Wrong

I tried to loop
my 8 backwards.
If you practice,
and learn to do things
every which way,
you improve.
I think -
but the 8 was lopsided.
And then I realized,
September isn't the 8th month anyway.

9/4/2015
Riley Welch

The Bright Green Collection

Here is a poem for my Bright Green Notebook, a poem just as short as the time period I spent writing in it. 

You ended so quickly.
Too quickly.
I wonder which letters
I used most frequently.
Inked out.
On thin pages, sometimes it bled through.
My pen dried up too.
It's time to start
over.
Very fresh, very new.

9/16/2015
Riley Welch

Enough.

I can't  let things go.
It feels
sometimes
like sand slips
through my fingertips.

The sand
is a metaphor
for my sanity.
For my peace of mind.
Do you get it?
Is it clever?
Will it get published?
Am I good enough yet?
How can someone
who practices
so much,
not be good enough?

I never like to
release these thoughts.
Because I feel
like they dig my grave.

- like if I let an inkling
of this out,
it will over take me.
But now it feels
if I leave it
too,
too,
bottled up -
it will never leave me at all.
And it will taint my words,
with sick greed.
I am good enough,
I work hard enough,
I want it enough.
I
I
I
I.
-
That was a good release.

10/18/2015
Riley Welch

6 Totally Exhausted 6 Line Monday Thoghts

8:42 am
I hate following
behind people
in the early morning
who aren't in a panicked
speed-walking hurry,
like me.

10:54 am
I've been awake
for four hours
and ran all over campus
and made calls
and sent emails
but I've only made 25 bucks.

1:23 pm
I'm running
back and forth
in confusing
overlapping
circles.
The turtle pond felt shallow.

5:02 pm
Where
is the day,
it slipped away
and I sweat out
any anger at it's loss
in small, cold beads.

10:29 pm
Clean,
Fresh,
Cold.
Blue and red
and full of notes
This feels like work.

Riley Welch
8/31/2015

10/16/2015

How does
time
move
so slowly
every
now
and
then.

The few left
rotated
ever creaking
back and forth...
No.
Just forth.
A repeated circle,
beat after beat after beat.

10/16/2015
Riley Welch

An Ode to a Small Squirrel

This poem is dedicated to a small squirrel I accidentally hit with my car. I had never ran over an animal before, and it feels pretty awful. I thought the least I could do was write it some words. 

You darted back
across the street
too quick,
I had no time to swerve.
I listened close to a song on
the radio,
about two lovers,
dying together.
You had passed alone.
What a rough feeling -
I'm so sorry
bushy-tailed critter.

As I saw you off
in my rearview mirror
I felt sad for your small rodent body,
Big blue is just a body of metal,
who just couldn't stop.
And for that,
I am sorry.

10/19/2015
Riley Welch

pages

There is never silence.
I am never in silence.
When I do think I am in silence.
My ears ring.
And echo.
And make up pitter-patters that
do not even
exist.

Because my brain doesn't sleep
so my ears can never rest
in fear
it'll all
shut off.

10/14/2015
Riley Welch