All-knowing

I once met a man
who was rather cold and frank,
and he told me
lacking emotion,
that life wasn't all that great.

Now how was I
to respond to such a statement.
Caught off guard,
yes, quite surprised,
I, as usual,
lacked response.

Eventually,
mouth finally closed,
I composed my thoughts:

When did
you decide,
the rights, the wrongs, the lefts,
in life.

---

Maybe it was his beard,
that granted him
such knowledge.

Though to this day,
I still believe
it had to be his nose.

It was large, and
all-knowing.

10/27/2015
Riley Welch

Cold

I am still adjusting to the cold, and sometimes it reminds me of when I lived here before (and other thoughts that crossed 11 year old Riley's mind).

Sometimes
on cold walks from car to home
I let the cold get to me.

And by sometimes,
I begrudgingly mean most.

But on this certain walk home,
I remembered
when I was in 5th grade.
Taking a similarly cold walk,
from the building
to my mom's car
after theater practice.

And I felt cold,
very cold.

And in that moment,
I remembered
once
on a long road trip
across a few states
I listened to book after book on tape.

The benefit of these being that even when driving in the dark
you could continue to read.

And there was a character -
wounded.

And, in great pain,
he focused on
it's center.

And when he focused,
it didn't hurt.
Or at least,
he was not controlled by the pain.

So I tried to focus on the cold.
What was this feeling anyway?
How did it feel?
Where did I feel it?

And by centering on the cold,
I was really just trying
to block it out.

And for a split second.
I wasn't cold
or warm
or anything.

But it didn't work
as well as I thought.

And after a few minutes,
I gave up,
and ran up a tall, tall hill
to the warmth of my mother's car.


1/26/2015
Riley Welch

Another Monday

I feel strangely heavy
when I think about
Mondays.

Something about Friday
feels so light,
and irresponsible.

But the weight of a Monday
is always waiting,
to catch you off guard.

With all the work
you put off
all weekend.

1/24/2015
Riley Welch

289

How do you help
emotions?
Eating you live,
bubbling up,
from organs
you didn't know
could feel?
Who would
have thought,
happiness
could start in your fingers
and echo out.
And sadness
could stuff up your nose
before it moves south.

12/24/2015
Riley Welch

Me,

I can't ever
stop
putting
words on these papers,
even when they're no good,
or especially when they're no good.
Because how do you escape a slump
if you do nothing.
You can write right over it,
out of it,
Partner up enough letters
words
vowels
periods
and it has to sound decent eventually.

10/27/2015
Riley Welch

TNIMFT

Maybe the key
to figuring out your life,
isn't who you want to be
late, late at night
at a punk concert.
Or when your hard at work
crunching numbers.
Maybe the key is
who you want to be
on long bus rides home,
And bright early in the
morning.
I've been told the
orange juice can answer your
wishes.

10/27/2015
Riley Welch

286

I understand why
poets
number their poems
I don't know what to
call anything anymore.

1,2,3,4
At least then,
you keep track.

10/11/2015
Riley Welch

W@OJJC

Everyday categorizing
every person
I met.
Then another, then another.
Does my repetition
get as old in my poetry
as it does in real life?
Because
sometimes I worry it does.

There's another repetition.

Worry.

Endless endings
of overturned stomachs
and half bitten fingernails.

Well that part doesn't ring true anymore,
now my nails sing smooth under satin sheets of slick polish.

Reformed.
Instead I bite my lip.
Clench my jaw.
Inhale sweet but sharp.

Everything overlaps.

10/11/2015
Riley Welch

Over and Over Again

After a busy week of settling in, I can finally get back to posting. Here is one I wrote in the car on the drive up here.

Over and over again
I read about writing,
why do writers
love to write about writing
so much?

Is it because
even if you only feel it once
or twice
it is so perfect
you can't imagine doing anything else?
What else gives you the satisfaction
of pen to paper
and letting it go
and go and go and go?
And there is no stopping
the ideas
wicking themselves from the deepest parts of your brain
and coating the paper.

Even some days
when I sit down to write
and it's been weeks
I feel like it's been years.
Like I've let ideas simmer too long.

But at least I know I'll never stop.

1/4/2016
Ome's Birthday
Riley Welch