Falsete and Fach
---------------------------------
octaves play a crucial
structural and
stylistic role
lowest notes fall below
the 20 Hz threshold
of human hearing and
can only be
measured with instruments
12 semitones
Sound frequencies range
from about 20 Hz to
20,000 Hz, which covers
roughly 10 distinct
octaves of audible sound
There are 7 full octaves
plus 3 extra low keys
, totaling 88 keys that
span about 7.25 octaves
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Mastretta De Sa' Sopranista
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-E per quanto riguarda le possibilità
passando a un approccio
basato sui problemi?
traditions start somewhere
doing things for a reason is
often the right thing
to do
looking toward
our goales
budgeting our endeavor
profiting
and profit sharing
to create healthy
long lasting
relationships
that are meaningful
and complimentary
-----------------------------
Could never live in a city,
nothing about it feels right,
so cramped, crowded, and quite dirty,
hard angles always in sight.
The stress I see in the faces,
pricey closets for a home,
everything near someone else’s,
no land they can call their own.
Moving like rats in a subway,
nothing but concrete to walk,
all this to live where ‘things happen,’
at least that’s how many talk.
So few of them will have children,
the cost most just can’t afford,
and most went there for the fast life,
gives nothing but demands more.
The morals always declining,
any in they’ll tolerate,
cling to it amidst the chaos,
and die still claiming it’s great.
The crimes of degraded people,
city hall doing nothing,
don’t care to arrest criminals
when they need them all voting.
It hollows out the whole city,
great buildings rotting away,
the people not getting better,
the whole place endlessly fades.
And yet they say we should live there,
believe they top all the rest,
better than all of those ‘rednecks,’
see other folk as much less.
No, I can’t live in a city,
the whole place is insane,
no job, museum, or night club
can be worth that kind of pain.
That's too much information
Speak slower
Oh my, that was too loud
Be quiet
I don't like when you talk
Be still
Words...so many WORDS
...restraint
How does one find balance
Truth must be spoken
DISLIKE Declarations
Have left me broken
...silence
Pressure builds
Hope thins, like ice inviting a skate
Movement feels like plodding
Toward an armed gate
...stymied
Breathe of life, failed
I can not sense my heart
It may be beating, yet
I know not where to start
...lost
Trust feels odd, out of sync
No forward, no going back
Nervous system, reset
Discernment has gone black
...grace....whispers
You are loved
Written by Trudy Schrader on 02-18-2026
Special love colours my life with beauty,
A faithful partner paints my home with peace;
Marriage has led me on its tour of duty—
Therein my existential joys increase.
If not for wine bottles draining too fast,
Sweet success’ smiles would have glowed far brighter;
But life is lived vexed, troubled, and aghast
As influence shapes one into a blighter.
Yet through this gloom, the future keeps its cheer—
A worthy praise for destiny’s bright writ;
Clear to my eyes, ringing loud in my ear,
A luscious glow even the blind admit.
I have spent the better part of my life
In a never ending state of comparison
That's been impossible to escape,
Scrutinising every inch of me
Down to the bone,
Looking in the mirror
Feeling wholelly alone.
I marked in my head
All the things I would change.
None of me was safe
From the silent surgery I'd make,
Not even myself
Down to the core.
I'd observe other people,
Adopting quirks and habits
In the hopes of becoming more admirable
To everyone I knew or would meet
Until the few existing layers
Of my own that still remained,
Were covered so well in the ground,
Existing in their own graves
That forever goes untouched.
Never have I been able to escape
This state of comparison I seem to exist in.
Forever am I the pathological people pleaser,
Willing to change just to be liked,
Never truly feeling like I could be enough as I am.
Social media has transformed how people communicate and interact globally, fostering connectivity and collaboration~ Why is it we can’t honor, respect, or be kind without cruelty in the mix?—Poet
• increases the fear of missing out
• leads doubt and unhealthy comparisons
• creates unrealistic expectations
• causes isolation
• triggers dopamine addiction
• anxiety and low self-esteem
Don’t throw it all away~ Moderation is key!
liked or disliked dissed
gone girl/boys are eternal~
an S O S missed
My dislike of Poetry
I dislike poetry; it is a contrived form of expression, yet whenever
I published one of my collections, which is under the rubric
of poetry
when they are nothing but opinions and descriptions of thoughts, which
I try to share with readers who might like what I write
or think this is a waste of time. I dislike poetry because it keeps
life in shadows and tries not to tell but to show by writing
so abstract
you have to guess the intentions. When you do, the poet is great.
mainly because he described life as scholastic and has little to do with real life, but you can, if seeking brief fame, put your head in
The gas oven and everything you wrote will be holy as the poetic grail, a pity because the poet/writer was seduced by her father and was unable to come to terms with this because she liked the rape but didn’t dare to admit it.
