NaPoWriMo

BLAME  IT ALL ON SOMEONE ELSE

Once I saw a dainty dancer

She twirled across the stage.

I wondered if this little figure

Was filled with joy or rage?

 

I saw no feelings on her face

As it was just a blur

I stood there staring at her grace

And wished I could be her.

 

Once I saw a woman ride

A horse so artfully;

Not a movement did she make

Their minds were one, you see

 

They walked and turned while in the ring

They cantered, jumped and flew.

Horse and rider both as one

I said “I want to be you”

 

Unfortunately, I go through life

Not looking at my talents.

Not confident of me, myself,

And lacking any balance

 

I try to show some confidence

I act so large and tall.

But family, friends and strangers

Don’t see me here at all.

 

I passed this on to daughter love

I was afraid of her conceit

And now I feel so terribly bad

That all she only feels defeat.

 

I know we’ve all made errors

And wish we could have changed.

But, sadly we must live with them

And only feel deranged.

 

Well, I’ve made so many “mother” errors

I remember every one

They’re things my mother taught to me

And Dr. Spock’s “good” way.

 

So, I crawl again beneath my rock

Relieved to be alone.

Perhaps this is my chosen space,

My special safety zone.

NaPoWriMo, 2013, #28, Pretty in Pink

Pretty In Pink

My lady calmly crests the hill.

She wears the pink colors of innocence,

     her steed white enough to blind your eyes.

The battle stops as if every man has turned to stone.

Holding, with caution, her delicate pink parasol

     above her steed’s handsome, nodding head.

 She tilts her rose-tinted face as she comes slowly down the hill

     Smiling as if seeing not the insanity that has taken place.

  She sees not the dark red blood and gore running in rivulets,

     limbs now belonging to no one, strewn about recklessly

     as if they had dropped from the sky.

My lady smiles as she meets the eyes of the frozen fighters

     knowing that this battle has everything to do with her.

Knowing that with one word she can stop the carnage.

She takes no notice of the breezes bringing to her the

     overwhelming smell of warm fresh blood.

Her steed tiptoes through the entrails of men no longer men

     and moves its ears forward to the sounds of moaning.

Both steed and lady proudly walk onward

     and over the next hill.

The battle resumes its ferocity.