4210 Improv 18

Wallace Stevens (1879-1955):
"Thirte

4210 Improv 16

Design

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth --
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth --
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small. 

Robert Frost

My Improv-

What Humans are Designed for

Survival of the fit, the fittest, and the pretty,
The un-sourced mouth to say.

The non-webbed hands and toes help
humans drown because some can't swim
in the storm of needle pricked words.
The stubbled legs drive away the tension
of males' and females' breathing hard.

Humans are layered, starting with bones
strengthened by the breast of a mother.
Progress by phases start at the first
bike wreck that scabbed the gut suit.

The gut protecting suit so far advanced
in technology it heals in time, and
recycles skin into dust.

4210 Improv 15

Acquainted with the Night

by Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, O luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.

Acquainted with the night

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have seen the sad streets of Angeles City.
I have listen to the un-known child save a life,
"It's written in a book somewhere."

I have followed a hand to paint the stars
that opened my thought and taught me
to stitch steel to the sunflowers petal
so that rain could gather and slide down
the stem, into roots and muscle.

The dirt, the children to play in poverty
will then stand a chance to slice bread
rather than break.

4210 Improv 14

After Apple-Picking
Robert Frost

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep. 


My Improv

Wood Chuck

I
The bar it fills with girls and boys
fresh to the open road, identified
with plastic. Their masked ID's,
allow them to no always merge
in pairs through open doors.
Sometimes the zodiac question
spoils their stomach, before
they have the chance to purchase
a Manhattan straight, the "adult"
beverage of class.

II
That little label on the glass
slightly off center, displays
a land-beaver.
It burrows me to think about
rodents representing
drunkards.

4210 Improv 13

Susie Asado
Gertrude Stein 

Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.
    Susie Asado.
Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.
    Susie Asado.
Susie Asado which is a told tray sure.
A lean on the shoe this means slips slips hers.
When the ancient light grey is clean it is yellow, it is a silver seller.
This is a please this is a please there are the saids to jelly.
These are the wets these say the sets to leave a crown to Incy.
Incy is short of incubus.
A pot. A pot is a beginning of a rare bit of trees. Trees tremble,
the old vats are in bobbles, bobbles which shade and shove and
render clean, render clean must.
      Drink pups.
  Drink pups drink pups lease a sash hold, see it shine and a bobolink
has pins. It shows a nail.
  What is a nail. A nail is unison.
  Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.


My Improv

The "sweet" repeats and my head nods
to Susie Asado.

The "sweet" repeats and my head nods
to Susie Asado.

My head rhythms left and right sweet tea.
Sweet tea in the south pocket knives,
it diabetesize the healthy, un-healthy.
Sweet tea in the south drowns not in water
but crystal sugar from a flour bag.
The shifting layers of leaves, leave
out the Southern Belle's manner.

4210 Improv 12

The Circus Animals' Desertion

William Butler Yeats 

I

I sought a theme and sought for it in vain,
I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
Maybe at last, being but a broken man,
I must be satisfied with my heart, although
Winter and summer till old age began
My circus animals were all on show,
Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot,
Lion and woman and the Lord knows what.

II

What can I but enumerate old themes,
First that sea-rider Oisin led by the nose
Through three enchanted islands, allegorical dreams,
Vain gaiety, vain battle, vain repose,
Themes of the embittered heart, or so it seems,
That might adorn old songs or courtly shows;
But what cared I that set him on to ride,
I, starved for the bosom of his faery bride.

And then a counter-truth filled out its play,
'The Countess Cathleen' was the name I gave it;
She, pity-crazed, had given her soul away,
But masterful Heaven had intervened to save it.
I thought my dear must her own soul destroy
So did fanaticism and hate enslave it,
And this brought forth a dream and soon enough
This dream itself had all my thought and love.

And when the Fool and Blind Man stole the bread
Cuchulain fought the ungovernable sea;
Heart-mysteries there, and yet when all is said
It was the dream itself enchanted me:
Character isolated by a deed
To engross the present and dominate memory.
Players and painted stage took all my love,
And not those things that they were emblems of.

III

Those masterful images because complete
Grew in pure mind, but out of what began?
A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,
Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,
Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut
Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,
I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart. 

My Improv

There she is in the air again,
twisting her ankle in ribbon,
Cater-pilling up the satin material
she dances on.

