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.