Improv Week 1

In an effort to kick off and really get rolling with this blog thing, I thought I'd try "improv"-ing  a children's poem by Shel Silverstein for fun (indeed, it was).

"Where the Sidewalk Ends"
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.


                                                                                                                                                                            
  "Where Resolution Ends"

There is a place where resolution ends 

Right before accordance begins, 

And there, bored salesmen sift through the various seasons 

And reconstruct imperfect definitions 

And there, confidence hides from decisions 

To rest from her concept of time.

Let us leave this place where skyscrapers push against last year 

And next Wednesday steadily gets out of hand. 

Past those particular avenues when our stories sounded somehow more clear  

We shall walk with a walk that is abstract and unfamiliar

And watch civilization slowly become less sincere

To a some place in an unknown county. 

Yes we will walk within this single implication,

troubled by a newly fashioned and finite boundary

For the river, is a device, and the river, it surrounds

A place where colors are characterized by their blindness.