Once again, she's caught my eye
elastic bending her torso as
her hair spirals carmine red, dangle
and she floats with her hands
bough like the willow's wisdom.

4210 Improv 11

Adam’s Curse

BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

We sat together at one summer’s end,

That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,   

And you and I, and talked of poetry.

I said, ‘A line will take us hours maybe;

Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought,   

Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.   

Better go down upon your marrow-bones   

And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones   

Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;   

For to articulate sweet sounds together

Is to work harder than all these, and yet   

Be thought an idler by the noisy set

Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen   

The martyrs call the world.’

                                          And thereupon

That beautiful mild woman for whose sake   

There’s many a one shall find out all heartache   

On finding that her voice is sweet and low   

Replied, ‘To be born woman is to know—

Although they do not talk of it at school—

That we must labour to be beautiful.’

I said, ‘It’s certain there is no fine thing   

Since Adam’s fall but needs much labouring.

There have been lovers who thought love should be   

So much compounded of high courtesy   

That they would sigh and quote with learned looks   

Precedents out of beautiful old books;   

Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.’

We sat grown quiet at the name of love;   

We saw the last embers of daylight die,   

And in the trembling blue-green of the sky   

A moon, worn as if it had been a shell   

Washed by time’s waters as they rose and fell   

About the stars and broke in days and years.

I had a thought for no one’s but your ears:   

That you were beautiful, and that I strove   

To love you in the old high way of love;

That it had all seemed happy, and yet we’d grown   

As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.

My Improv

My Curse

I bring back to life.
those that have died in moments.
I magnetize needs, while
trying to satisfy my own
and I'll feel complete, yet
dissatisfied all the same.

I think about ways to disappear
in curiosity of losing electricity.
Can electricity be forgotten?
I think about these things.

It's easy to talk to strangers,
make friends, but when you talk
too long, it is easy for friends
to become strangers.

Could you walk the earth
and never recognize a face?

Third draft of a piece I am working on... Stuck

The Lovely People

They settle where the drool market is darker, deeper

than the scent of burnt wax, the skin form fit, whittle

to suit the urban Dita Von Tesse, a prior right,

or chameleon’s claim to change color.

They are practically invisible, almost always

under the thread. They are both the prey and predator,

swimming for entitlement, airbrushed of fashionable.

The lovely people travel like siphons talk

about the weather, above clouded sellout homes.

From the planes, the world returns to structures:

boys with Fibonacci pocket watches, pretty girls

with spatulas at home, duplicated,

duplicate to proper and the time to dirty in bed.

4210 Improv 10

Pied Beauty
Gerard Manley Hopkins

Glory be to God for dappled things--
  For skies of couple-colour as brinded cow;
     For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
  Landscape plotted and pieced--fold,fallow, and plough;
    And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
  Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
     With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
                               Praise Him.



My Improv-

The Difference

Glory be to the woman in the crypt SUV--
who wait on my rhythm for my return, which
was never mine. A gesture greater than clasp
hands waiting on something to happen.

4210 Improv 9

The Convergence of the Twain

BY THOMAS HARDY

(Lines on the loss of the "Titanic")

I

            In a solitude of the sea

            Deep from human vanity,

And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.

II

            Steel chambers, late the pyres

            Of her salamandrine fires,

Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.

III

            Over the mirrors meant

            To glass the opulent

The sea-worm crawls — grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.

IV

            Jewels in joy designed

            To ravish the sensuous mind

Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.

V

            Dim moon-eyed fishes near

            Gaze at the gilded gear

And query: "What does this vaingloriousness down here?" ...

VI

            Well: while was fashioning

            This creature of cleaving wing,

The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything

VII

            Prepared a sinister mate

            For her — so gaily great —

A Shape of Ice, for the time far and dissociate.

VIII

            And as the smart ship grew

            In stature, grace, and hue,

In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.

IX

            Alien they seemed to be;

            No mortal eye could see

The intimate welding of their later history,

X

            Or sign that they were bent

            By paths coincident

On being anon twin halves of one august event,

XI

            Till the Spinner of the Years

            Said "Now!" And each one hears,

And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.

Improv:

Yellow Dresser in my Room

----I

--What sits in front of me

--a box to which no key

my favorite compostable sock, to plea.

----II

--Amarillo pretty I stare

--the pull draws my iris fare

it’s a vintage demeanor plains prayer.

