boards
Cooing..wasn't it grand
Tanned boy with headband
Wooing the fanned stand
No wonder we're so fond
Of this towering..glowering
Powering flowering blonde
Plumping for knees pumping
Hearts a jumping
All a flutter
Tub thumping
Jaffas he's a scrumping
Utter bowling nutter
Batters in tatters
On the ropes
Slain with disdain
Hopes in vain
Dope tropes
Broad roared
Insane hurricane
Yet again
That strength of fine
Alright divine
Line and length
Vertiginous delight
Prodigious insight
Canny..crafty will
Log in to his noggin
Didactic tactic thrill
Found going round
Was gravy..on the money
Crowned genius genesis
Hefty lefty nemesis
Davy Warner..his bunny
Gladly listened to Hadlee
Took note of what
The Goat did float
Shorten your run son
Well must embellish
Relish to hone
To still cherish..own the throne
With Jimmy his friend
Found at their home grown ground
Got their own eponymous end
Game's pantomime dame
If everything else fails
Wrist twist of the bails
Burning beacon flame
What a gusto way to go
For our dearly loved maestro
Bravado even braggadocio
Willy Wonka winning ticket
Plucky...jammy...lucky
Hero cheerio double whammy
As Broad encored..
Last ball bowled..got a wicket
Last ball faced for 6 did flick it
Helluva a way
For our stellar fella
To say goodbye
To Test cricket
She contemplated life
Love
Quantum physics and religion
La raison d'être
The fact she could not cook
Her knowledge all well balanced on top of her head
Yet there she was puzzled
Of life and the dead
The whys and what’s
The how’s and the when’s
All that is not known
The library after all so Gothic and vast
In contemplation she began to mentally fast
There was one book though
In the midst of them all
About lovers and love
About the depth of it all
They called it Art
Arthur Vaso's tell all
Of passion and reason
Of intellectual treason
Her gaze exposed the whole in her heart
Imagine from a book
She discovered a new Art!
He conjured a world whose moon was quite square
And the ko-ko-ko bird grew burnished blonde hair
That rippled and shimmered and shone in the sun
As each bird set off on its world circling daily run
Over the mountains to shores of each pearly sea
Through swaying groves of the world singing tree
That sang healing rhythms and respectful tunes
To the benevolent face of the smiling square moon
He conjured a sky of the deepest deep azure blue
Soft white clouds that shifted and drifted on through
And each day at fixed times of the planetary clock
Each fleecy whiter white cloud would slowly unlock
To pour gently refreshing life giving warm rains
Over the fecund teeming grass waving world plains
Where the ko-ko-ko birds keep their egg bearing nest
Each subtly lined and placed just away from the rest
And he conjured a garden with its Adam and Eve
And he fervently hoped and he dared to believe
That this time maybe they would stay innocent and free
From fruit of the maybe destroying wild knowledge tree
And he watched his new world as a new day begun
Under the light of a gently pulsing square sun
He watched with a sigh then went on his eternal way
The started work finished before the resting seventh day
In a state of half a dream and half awake
I await I await you and anticipate
tantra trinkets glitter across old crone skies
scattered stars the litter of our synchronized wishes
broken symbols of our disenchanted rune
cosmic poets cursed lutestring-verse rhymed for us
I’m lost astray a pearl loosed from a fractured string
lost in ashes of embers our fire that fed the sun
will you search a cosmos of starving stars
their shimmer growing dimmer til light withers
will you search a famished universe to find me
a spec of earthly widow-dust settled ..stilled
sweet Venus intercede before dark recedes
listen a nightingale’s sonnet song rides night air
melody’s flame melts ice-blonde moonbeams
a buttery pool the smitten singer’s spotlight
—his rhapsody brims his beloved to swoon
oh Venus let lyric-desire be my angel’s glide path
in a state of half a dream and half awake
my sensual soulmate I anticipate
invite for my griever-skin to frost-bite-tingle in thaw
touch me warm my angel touch me warm
billow tender breeze through window’s yawn
pale cheeks brushed lips shushed a lover’s rush
a rush as light as a silk scarf’s skim on skin
I tremble like a sonata cello string
soft breaths move curtains and swell my sighs
wind spirit croons my name I close my eyes
your ethereal presence glides on wind song
your physical absence abides in our bed
how poetic this dual ache
throbbing the same passion space
in a state of half a dream and half awake
I’m a pearl knotted yet unstrung
The seas swell
with saccharine sighs
and stir my seaman's obsession
with blonde pleasures,
but treachery’s buried
in treasures feminine-gold.
A flute, a lyre, their voices
nectar-dipped in danger.
Temptation burns with Hades-flames
on sunset waters;
sea-devils, those she-devils
are salt-in-wound and sugar sweet.
Ooh songstress sisters,
please just a taste;
a kiss on lips
that set fire to desires
with your song.
My sailor’s appetite
hungers for your honey,
whet by curves, wet
and flowing with fanned betta fins.
Ship's mainmast in full sail,
filled with your chanting gales
to get there, find you, possess you,
surrender to you.
Lessons of unholy-lore lost
in depths of forbidden allure;
tidal surge drives my male urge
upon damsel-damned rocks.
