June 26th

1. Okay, crazy one
2.         Pause for one second
3. Take a deep breath
4.         And calm your senses
5. You have to count backwards
6.        Probably from ten
7. And all will be well when you get to the end

6/30/2014
Riley Welch

Favorite Friday

In addition to writing to improve my poetry, I am also trying to read more poetry. I am going to start posting my favorite poem I find during the week each Friday. I hope you enjoy!

Hyacinth

By: Louise Glück

Is that an attitude for a flower, to stand

like a club at the walk; poor slain boy,

is that a way to show

gratitude to the gods? White

with colored hearts, the tall flowers

sway around you, all the other boys,

in the cold spring, as the violets open.

There were no flowers in antiquity

but boys’ bodies, pale, perfectly imagined.

So the gods sank to human shape with longing.

In the field, in the willow grove,

Apollo sent the courtiers away.

And from the blood of the wound

a flower sprang, lilylike, more brilliant

than the purples of Tyre.

Then the god wept: his vital grief

flooded the earth.

Beauty dies: that is the source

of creation. Outside the ring of trees

the courtiers could hear

the dove’s call transmit

its uniform, its inborn sorrow—

They stood listening, among the rustling willows.

Was this the god’s lament?

They listened carefully. And for a short time

all sound was sad.

There is no other immortality:

in the cold spring, the purple violets open.

And yet, the heart is black,

there is its violence frankly exposed.

Or is it not the heart at the center

but some other word?

And now someone is bending over them,

meaning to gather them—

They could not wait

in exile forever.

Through the glittering grove

the courtiers ran

calling the name

of their companion

over the birds’ noise,

over the willows’ aimless sadness.

Well into the night they wept,

their clear tears

altering no earthly color.

Maybe

It would certainly be feasible
Or conceivable
But probably not obtainable
Only done imaginably
Perhaps or perchance
Or weather permitting
Might be
Could be
Or we certainly can be
All I can say is maybe.

6/25/2014
Riley Welch

Untitled

Green, streaming light
Bursting through cracks
That were not meant to be there,
Supposed to be seamless,
But cracked
Flawed-
Stretching far from its containment
Out and Out.
Streaking past shadows
Shattering.

6/22/2014
Riley Welch

Day to Night

Standing on the solid sky – early for her arrival

Growing bright as lights dim on the opposite horizon,

As shadows stretch and then the sky –

To purples and pinks and oranges,

All the living let out a sigh

Of coolness and of shade

And gasp for rehydration from the redness of the day.

The deep colors of the sun dance upon the edge of the Earth

Only to be suffocated by the dark black of her;

So the stars can come to sparkle and tell stories in the sky

Providing a deep slumber under night's watchful eye.

3/20/2014

Riley Welch 

Sunday Morning Music

Gliding keys and moving feet,
Happy songs and grooving beats.
Thudding bass drum sounding strong,
In-between notes, short and long-

Goosebumps lifting to the curve of music,
Booming, vibrant, ringing, acoustic;
Steady picking fingers dance delicately
Along with chantings, ever rhythmically.

The easily impressed,
over (and under) dressed,
old and bold,
young and gold,
Take to the floor to unfold the tunes
Because to musics' solid beat no one is immune.

When the band packs up and the crowd's no longer there
The music's sweet hum still hangs in the air.

6/22/2014
Riley Welch

Night to Day

Dim, Dew, Darkness,
Lightening to a marbled blue gray painting.
Redoranges, yellows,
Signs of gates let open
Petals turn their gaze to welcome Apollo to the day. Roaring out closed channels,
Bright fire licking air,
And breaking guarded horizon of dusk to dawn.
Dew drifts from leaves to kiss the airs new warmth.
As the fingertips of day reach to illuminate the sleeping sky 
And the rays wipe away the starry dust from morning's eye.

3/18/2014
Riley Welch