Saturday, January 31, 2015

Pine Trees

It tasted gruff
and rough
And harsh
But I loved it
It tasted like the future
Like the taste of something familiar
But unknown
And exciting
Like something I could fall in love with hard
And never get over
And then when they
I could say familiar
Because comfortable
Which shifted quick to boring
And even though the taste was still warm and rushing
One side thought stale instead.

Riley Welch

Wednesday, January 28, 2015


My brain is loud, yelling,
Sighing fire,
Letting me in on a big secret,
A secret that is also a lie.
It's called, "sleep is not a necessity"

So even as I lie in darkness
Making attempts to drift

"not needed"
"waste of time"

Tickles at half listening eardrums.
Beating the bass of my eardrum.
Rhythmic forever sounding.
You're still up, you're still up.

Real and loud.

Waiting for everyone else to get up.

Riley Welch

Monday, January 26, 2015

The Better

And I drove through the thickest fog I had ever seen

And mist hit the windows
And the inside fogged up too
And I couldn't see anything



All I could see was
Barely there white
Dashes leading me
Away from the edge

And the repeating bars
Lulled me to
Follow them

And I forgot everything I knew about driving
About watching the horizon
And I looked at each
White dash.

Guiding me away from veering,

The only thing assuring me I wouldn't fall from the edge of Earth,

Was the solid red lights ahead
Telling me there was still road
And not a nightmarish end of a sidewalk
And I felt like i was in a cold, cold dream.

And I almost forgot.
But didn't.

Riley Welch

Saturday, January 24, 2015


I feel like I have endless time

And days

And I need to forget it
Because no one is invisible
But a lot are irreplaceable
And the sooner that is realized
The sooner it can be decided
That you shouldn't live foolishly.

Riley Welch

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

More Words

Ink isn't coming off my pen as easy as it did
Everything becomes a never-ending comparison

Is it good enough?
Bold enough?
Will it touch deep enough?

Have I ordered ordinary words extraordinarily?

Or could anyone spit them,
Scramble them,
By chance shake them so they fall in this order?

Like the poets skill is random.

You can only logically create so much.

Until it sounds just right.

Riley Welch

Monday, January 19, 2015

Grey Like Lead

The back of your eyelids are not interesting.
Or stimulating.

I kind of find them aggravating
Like when your eyes are too sleepy to hold up.

There is so much you could be doing in your head.
But instead
You kind of feel dead.

You stare at your eyelids
Grey like lead.

Until your brain falls asleep
And resets.

Riley Welch

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Root Vegetables

And I was gifted with the hardiest of soups
Rich and filling
Brimmed with reminders of stereotypical home

With rich oak floors
Hand cut by a grandfather or old family friend
Worn in by dogs padded paws
And babies first steps
And maybe some last steps too.

And large roaring fireplaces
That's mantles hold antiques
And photographs,

Some so old they are the antiques

And a dining room table
or two.

Passed down from your great aunts 12th cousin
-who actually met Elvis once - if you'll believe it.

And an old attic full of puffy prom dresses

And ruffled tux shirts

White wedding gowns

And memories.

And with every bite you'll be glad senses
Are so good
At pulling the trigger

On memories.

Riley Welch

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

The Yellow Collection

Part of encouraging myself to write more meant writing whenever I got an idea. I bought a bundle of thin notebooks so I could have one to carry with me. Since August I have been carrying one with a yellow spine, I have labeled it "The Yellow Collection". In December I filled the whole thing and below is the poem to celebrate it's end. Now onto the next notebook!

As this yellow era draws to a close

Another color will so slowly emerge

And the shades themselves

Will paint a mood across the pages

Dancing tip toes extend themselves

Along the edge of crisp pulp

Inking out elegant words

And even more elegant sentences

Stretching themselves out

So they fill the sheet

Then your head

And my mind is in action on a piece of paper

In a way I didn't know existed

Until I filled a whole book with my words

And looked at it like it was a child

That I was in charge of

And felt a little bit proud

That there are so many words

But I still figured out

How to make sense of some.

Riley Welch

Monday, January 12, 2015

Missed Fires

Really long nights
Set up for grateful days
Feasting on sunlight

Before that sun sets too soon over the ever-unreachable horizon.

He tried to reach it once
Ran after the bolting sun

Tears of goodbye
Streaming down his face

"Don't leave me in this dark.
Don't trap me in the night.
This is a thing I do not deserve.
This is a thing I did not ask for."

But the sun answers to no one.
No man. No woman. No animal.
Sometimes the moon, but only when she is feeling especially generous,
especially kind,
especially willing.

He could tame the sun as much as fingers can scrape a scrap of eggshell from the thick battered bowl
Have you tried?
An eggshell only sticks to itself
Like a magnet
It will run from your soft, sticky fingers.

Much like the egg incident:
Want does not increase success when it comes to the sun.

So he chased her
Through the orange sunset
And into the black of dark

Light pollution did not compare to her fiery roar-

And he wandered

He looked to the moon
Wishing for him to brighten in the same way she had

But he did not tear up the sky.
He did not rip at his eyelids.
The moon did not cast long shadows
short shadows
dancing patterns
piercing sunlight.

He ended in a field
Broad. Dying.

Moonlights weak shadowing
Created a maze on the ground.
A feeble one.

And just when he gave up
And decided, she was gone
Light peaked at a far corner
And the sky lightened.

Then great streaming blue - finally.

And the grounds maze felt
Strength once more.

And he cried again
Happy - not tears of goodbye

Unwilling to remember. Dark would come again.

Riley Welch

Saturday, January 10, 2015

Very Small Pebbles

I'm feeling like things are difficult
Like everything I patch
Spills back out.

Like sand from an unpluggable hole
Almost solely to make me get out the needle and thread
And try again. 

As those tiny grains slip
Through my fingers and bounce
Off and on the uneven ground


Mocking of that small hole

That nothing can fix

No matter how thick the needle

Or steady the hand. 

Riley Welch

Wednesday, January 7, 2015


While digging through some things, I found this poem I wrote for my friend Chris. It was written after I had gone to visit him while he had a cold. Once returning to Austin, I fell ill - and the rest rhymes. 

Well you see, I was well and you were not.

And then my face began to rot.

And my throat got, oh, so sore.

School became worse than the usual bore.

And my nose started running,

and I looked anything but stunning.

And you were sick first,

so you must have dispersed

this cold I have now caught.

I can’t even manage a straight thought.

As you can see it’s all your fault.

I’ve lost the game of health by default.

I hope you feel bad.

You’ve made me quite sad.

(And I made that up right on the spot.)

Riley Welch

Saturday, January 3, 2015


Sparkling Gleaming New Years Lights
Reach out and touch your pale skin
Incased in wonder captivated
Ever smoothing
Out that thin stretched smile
Teeth bared
White and clean
Right and square
Laughs grab at night air
And send out ice cold
Rings into the sky
Stars reaching and ready to embrace
That New Year satisfaction.

Riley Welch

Friday, January 2, 2015

Favorite Fridays

Little Fish


The seas I see are far from me,
Yet the bees that be are near to me.
Far across the iridescent hills,
A lonely song of sorrow chills,
It's origin a mystery
It's story a sad history.
So serene is this scenery seen,
Her cattle captives vision so keen.
Lured to her like a sirens dish,
Oh your song is sweet yet so sad little fish.