Riley welch is a poet from texas living in Denver. She posts three original poems a week. 


There’s this eagle in the sky
And he just happens to know this guy,
Who knew a good old friend of mine.
And that good old friend used to build signs.

He built them big, he built them grand,
He built them all across the land.
He also built them quite small,
And sometimes very, very tall.

He painted great, bright shades
Burgundies, blues, reds, and suede’s.
They stood out, vibrant against any backdrop
Grassy field, town squares, or corn cash crops.

They started from a nice strong base
He chose cedar and walnut and built with grace
He’d cut the wood and sand it smooth,
He let it follow its natural groove.

Whichever way its grain would slope
He would follow without doubt, only hope,
For he and the wood had become close over time
He knew how to build, how to sculpt, just right

He’d spend hours until the base was perfect
Modest and delicate, never eccentric-
And when every screw was perfectly in place
He’d cover it in a pristine glaze.

Every ounce of effort put in would show
And the wood would sparkle, gleam, glow,
And then, my old friend, well, he’d cover it in canvas
He’d stretch it tight, like the petals of a fresh polyanthus.

He’d hand mix paints from red, yellow, and blue
He’d let the paint guide him – if you could, wouldn’t you?
He had a gift, a passion, you could say
His signs were is art, they varied, they swayed.

No two signs were ever the same
But I think that he just liked it that way.
And if you’d ever ask, he’d say they built themselves
They formed on their own, nothing to do with himself.

And his whole life, he made these signs alive
From wood, glaze, canvas, and paint they were derived.
He made them, and they made him
Symbiotic, co-existing, it was good luck, just a whim!

And so that eagle in the sky
Who’d swoop and dip and knew that guy
Who knew that good old friend of mine
Would perch and sit on a grand sign,

Little did he know my good old friend
Had built there, every crook and bend
And placed it where the street would end
So the eagle could rest in it’s descent.

Riley Welch

Lead and Graphite

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