Creative Experiments and More

Truth or just a dream?
Passing in the night
Was that really me?

Things not as they seem
Shifts twixt mad and fright
Truth or just a dream?

Altruism; schemed
Followed dark and light
Was that really me?

Chaos taffy sweet
Peace a drifting kite
Truth or just a dream?

Trust and love don’t meet
Pairings doomed to fight
Was that really me?

Floating salty sea
Time of calm alight
Truth or just a dream?
Was that really me?

Reena Saxena is the host of Reena’s Exploration Challenge.  Reena says:
Was that really me?
I read a book with this title by Naomi Quenk, and the words have been imprinted on the psyche.  You may twist it to:
That’s not me
That can’t be me
Where is the real me?
It is all acceptable.

A Villanelle is a nineteen-line poem consisting of a very specific rhyming scheme: aba aba…

Joy feels like exposure to the harshest elements.
In showing it you become a pawn
in the game of advantage
like taken of that is.

Allowing happiness to make an appearance,
well, that’s just a sin.
“Be humble, accept things with grace,” they said.
As they shushed my feelings out of jealousy.

Feeling like a kernel doubling in size,
well, that’s just ruinous.
“Let’s not have a grandiose, public display,” they said.
As they swatted my butt out of anger.

Having intensity acknowledged on the surface,
well, that’s just suicide.
“Behave yourself!” they said.
As they locked me away with a pious vengeance.

Where did it ever get me to give a voice
to what bubbles up happy tears and excitement?
Hide your feelings, stomp them down reactions was all I ever got.
Because no one really wanted to meet the real me.