Sometimes
you
do not know
What you are
truly capable of
And
it won't make
much sense
Unless you are
willing to live
A life that
makes sense
to you.
She Loves The Glisando Rubato Sound
---------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------
El *glissando rubato* consiste
en deslizarse continuamente
entre notas (*glissando*)
mientras se toca con
un tempo flexible y expresivo (*rubato*)
----------------------------------------
Grito Verse
"whats your name
what's your number
are you single too
I see you listening to my
every word
I am listening to your's too"
-----------------------
'Grito Afinar'
En lugar de deslizarse
a una velocidad
constante,
el intérprete acelera
y desacelera el
deslizamiento para añadir
tensión emocional
y un matiz humano
.---------------------------
Jarana Cumbia
---------------------------
Frottoir and Grito
---------------------------
"What's your name
what's your number
Can I call an talk
with you
we can be freinds
we can be lovers
Darling what do you
wanna do"
(Grito start's again)
---------------------------
Headlines swirl like restless winds, each gust insisting it is truth;
voices clash in crowded squares, and certainty grows thin.
Yet quiet hearts still listen — seeking light within the noise.
Written by Gail DeBole
on May 6, 2026
Updated on May 11, 2026
Here I go...returning to REM.
Most of the time, it acts like a friend.
REM deals with feelings that should be addressed
Before they become an unwelcome mess.
Some of the time, REM makes no sense.
Mired in mystery with a hint of pretense.
Other times, using recurring themes
It offers an outlet for feeling extremes.
REM often zigzags through my life's times
And reminds me of moments left behind.
When I awake, sometimes I muse
Over the people my dreams choose to include.
When I awake, sometimes I muse
Over the vagueness my dreams choose to include.
It's true that I only know REM from my dreams.
But it acts like a friend without malice or schemes.
Seemingly unsolvable problems REM solves for me.
Without REM, where would we be?
You thought you knew me
But it was the words you saw
Sentences that made you wonder
It was the discovery of Poetry
They were my identification
You didn’t see my image
The sentences became the introduction leading the way to Poetry
The emotions strong
Creativity that came along
Virtues within the mind
Thought behind combined
Writing Morning, Noon and Night
During the night, I had to get up
Poetry thought, and had to jock it down
I didn’t want to forget
Otherwise, it would have become regret
Poetry has always been my purpose
My inner soul constructs obvious
My heart in full testimony
Every alpha letter, words and sentences being a creed to always fulfill the poetry hunger to succeed
Onward Poetry
Heads pull from the sand
Now thinking they understand
Post on Social media on demand
Things they know nothing about!
Behind these eyes
The world won't change
Behind these eyes
can I change my ways
I live laugh alone.
I can only imagine what you would say
can't change That pain its inevitable
War is a path but now it ain't acceptable
Love is reality to keep smiling for hope
But death is inevitable and those tears can make you choke
The world lies about faith
The lions always roam
Goliath was a giant and David threw a stone
Wolves in disguise hiding in the rain
When the autumn leaves fall
The sun will surely fade
Ethan mcwhorter
Beauty is unmasked ugliness
It flits on a smiling lip
And sleeps on a frown genuine.
But where the thoughts attempt to hide
Beauty shall not reside.
I'm alone now
I always have been somehow
No one ever comes in
I am in here hiding
Only I have a key
I'm locked inside of me
I'm not letting anybody in
I'm busy thinking
All that doubt
I’m figuring it out
Wondering who to be
Trying to be me
People look through the windows
But nobody knows
I hide behind the curtain
I'm not coming out until I’m certain
I look, drawing the scene into a narrow focus.
Unable to see detail without changing
when and where I look,
changing my point of view.
Still, the periphery begged to be seen.
Just out of range and over the edge.
Look at me, Look at me, it said.
Each small twist of the head
changed the parameters of what
seemed to be was real, when revealed.
Surfaces thinned
became translucent, less lucid, transparent
Meaning shifted ground
up and down, side to side
focusing in, out, round about.
To look is to disturb.
To measure is to move.
To know a position
is to lose the grip, lose control
and set the scene
into an endless shimmering of motion
quivering in my mind's eye,
somewhere between
what I see,
and what I cannot hold still enough,
to snap a shot
of the full perspective insight
of what I see.
My eyes have keys.
My eyes have locks.
My keys don’t fit my locks.
Eyes are made to look out
So, only out I gazed, I sought.
Others’ eyes held their own locks,
A gallery, magnificent and varied.
In those foreign yet familiar clasps, my keys tarried,
Then with a bit of work, they married—
To treasure chests filled with grand memories
To chains tight and binding
To foggy rooms with dim outlines
To hope chests crammed with keepsake findings
To storage cabinets and their appliances
To showcases bright with earnings
To boxes of hats, masks, and glasses
To cages cold with yearnings
Countless lock types I’ve encountered and
Countless locks have crumbled.
But, behind my doors are mysteries
My locks still waiting to tumble.
The tales you uphold have woven themselves across the thread of breath
Flowing through us as a guiding light underneath a new moon
Rays of the earth painting you in it’s image
Holding truth in the slumber of your hippocampus
Segmented before me—you’ve caught my attention
Sorrow arises as the sincerity had always stood bare
You’re evidence of an unspoken gospel
Rising beyond the insanity I dance in
Mapping the secrets of our lineage—you stand
Storing energy from the steps imprinted through resilience
You didn’t ask to bear witness—or did you?
The sole survivor of us
An anchor against the shadows of escapism
Do we ever think to form our conscious
Having watched the moon and studied it
Seeing it form the most perfect of smiles
What part of the truth do we not understand
The media has a bias when it comes to revelations
A rich collection of certain subjects form ungodly acts
Pride your blindness doctors your opinion to speak honestly
Let us draw on the picture of a broken soul
Begin painting from the darkness with a shade of light
Without colour we are left with a blank canvas
Do we find justice disheartened turning the tables
We are so occupied by our own ideas we have lost contact with God
A tragedy when we loose focus on Jesus's words
Not recognising the face of mercy when it pleases our inner being
“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly;
what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
Eye, an impartial mirror, through which
we see things around as they are;
the quality of judging things it lacks in.
Heart as a testing stone,
determines everything’s purity.
Feelings of heart are displayed
on the screen of our eye.
Eye is blessed with the power of sight,
heart, with tremendous insight.
3rd place
Recently I’ve been questioning myself and what I want.
Getting frustrated how much I let myself go into a funk.
I preach about self love and I don’t give myself enough.
No man or woman can push me out but myself!
I can write and write but what’s the point when I don’t see it in real time.
trying my best not to cry
I got this though, my name is val
and I can’t let myself go.
Sub Categories
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.