Gregory D. Welch
Bio
Kentucky poet & scribbler. Inspiring creatives to live a creative lifestyle. Creating with courage, passion, & purpose-fueled growth. Progress over perfection.
Stories (54)
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The Door in the Basement
It glowed green as only things of both great beauty and great danger must. I did not know it then, but the pocket watch of both my husband and my life was being wound for its last time, and how tightly wound was not ours to know. We were the ticking hands of a flesh and blood clock losing a little sliver of time with each passing moment.
By Gregory D. Welch4 years ago in Fiction
The Season of the Golden Bull
I was just a girl in the late Summer of 1944. It was the season of the golden bull, and all the chaos it brought to our little clapboard house with the train tracks running through the front yard, cutting the world into sections of here and there, have and have not, hungry and fed.
By Gregory D. Welch4 years ago in Fiction
The Man Who Called Himself Marigold
A wolf doesn't have to eat you for it to swallow you whole. That's what I learned in the Summer of 1980. I was about to meet the man who called himself Marigold. It was just after Mount St. Helen blew her top and the world wobbled a little differently, the Summer that strange things happened and mysteries found their way into my life. It was the Summer I died.
By Gregory D. Welch4 years ago in Horror
The Brown Paper Box and the Nightshade Arcade
"It's the damnedest thing," I said. "So, you didn't send it?" "How would I have sent it? You said it didn't have a stamp or return address or nothing?" Lillith's voice said across the receiver. She was getting irritated.
By Gregory D. Welch4 years ago in Horror
There's a Gentle Sound to the Way the Rain Kisses the Tin Roof
A little storm rumbles in, all rain with a splash of thunder, a few darts of lightning, and you cuddle closer There's a gentle sound to the way the rain kisses the tin roof of the cabin, the way the wind caresses its face and pulls us closer together
By Gregory D. Welch5 years ago in Poets
As the Songs on the Record Player Dance Across the Night Sky
Hey babe, how about a little surprise, just follow the bright orange extension cord outside, little wildflowers tied to it every so many feet with a little pink ribbon and a love note and all the feels tucked in
By Gregory D. Welch5 years ago in Poets
Just an Old Dusty Bookstore, and in the Attic a Magic Clawfoot Tub
Hey darlin, meet me at the bookstore, after hours when it's all tucked in for the night and the books are dreaming a little louder, we can climb into a few good old stories and head up to the attic for an adventure
By Gregory D. Welch5 years ago in Poets
