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
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I write poetry like i make love
The mood comes to swing
And my pen start digging
Emotions are purged
But first
My skin is aware of how poetry has taken a hold of me
So sometimes i think it's charm
I breath
I exhale
I feel love
And start spilling inks on dangerous papers
The mood is constant
And my pen is always ready to dig
I mean dig into thoughts
I write poetry like i make love
I swing a lot in my emotions
And scribble roughly
Sometimes it's more than that
September’s Apples
By Frank Daub
September apples rest in the cellar,
barely in the light,
mellow,
turning cider
beneath their shining skins like cinnamon wine.
I bite one –
juice bubbles out
to the edges of my mouth.
There is sweetness first.
Then at once the tart September taste and
the white circle roughly broken from
the red round.
How long, I wonder, before the white darkens.
The white goes nut colored
before
I can finish peeling the red entirety --
Or
after I’ve taken the first bite.
What is it that makes us put apples in the cellar?
To keep them Autumn-like, extending the
crispness of a season bringing harvest?
This, or it does something to their flavor that the sun can’t finish.
I try to remember how the apples tasted when the old man and I pulled them
from the tree.
They were cold.
A little less mellow.
They are sweeter now.
Being buried was good for them. Buried in the deep cool of this cellar,
away from the sun.
In the remote landscapes away from modernity
stand the stone-cold monolithic monuments.
One, the Georgia Guidestones, the American Stonehenge,
and the other, the Neolithic Stonehenge, the British cultural icon.
The stone slabs are roughly cut by primitive tools
and astronomically aligned with the zodiac design.
These are set in an intriguing geometric configuration,
wrapped in controversy, the megaliths incite curiosity.
The stones are systematically arranged, not as walls,
but as questions framed by the blocks of ambiguity,
leaning onto the winds of whispering mystery,
their shadows stretch longer than human memory.
It’s not yet known if the Stonehenge
marks the ritualistic ancient burial sites
or the prehistoric religious healing place,
erected as the conceptual symbol of peace.
The nameless builders of these structures are history now,
but the stones remain as the perplexing patterns
of their thoughts, now the sentinels of silence,
and the enigmatic ancient thingamajig of riddle.
The pooling dross
Drawn out with flame
He was blamed
It wasn’t skimmed (until it was skimmed)
The old man, the new man’s loss
The Holy Spirit’s vane
In Jesus’ Name
It wasn’t prayed (until it’s prayed in Him)
The incondite cross
Roughly made
It wasn’t planed
It wasn’t finished (until it was finished)
The incondite cross
Ripped his already tattered back
The rubbing of open wounds
Against the raw wood
Vinegar to drink
Nails brushing the median nerves
I make the “crucified clench”
Every pain extends as I gasp for breath
My body wanting, avoiding asphyxiation
My mind wanting death
This is my passion that led me here
I so loved the world
That I gave my life for it
They flogged my back and front raw
I am exhausted from the blood loss
Unrecognizable
You better recognize what I have done
(I am God’s Beloved Son) for you
I spent the whole morning fighting corruption
And I suppose I defeated it
I subjected myself to obstruction
Debunked myself in the terms most concrete
I corrupted my fondest memories
Thought I deserve to be punished strongly
But out of the blue it dawned on me
That suffering wasn’t a help any longer
So once more I returned to corruption
Humiliated the frying pan by washing it
Exploited roughly with no instructions
The tap water, it gushed out down at my feet
Then your summer garden I saw at dusk
Your roses were blooming stunningly bright
And some fallen apples lay down in the grass
Beneath the apple tree, almost out of sight.
Let love forever flow like a river.
Let its tone echo roughly louder so.
Let pride sink like an earthquake; deliver.
Let its seismic never forsake pure soul.
Let repentance gain control of the heart.
Let the mind focus on its goal to grow.
Let envy be secured by credit's chart.
Let aim's glut be not of recurring blow.
Let happiness sing aloud real lyrics.
Let all dance its rhythm, avowed in trance.
Let faith be for heart's joy within critics.
Let doubt not derail us off thought by chance.
Let virus not kill us, both old and young.
Let fate seal destined fortune yet unsung.
Sunlight on the street,
It's too bright!
The pavement's black;
Something's not right.
My eyes scan for shade
As I blink my dazed eyes;
Caught by surprise
While we played.
Bad enough looking up
To catch the darn Frisbee
In all this blue sky sun—
Now, I can't see,
Listening to it roughly slide
On the street,
Behind me.
