Faucet

Lately writing had been on or off
Like a faucet that doesn't know how to just drip

I wish it were a constant flow
Words one over another over another
But instead

It is either words
Spilling
Overflowing

Slipping down the drain before I can get them on the page

Or

It is off

Nothing garble that can barely build crumbled up letters and scattered presentation

But in the icy winter of this book

I ask for a slow
Constant
Drip

So it doesn't all freeze.

6/11/2015
Riley Welch

Mugged Disappointment Part Four

Here we have another installment of my poems about horrible coffee. As you can see this is part four - will this ever end? Will I ever reach a point in my life where all the coffee is better than the last? Or maybe at least not as bad as the coffee presented to you in my Mugged Disappointment series. So here you have it, another terrible mug:

Waking up early, groggy, and beat

I decided this morning I need a treat

Instead of taking the time to craft my usual plain brew

My favorite beverage would make this morning easier to get through

So I left a few minutes early, to swing by the shop

To get an iced drink, that espresso…drop drop drop

Not my normal coffee shop, or usual town

I figured an order so simple would not procure a frown

But when my drink was served up, opaque and heavy

I got a bad feeling this would taste messy

And I predicted the future upon my first sip

And to keep from spitting it out, bit my lip

This was burnt and bitter and very hard

And I trudged through that beverage like a caffeine filled marsh

I suddenly longed for my plain ol’ coffee

‘I paid for this!’ I thought scoffing

And for the first time it couldn’t be finished

I poured out that coffee, my pride diminished

I’ve had plenty of coffee, iced, hot, and blended

But all of these bad mugs – I’m a little offended

I really want to be done writing about bad cups of Joe

But when that will happen, I do not know

It seems my mugged disappointment will never be relieved

But in the next cup, I will always believe.

6/10/2015

Riley Welch

The Same

Maybe all these

Nonsense connections

I try and make

Are just taking up

Important head space

Dropped off and shoved out

For something better 

But now left all filled

By things that won't help me

Solve my problems

Not by a long shot

If this is like this

How is that like that

Fill in the blanks 

Do you get it? 

Do you not?

And now I'm running in circles

And can't figure out 

How to exist in this world

Without any doubt. 

6/12/2015

Riley Welch

The Burgundy Collection

If you've been reading for a while, you know that I have this blog to force myself to write. It makes me accountable for at least three poems a week. In addition to that, I write whenever I get an idea, so I carry a thin notebook with me almost everywhere I go. When I fill up a book, I write a poem about it. This one had a burgundy spine, and it's a little shorter than normal - but that's kind of how these four months felt. Enjoy!

One more book
One more binding
Of pages and pages and pages

And scribbled out thoughts -
Sometimes half empty,
Sometimes so full they're too heavy
To move off these sheets.

Pouring and pouring,
If you didn't count the repeats
Have I built a dictionary?

One made with
different inks and depths

And scribbled out,
Heart-felt and handwritten.

It's lacking definition
So maybe I've just
Scrawled a book

Three messy,
Inked up,
Strong and personal,
Books.

Goodbye burgundy,
You've been good.

6/10/2015
Riley Welch

More Locked Boxes

Have you ever thought of all the secrets
In the minds of those dead
The interlacing connections and
Whispers
That someone told

'Now take this to your grave'
And they did
No one heard them
Maybe a word whispered once
To a baby
or pet
or plant
To someone that couldn't repeat it.

Maybe in a prayer
To a god
Just to get it out of their mind.

Have you ever thought of all those secrets?
All lost?
Buried feet and feet?
Under grass a dirt?
Or burned up to a fine ash?
Spread everywhere?

They turned one over another
Back into the air
Where they once traveled
To burden
Someone's thoughts.

Until with great relief,
it ended.

6/5/2015
Riley Welch

Air

I can't push out the words I needs to speak
Or write
I have all these
Words backed up inside me
But I can't grab a translator
Not right now.

How do you ask
Someone to translate
The solid thick thoughts you have
Into a smooth, running, liquid line of words
Funneled out
Like a drain
They must be melted
Then filtered
Into streaming letter
After letter
Building a ripe story
Pure for whatever they need.

5/31/2015
Riley Welch

Rmblg

Peeling off perfectly glossed
Sheets and sheets
The tug on your cuticle
Is satisfaction

And connections are attempted
Barely finished
Never finished
I say attempted
Because they are not to be confused
For complete
But if one thing gets deciphered
Maybe everything can be figured out
For instance
If one thing is figured out
How to succeed at one thing
At one facet of the world
It could be patterned into everything
If once thing is learned
All things can be learned

Cross page metaphors
Do one, do them
All
Everything becomes a routine
Laundry loads
One after another
Empty the lint catcher
Pour the detergent
Shut the door, check it's locked,
Three times
Routine is comfortable

Especially when you do it right,
Over and over and over.

6/2/2015
Riley Welch

Running Backwards

Does it count as rewinding,
When it all moves right past,
Probably not, but, maybe not

When the houses drift backwards
And all my right turns are left
But real life rewinds,
Don't count in present
They won't count in my past
Or future, but that's forward
For now the clouds just drift
Forwards and I'll circle back,
For a forward moving back step seems to be my path.

5/29/2015
Riley Welch

11:55 pm and with 28% Battery

Sometimes my poems just seem like journal entries

Long winding

---

Everything always seems to start with overlappings

Nothing really there

Until one after another

Piled up

2-d images don’t exist here

we cant imagine them

but sometimes I do

And I imagine they are the first existing layer

Of anything

Really!

Really. Of anything

Just like the outline

The one hundred percent

Verified

Two-dimensional outline

And when you change your angle

Even the slightest bit

Whatever it is disappears

Because that’s physics, punk.

Anyway

Eventually

Overlaps and overlaps later

Something exists

Maybe a dog

A tree

I don’t know

Books, words

Strawberry rhubarb pies

And eventually

The world is built

Round and round and round.

Now don’t let me lose you here

But

The world

Once

Was probably a single un-overlapped two-dimensional thing

And can you imagine that.

6/4/2015

Riley Welch

Human Body

During a supremely fun day at my grandfathers with lots of people, food, and drinks, a few of us stayed up until 4 am. During that time we did some really enjoyable poetry exercises. These two poems are from one we did where the topic was 'the human body' and the poems had to be five lines. 

They say matter is conserved
but such a small thing gets so large
and I guess it makes sense
food is matter too
but who can fathom
how babies grow?

-----

Your long legs lengthen themselves out
across state line
probably
and when your lips curl into an 'O'
all I can say is 'definitely'.

5/30/2015
Riley Welch

Why

I  had a friend once ask me why I write poetry. I didn't really know how to explain it, but this poem is my best guess. 

Poetry is a snapshot landscape.

In my head I used to take scenes
and save them
Dripping with description
Painting a picture
A moment
And I'd hit save
And I'd tell myself
That it could someday
Fit snuggly
At the beginning of a book chapter
Nestled inside a cozy story
Safe and warm

It wasn't until later
I called myself a poet

And I realized these didn't need to be
Snug
Tucked in corners of other
Pieces
Of writing

They were stand alone.

Because not everything needs a full explanation.

5/28/2015