Week 1 (Improv)

The House on the Hill – Edwin Arlington Robinson

They are all gone away,
Memories that piled up
Liked old, unused books.
They tore down the House
In the middle of Ruff Street
Three years ago. The roll on
Roofing, rough lumber porch,
Mimosa tree are all gone.
Now all that’s left is an empty
Lot, its getting harder for me
To remember what everything
Looked like back then.

Week 1 (Improv)

Waiting for the Storm – Eric Cockrell

snow birds screeching in the trees,
red-hot wood stove sits idly
in the corner. Wind and hail
pound and scratch at the windows,
trying to get in. I lived in a house
across from a graveyard. The tombstones
barely visible above the snow line,
we were all being buried.

Week 5 (Improv 5)

The Idea of Order at Key West – Wallace Stevens

She sang beyond the genius of the sea,
Over the rough, amber waves as sun beams
Sank into Mariana’s trench.
Gulls called over the temper
Of waves, crabs sought shelter as the
Tides abandoned them.
I was alone of the soft coarseness
Of the beach, but I could still hear the singing
As it vibrated into the gray sea foam. 

Week 5 (Improv 4)

Smoke – Philip Levine

Can you imagine the air filled with smoke?
A hundred dim cigarettes reeking in
Glass bowls on every table.
Silver whisps, almost palpable,
always just out of reach.
Watch as they dance between
Your fingers, taunting you to
Grab them. Reach for the white
Tails of vapor in the dank bar.
Just like happiness, always slipping
Through your fingers.

Week 5 (Improv 3)

Mirror in February – Thomas Kinsella

The day dawns, with scent of must and rain,
Grass clings to the last bit of condensation,
Eventually letting go, knowing that
Tomorrow will bring more.
A crow grips something between
Its beak, watching morning begin again.
The same things happens every day,
But there is something comforting
In the monotony of life.  

Week 5 (Improv 2)

Diving into the Wreck – Adrienne Rich

There is a ladder.
Leaned against the white
Roughness of a picketed fence.
Father said that I wasn’t
Allowed to climb the
Dry rotted rungs,
They weren’t safe.
One day, after the school
Bell set me free, I
Climbed to the very top
Looked out over the
Unharvested back field.
I didn’t hear the gentle
Crack as the pine rung
Released and threw me to
The mossy, wet ground below.

Week 5 (Improv 1)

Let Evening Come—Jane Kenyon

Let the light of late afternoon
Shine through the plate-glass
Door as we drink miniature
Bottles of overpriced vodka.
Order room service that we
Can’t afford. Putting myself
In debt to impress a woman,
That doesn’t think I’m
Impressing at all.

Week 5 (Junkyard Quotes)

1)      “All sorts of messed up”

2)      “language is insufficient but its all we have ”

Junkyard Quotes (Week 3)

        1) Youre the only thing that’s keeping these nightmares away at night  

        2)  The house in the middle of Ruff Street

Improv (Week 3)

Starlight Scope Myopia – Yusef Komunyakaa

Gray-blue shadows lift

Off the end of the Marlboro light

I stole from Gran’s purse this morning.

Half a mile from the back door,  

Im hiding in the pine

forest of a whippoorwills song.

I always carry an old bottle of

Cologne I found in the drawer,

Make sure she doesn’t smell

The silver spotted smoke

That clings to the wrinkles

in my hand-me-down jacket.

Improv (Week 3)

Move – Lucille Clifton

They had begun to whisper, while their

Children darted behind the shinned

Hardness of mini-vans as

Martha went out to do yard work.  

Women who called themselves mothers

Pointed out of their ammonia shined windows,

Telling their friends about loss that they had

Never experienced, and hopefully never would.

We decided to move last month,

To a town that didn’t know my wife,

A town that would understand loss.

Improv (Week 3)

The Thought-Fox—Ted Hughes

I imagine this midnight moment's forest,

‘Coon hounds yell over, and over.  

            Follow them dogs, boy!

Flashlights bob in and out of valleys,

Darting from tree top, to tree top.

Uncle Phillip leads the way,

Ripped blue jeans, boots, t-shirt with

Dip spit splattered over the collar.

Tripping over an oak trees root, I stop

To catch the breath that had

Gotten out ahead of me during the chase.

I can no longer hear the baying,

Bobbing ghost lights have disappeared

In the illusion of fog and fear.

I imagine this midnight moment’s forest,

Pulling me into its damp, death soaked moss,

never letting go.

Improv (Week 3)

Looking West from Laguna Beach at Night – Charles Wright

I've always liked the view from my mother-in-law's house at night,

looking out over the field of corn that never made it to harvest,

tall figures reflect the waxed moons vibration. I want to see

the sun claw its way over Taylor’s ridge, and wake up the neighbors.

I’d take a dead crop over apartment buildings any day,

Give me hardship and hard work, leave the suit and tie

On the back of the closet door, the blue one I wore to my aunt’s funeral.

I want to smell the harshness of barnyard air, the viscous stink of hogs

As they roll in the disintegrated remains of last week’s supper,

The supper we could barely afford.