The gravelly
Scuffing
Groaning stop—
Playing in my mind
On repeat:
The Frisbee
Blaming me
For letting it land
On the street;
In the blistering
Summer heat.
In Denmark and Greenland,
Red baseball caps say,
“Nu det Nuuk!” which is roughly
“Make America Go ‘Way!”
They’re sported at protests
And modeled on those
Worn by MAGA supporters,
Most normal folks’ foes.
The Danish translation,
“Enough is enough”
Is intended to be
A gigantic rebuff.
For America’s “leader”
Has crassly announced
That Greenland should be his
‘Cause his Nobel was trounced.
Since this overwrought bully,
Who violates rules,
Has his tantrums in public,
We all look like fools.
But in Greenland and Denmark,
The message is clear:
“Take your bluster and swagger
And get out of here!”
they get better
as I get older
‘A Long
and Winding Road’
I ran with ever-
restless feet
past the farms
of Canandaigua
Simon and Garfunkel
sang me through
the steeper climbs
I built my “Bridge
Over Troubled Water”
one plank at a time
I learned to step rhythmically
with a level view
up and over the ever rising
roads that kissed the edge
of a bass-filled lake
and patient
cornfields
“and time can do
so much”
I was sewn roughly
together
by the music
of The Righteous Brothers
“Unchained Melody”
after Terry and Tahira
died
“lonely rivers sigh”
concentrate
on the deer
munching dandelions
in September
“I’ll be coming home,
wait for me.”
a doe pirouettes
off a car
in front of me
and I am finally calm
in not knowing
the meaning
behind
everything
they get better
as I get older
‘A Long
and Winding Road’
I ran with ever-
restless feet
past the farms
of Canandaigua
Simon and Garfunkel
sang me through
the steeper climbs
I built my “Bridge
Over Troubled Water”
one plank at a time
I learned to step rhythmically
with a level view
up and over the ever rising
roads that kissed the edge
of a bass-filled lake
and patient
cornfields
“and time can do
so much”
I was sewn roughly
together
by the music
of The Righteous Brothers
“Unchained Melody”
after Terry and Tahira
died
“lonely rivers sigh”
concentrate
on the deer
munching dandelions
in September
“I’ll be coming home,
wait for me.”
a doe pirouettes
off a car
in front of me
and I am finally calm
in not knowing
the meaning
behind
everything
Your love came shyly wrapped—
I almost tore the paper too roughly.
One careless tear
and the whole gift might have scattered
like thin glass across stone.
Now that it’s mine,
it trembles whenever I breathe,
sweet as the first sip of wine
after years of thirst.
I will not raise my voice.
I will not let it fall.
I will keep inhaling this quiet
until my lungs forget every other air.
he asked me to join him
to celebrate his 30th birthday
in St. Louis
he's worried the weather may ruin our plans
he wants me to explore the city (although I would not mind us being snowed in, skin to skin)
this celebration is roughly 4 months away
but I fell in love 4 days ago
today, I feel nauseous
but I gathered myself and I continued to write him this letter
(humming my favorite Beatles song to calm my nerves)
It’s the last day of school and everyone is finally becoming friends
While we all start to understand
Old sad sentiments
I’m outside on the soccer field signing yearbooks
Name loopy
Hearts scribbled quickly
And for some reason the sun already seems to be setting
Mason and noah steal a kiss when they think no one is looking
Samantha gives her number to callie
It’s the last day of school and everyone is finally tolerating eachother
After years of longing to leave
We finally have a reason to stay
Those old sad sentiments suddenly seem cruel
And evil teachers cry while receiving hugs
The sun sets on one last day that you will all be together
The bus ride home is bittersweet
You let tears fall as my head rattles
Roughly on the window
Its my last day of school nd I hope that we will still be friends after this drive
When I move away
Call me when adages start to feel to accurate
Or when sad sentiments feel too real
I promise to always pick up the phone
I have walked through gardens burnt to ash,
And still the roses whispered truth—
That beauty fades, but ache will last.
No tender hand can smooth the seam
Where life was torn and roughly sewn;
It glimmers faintly, like a dream
That once was love, now turned to stone.
The moon remembers every wound,
Though night pretends she’s whole again—
Soft light, but never healing sound.
I do not ask for one more dance;
I’ve learned what mercy costs the heart—
Wisdom comes from scars, not chance.
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