----III

--Rigid above compartments

--it deserts shadow line fence

And I won’t know what I’m talking about.

----IV

--It is not long before

--the stare is broken from core

my eyes are lazy falling fast poor

----V

--Three cells to the right

--three cells going night

There are nine sliding boxes to kite

----VI

--Victorian inspired handles

--look nothing like the candles

the lit paint it settles placid brand-les

----V

--My head is tilt right

--concentrate down sight

The foot curls by the toe quiet and tight.

----VI

--Second down and second right

--pulls the handle, now a freight

Inside the door something is stocking tight.

----VII

--Elenore Rigsby meets the eye

--If only I knew what she look like

Always wearing her invisible crown.

----VII

--I can’t even pretend

--I’ve lost move bar tend

Just a random

A waste, a waist, always a waste
of which I am soon to face.
The waist, it waste, such a waste
no man will bear and, I'll stand
bare.

For some reason I was walking across campus and saw a waste basket then I couldn't stop saying waste.. So I kept saying it in my head and playing with it.

I keep finding random things written on random things but I wanted to document them.... I am so weird.
the decibel of the dead
the lambs fencing in our head
the earthly absent
the daughter that does not wish to argue

Here are some more junkyard quotes... as if I didn't have enough

holds her notes from good five bars, musically that is pretty lazy
in the dark between them
festers and ferments
cats bring them out teethed
barely holding
they even work through your pockets
better than normal
even in your imagined problems
were filming a reality show
it's like a tickle party

4210 Improv 8

Hap
by Thomas Hardy
If but some vengeful god would call to me From up the sky, and laugh: "Thou suffering thing, Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy, that thy love's loss is my hate's profiting!" Then would I bear it, clench myself, and die, Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited; Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I Had willed and meted me the tears I shed. But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain, And why unblooms the best hope ever sown? --Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain, And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan. . . These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.

My Improv-

If, for some reason, I were to live
from a fractal of time, wandering talks of lace satin,
know it be a nightmare-- the un-learned
that existed but, never truly jump the plane.
Then forgive my predetermined vagina
steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased by the perks of floral decent.
Had the "why" been answered
but instead X scar me pretty
And curse the man who wish to kiss.
-- Crass my sympathy, my hand over the sick baby's forehead
And leave me in the South American jungle
bliss-es sung softly in Spanish lullabies.

4210 Improv 7

I heard a Fly buzz (465)
by Emily Dickinson
I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –  The Stillness in the Room Was like the Stillness in the Air –  Between the Heaves of Storm –  The Eyes around – had wrung them dry –  And Breaths were gathering firm For that last Onset – when the King Be witnessed – in the Room –  I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away What portions of me be Assignable – and then it was There interposed a Fly –  With Blue – uncertain stumbling Buzz –  Between the light – and me –  And then the Windows failed – and then I could not see to see –  My Improv: I heard a Fly buzz- when I died- The Stillness in the Room I felt the air freeze- in my throat- and lung a penny tomb. The retina fail- and then the rest a casket soon consume the news is truth- a child having not yet touch- the gas stove. The beans are tall-but not enough- to rise up out the soot so the baby learns nothingness while flagged- sat by the tomb.

4210 Improv 6

Hap

IF but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: "Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
That thy love's loss is my hate's profiting!"

Then would I bear, and clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased, too, that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.

But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
--Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan....
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain. 

Thomas Hardy

I Just changed the words from Thomas’s piece

IF but some browsing poorman would call to me
From in these tough times, a disease: "Thou suffering thing,
there is no known that sorrow his ecstasy,
That he love's loss is my hate's profiting!"

Then would he rattle, and venom sting, and die,
wither by the sense of break unmerited;
Half-eased, too, that a Black Face of War
Had tipped and coined his tears he shed.

But not so. How leaves like the autumn,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
--Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan....
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.

4210 Improv 5

I Heard a Fly Buzz- When I Died
Emily Dickinson

Dying

I heard a fly buzz when I died;
      The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
      Between the heaves of storm.
The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
      And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
      Be witnessed in his power.
I willed my keepsakes, signed away
      What portion of me I
Could make assignable,-and then
      There interposed a fly,
With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
      Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
      I could not see to see.

