The Blue-Grey Collection

In order to encourage myself to write, I carry a notebook around with me almost everywhere I go. My notebook of late has been one with a blue-grey spine. I have run through that notebook, so here is the poem that I wrote about the Blue-Grey Series. Now onto another!

This series was popping frustration
Scribbled on blank notebook pages
And relief and rage
And green leaves filling in where dead ones left off

This was dry
Crumbling,
Lacking.

This was everything I thought would come of these months
Some days were more and some days were less.
But the average was exactly as expected.

It's rather disappointing

To be neither over-
Or under-
whelmed.


This was sometimes heavy with feelings
That couldn't reach the page the right way

And sometimes so light and lacking
That it wouldn't stick to the pulp no matter how hard the ink pushed.

But it still means something
Probably
Somewhere.

Deep down on tongue tied pages.

Maybe the spring will be brighter, and lighter, and more satisfying.

I'll have to wait and see.

3/30/2015
Riley Welch

BD

That dog outside
Barks and barks and barks and barks

In circles
And I wonder

If he is alerting anyone

To anything

Of actual importance

Or if he just knows
That it is two in the morning.

And people are trying to sleep.

3/30/2015
Riley Welch

Irregular Fires

He sat up straight.

As the moon’s crescent sailed across the sky

Black and with a depth

You wouldn’t expect it from such a solid color

Seeing long past what you thought you could

He felt like a puppet

Tied up by strings

But he always had

Led through life

By golden-gloved finger tips

Pulling legs and arms

And directing him

Moving whatever way the gods would yank him

But today felt different

He sat up sharp

Usually they guided

And he followed

But this felt forced

Rough

Like the golden gloves

And delicate fingers

Light

Soft

Smooth

Were replaced with a set too large to grasp the wooden control

He yanked the sheets from his bed

And let his feet hit the

Cold hard floor

He rushed his way through morning chores

And slammed the door

Behind

Him

On his way out

Today was not soft

Today was rough

Every move he made was rough

His wheels skidded on the road

And his turns were sharp

The brakes didn’t pump even

Short and long

His foot felt foreign as he hit the pedals

And when he rolled into the driveway

That night

Dark as the one before

He hoped he could be led –

And not pushed,

Like before.               

3/24/2015

Riley Welch

Favorite Fridays

This week's post is six in a series of seven, the rest of which can be seen in the last few weeks of Favorite Friday posts.

The author has asked to remain anonymous. 

Saturday came in disguise. He snuck in when you were busy arguing with his roommate. Saturday taught you how to skateboard and taught you how to play lacrosse. Saturday was easy going and kind. Saturday cared about you and Saturday teased you. Saturday hated Tuesday and Saturday tried so hard to protect you. Saturday was your classic "boy next store" story. Then Saturday caught feelings, but you didn't. Saturday would go to the ends of the earth to help you out, and he has many times. But you don't owe Saturday anything. You don't owe him for the hours you've spent in his room or the nights you've stumbled in drunk. Because dammit you are independent and would have survived without his help. Saturday needed you to need him but you didn't. Even though you tried hard to let your guard down and be needy. Saturday isn't what you're looking for, but in the process of realizing that you lost a wonderful friend. 

Part 1

Lulling water conversation
A back and forth like the tide
In and out

Icy wonder fills lungs to the brim again,
Accepting that freezing bath,

Complete submersion.
And final relaxation.

How old friends can do that -

What an amazing feat this world is.
And what an amazing feat that this world could be.

3/17/2015
Riley Welch

Still Thinking

I try to accept that realization

That everyone you interact with has an entire life. 

Just like you do. 

Like four million pieces,

Seconds on seconds on seconds - 

Building to form the being before me.

But it's a hard thing to process,

That they are not just a piece,

In a board game

Named after you.

Every face a player of it's own life

Which moves at the same pace as yours.

And greater than that is the thought

That one death nearly collapsed me,

And millions die each day,

And each one might collapse

Someone else. 

3/14/2015

Riley Welch

Wet

Rain poured rough on the rusty edges of the roof.
I worried about it's collapse
And also about all the drowning insects.
But it wasn't really my spot.

3/9/2015
Riley Welch