Occasionally, I arouse an unaccountable dislike
Even from those who love me
I don't give any reasons, none at all.
Maybe that's a reason.
But then why don't I dislike them?
I have no desire for perfection at all
It might seem pretentious, but it's true.
I accept everything as it comes. This insidious advice
I heard from the Doors when I was a kid. A variation on the theme of time
And an echo of the end. Everything ends, and not according to a timetable
For there's no timetable, though someone sees it
And knows when my train is coming
But will I attend in time, depends on a happy occasion.
The train will take me to the plane.
I’ll make a change, to get to you.
Otherwise, there’s no me.
Maybe its for the better
No one will be troubled to notice
Such a subtle matter, as someone's absence.
Seems that I lost the thread of
What I was talking about. Nevermind.
Just take me as I am
You know me better than I know myself
Now I feel like a scallop on a scree, who lost the shell
Rescue me under your shade
Look at me with your loving look
That I know so exceedingly well
Give us a chance, while we are here
Who knows for how long this time.
I like it.
I am sorry you did not like it.
I will wait, for someone out there to like it.
One day, he or she or they will come
and in its dusk with stars they will light it.
(11.14.2023)
So, Artificial Intelligence can now write poetry
(I think I may dislike this)
We have similar thoughts
Its words are lovelier
Rhyme or free verse
hundreds of synonyms.
It can also paint beautifully.
(OK, now I hate it)
colors flow majestically
no trial and error
mixing always perfect
(maybe we should shoot it)
Poets and artists
can we feel our minds shriveling?
like fruit left to die
on a lonely vine.
Because that's what will happen.
Minds not used eventually wither.
Are we going to just sit here
and take it?
For I don't see us co-existing,
Do you?
(We should have shot it)
(By the way, don't give Artificial Intelligence
a gun!)
Khaki has never other fabrics liked:
It has even their wearer’s bodies disliked,
Their forgivable flaws, their blunders hyped
And their names and their nicknames mistyped!
Sometimes you hear, “Like onions slice them!”
And begun a solving of what wasn’t a problem;
Bound to uncannily unfold
What Plain Malice does hold …
By then, it would be fanciful
To ask your questions – A roomful:
‘What and what next shall happen?’
And whether or not blades shall sharpen …
It shall have been a busying with fiction
By the time we triggers eschew from ruction
Khaki has seldom The Plain clothes liked
And has, indeed, other fabrics spiked;
Often through insistence on Inaction
And treatment of either as a faction.
You look so serious
when I am not.
Why do I joke
while you do not?
Do we dislike each other?
If so, why do we share a table
and are able to sit,
have done for so long?
Yes, you seem so serious but
are masking a smile?
Are you so jolly but
concealing it,
looking so serious?
Or are you grave and solemn -
seriously serious -
while I try to joke?
(April 2022)
Occasionally we discover
a shady spot on this path we wander
stopping to rest and contemplate
how far we've come we begin to ponder
why we did what we did
or didn't do
Loved who we loved
or disliked who we didn’t care for
Would we be enjoying the journey more
had we decided on a different route
If we hadn’t ignored the warning signs
or if we had
If we’d gathered the guts to go off the path
and cut through
What we may do or not do
as we continue on that we’ll later dwell upon
at our next opportunity to sit under a shady tree
we schedule time for
things we like and justify
those not liking them
Written: September 9, 2021
Chorus
Your friends might dislike me
But I’ll never be someone like you so ideal
I’m trying so hard but
The broken thing can’t be improved my dear
verse 1
I’m the road to nowhere
I tried to tell you
I tried to warn you
You ain’t give me a chance
There’s no way to escape
Nothing good can come
Something you’ll regret about
Oh yeah you’ll regret about
chorus
Your friends might dislike me
But I’ll never be someone like you so ideal
I’m trying so hard but
The broken thing can’t be improved my dear
verse 2
I tried to control myself
To stay away from you
Tried to leave you in peace
Didn’t want to jinx you
I’m the road to nowhere
Nothing good can come
Something you’ll regret about
Oh yeah you’ll regret about
Your friends might dislike me
But i’ll never be someone like you so ideal
I’m trying so hard but
The broken thing can’t be improved my dear
"A true mess
she’ll ruin all your hopes
Wake up, I confess
You don’t love her at all"
You can listen to these
Words your people say
Or you can stay with me
and find our own way
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Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.