My Improv:

Note to self:

Improv writing like Emily

Dickinson I heard is

A proven difficult task, yes

It is quite difficult to do.

I am sitting here, library

Frustrated cream cheese chives

Feed my belly, yummy

I think to myself this is end.

4210 Improv 4

Because I Could Not Stop for Death

Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death – 

He kindly stopped for me – 

The Carriage held but just Ourselves – 

And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility – 

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring – 

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – 

We passed the Setting Sun – 

Or rather – He passed us – 

The Dews drew quivering and chill – 

For only Gossamer, my Gown – 

My Tippet – only Tulle – 

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground – 

The Roof was scarcely visible – 

The Cornice – in the Ground – 

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses' Heads

Were toward Eternity – 

Mine. I tried to follow the 8 and 6 pattern... fail lol

Pregame Procedures

(when the well-ordered meet for war)

They meet in Mexico

the city of yachts, rapid growth,

and world-class agave tequila.

The girls, they mirror mascara

and the boys, they con-troll

step-by-step the bomber

claim exclusive international right

larger in size and honey the nose

two-sided, masks real relation-

ships “forward” grid tally

and equipment limitations.

4210 Improv 3

This is a long poem so I am just going to link to it and below is my odd writing.

“The tide that left and never came back”

“And Hansel said to Gretel,” Fact:

the inside of a butterfly is orange,

it quirts the shape of the coastline

controlling the directions needed to find

home, never satisfying the almost equal,

the gravitational force of other needs,

itemized purchase of powdered milk ,

shoes, and tile from hours to years

crumble the way home.

The sea it twists into accurate accounts

boating the English, Dutch, and the African

pygmy hedgehog — forced to believe their wild

or put into a state of responsible breeders

and propelling handlers of “FREEDOM”

a fear to question predators — especially

the “regime type,” the composed bodies

of opinion leaders, the ones who Jaw

When things are as dirty as the stripper scandal.

More Junk Yard

Fact: The inside of a butterfly is orange.

PLEASE COMMENT!! For every 1 load of laundry how many dryer sheets are you supposed to put into that load?

*sigh* Just realized Florida looks like a penis. I'm living in the Penis State.

Blood work and doctors visits will soon be the death of me..I think doctors are secretly in a league of blooding sucking vampires!

I’m not explaining things to people anyway

I drunk half of it black because I’m an Adult

I miss my dirty rice

Food for the poor

We're all insane the same people

everyday we're dying and I am dying to die

saw a boa kill a rabbit on discovery earlier today. It must suck living in nature.

Somewhere between Miami and Cozumel is not a bad choice

4210 Improv 2

When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer

BY WALT WHITMAN

When I heard the learn’d astronomer,

When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,

When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,

When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,

How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,

Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,

In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,

Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

Improv-

Typhoons pour over poor Manila, August 8 2012

When I heard nothing from the baby clung

to her mother’s lungs, the striking support

of the railing no longer permit off-limit guard

to protect her family’s greatest asset – time

kept quite in her infant eyes that no longer haze

light golden brown but instead spindle and swell

into water fractals, dirty cultivated rice, and the sick trend

of PARENTHOOD : the reply of a sixteen year old girl

to force extended arms around the shoulder of a boy

who could not provide symmetrical support but grant

debts that can’t be ready: “prepared for a hurricane.”

More Junk Yard Quotes

Down to such a fine art
the gently-er of the open road
wash behind your ears twice a day
simply lack
pursuits we're looking for
I wanted something gummy and fruity. All they had were the stupid gummy worms. It was miserable I had to chop the worms.
To another building
lock the door
start shooting
you'l change the way you do something to save your life
the behavior of those young people
reach and audience that doesn't listen
wake and sensible after tragedy
before a dark cloud
you can't be tired when you're dealing with someone else life
you can't embarrass me but I can embarrass you
shot gun above the car- you don't listen to her but me
an apology alone is painful
The how and the why
The essence of writing is re-writing
wordy dude
you realize some words are not necessary
The filthy words that are always filthy we've lost so many freedoms in the last few years. it's bogus.
humanity allows people to say good bye before we die
you can't say that what's happening to free speech
different strokes for different folk
everyone knows everything. I know everything.
why spend mine when I can spend yours
While we spoke of many things
Hulett and abandon bulding
You ruined the tip of her banana
I am tired of color
no adventure stopping