Scree, with greed
drowns the sinking screams.
Cursed corpses
litter seabed in breath-less murk.
Oh songstress trio,
so fluid,
so corrupt.
Your flute a primal plea,
your lyre a trembling snare.
Soprano hymns
shiver moon-shimmer on water
as wind-songs commit mortal sins.
Fallen angels’, your sea-mist-sighs
are my lyric doom to die.
Black waves
frothy like pints of ale
undulate with serpentine virgins;
weavers of wind
and wave
and spindrift spite.
This sailor’s fate
awaits escape in vain.
My bane, their sunlight-tresses
turned a seaweed tangle.
In temptress threads
I'm wrapped before I’m dead—
cold embrace of death in shallows,
a mariner’s gallows.
Gull, a laughing witness
fades in clouds. Knows my sailor’s
crossed bones will brine.
Opiate of the sea:
my soul’s shipwreck,
their ecstasy.
My blood,
throbbing with lust,
a poor warrior
against sirens’ maelstrom-song
spinning my demise.
Look at the tall, young man
walking down the street
in black, tattered shoes.
He is wearing a purple beret
and a bright orange and white
striped shirt.
His dark blonde hair is
long and layered.
His body in thin and lean.
He has a handsome face
with dark, arched brows
that frame his grey-green eyes.
He walks with a nonchalance
yet there is a determined look
on his face.
His mind is full of creative ideas
lost in fantastical thoughts.
He observes and contemplates
films and edits
draws and envisions.
He is looking to make his mark
in the world
To have his voice heard
To stand out among the many.
The competition is fierce
yet he will not compromise.
The goal is authentic
self expression.
Through the pain of
repeated rejection
he continues to put
one step in front
of the other.
One day he will
succeed, if he
perseveres.
Keep walking
young man
my son.
Written in April, 2004
Of feet crinkles crispy snaps with your mate,
as the ebbing tides that breaths winter's fate.
Echoes summons a dusty field in white,
closets freed skis and sleds still not quite right.
Few sunflowers escort its mentored sun,
facing their eastward repose position.
Brisk breeze tails a crafted shawl snuggly wrapped,
home, hot cider, lit fire, read book is lapped.
A forested cabin that's well-engaged
coast reservedly entertained assuage
A prominence forestalls in burgundy,
copper, and blonde. Snowflakes smooch tenderly
the fallen perianths. Forgivingly
melts to a smooth touch that norms Autumn's eve.
In Praise of Buddy Bolden
by Lucien Q. Senna
1. You have shown me dissipation, the tome, rhythm, and cool sonorous blue…
2. The right consciousness is always dream, it wakes in us ideology and topos.
3. Not only the blues like melic, like persimmon and soda
4 Not anything, just blonde sorrow.
5. I can’t wait to choose my own fall, the bass and pica.
6. Did you taste the drug, the white world of sound…
7. Nothing will prepare me, not even drums and delusion. I wander in their halls, their tantrums. But mine was regression and rebellion. The plumb edifice of transgression.
8. When we play, nothing else matters, not the placards on the train, not the yet and the how. We find plums and pendulums.
9. I told them this was not enough. No horses, no shoulders, no fields to drown, only blank cotton testimony and confession.
10. When we leave, we leave the pipe and the parts of the body. You whistle like a factory. Me, like an empty room.
11. I would like to test myself, and remove these old tunings and feathers, these tulips.
12. Do it then. Leave for the salty tincture of the city, the North.
13. The leaves were all cankered when I returned. Like a salvo I burned. Not for them. Not for this place. But for this rotten reflection. The only true rejection of process.
14. You meant to leave the phonetic terror moon, the New Orleans horn of sand and distraction.
15. Leave me to fall. For this is all that I know. I accept, I accept this black stone of mine, mine own three lives, my crime.
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hey dad,
it’s been a while. thirteen years and six months if we’re being precise.
i write your title a lot nowadays
‘dad’
but you dont know me
i’ll introduce
my name is emry grace henderson
im fourteen, with blonde hair and green eyes (which everyone seems keen on commenting about- i think the gold flecks are from your amber ones)
i love music
love the sound of strings vibrating on a flat surface, haunting melodies
(or in our case, Irish folk songs- though i suppose you wouldnt know that?)
I’ve missed you- though i suppose thats also a bit of an understatement
im not sure i understand you
understand why
no matter how hard my grandmother explains
on a sunday evening
although ive heard we are pathologically similar
(i wouldnt know)
how are you?
what are you like?
ive a vague outline of you
faded and blurry, yet as vibrant as autumn in virginia
(i never did tell you about that trip did i?)
it’s good to get this out- im not sure i could speak it aloud- ive a way of fumbling the words until their unintelligible,
only understood by the leaves that shake in the wind, by the hummingbirds in the skies, by the black bose i wear as a grounding element
somedays i wonder if this was ever meant for me
do you feel like this?
(from what ive heard you collapsed under the weight- i hope not to)
they say we’re similar
though bitterness kept me from acknowledging this truth
i hope you’ll meet me someday
when the voices are less present- and you are free from the weight of this world- because i’d love to finally meet you.