This is an improv off of the piece "The Roman Baths at Nimes" by Henri Cole. The thing about this piece that really drew me to it was the line "mixes sweet with fear." It's such an intriguing little phrase. What exactly is mixing sweet with fear? How do you do that? I'm not sure if my improv really matches anything with the questions I posed, but I was trying to capture the form of the Sonnet. I am still working on all of this, so help would be welcomed.
When someone mixes sweet with fear, please care
like mothers at the playground. Slides, out there
on swings, their kids like whatever they do.
A little boy lay crying, having one
small scrape from plastic slides, except the flow
from cuts on wrists and arms, like fighting done
to kids before, the ones from since been gone.
Until the mothers see their kids, its fear
that keeps them home. They wonder what can spawn
a fear, a debilitating career
of love, of hate, of rising hope and eyes
that see to only that of blue surprise.
Surprise a mother knows and carries close,
unfolding stairs and chairs, like what's imposed.
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