Seppal’s blog

The sky is covered in a blue hue; thick clouds forming a barrier blocking the sun, the clouds only allowing small flakes of snow to drift idly onto to the wet concrete.  Passing cars spray slush and water onto the tall pane of glass separating the warm inside of the diner from the streets. We sit admiring the silence, my untouched menu folded on the table; strewn with objects Inadvertently cast by a young couple busying themselves with nothing more than passing time. I sit beside her slowly sipping my coffee, mildly listening to her explain how the ideal guy would always offer her the comics before reading the paper himself, I smile sheepishly and turn the page.

The nearly empty shop is a comforting alcove, and our behavior of assumed seclusion, undoubtedly brings nausea to the few sitting nearby. I continue lazily scanning the crossword puzzle, fiddling with words in my mind, and on coming close, or requiring verification I slowly mumble the cryptic clues, with half hearted enthusiasm. She listens; looking up from her phone once in a while, listlessly pouring out suggestions or where needed, corrections. Her meal arrives and she sets to eat her 2 eggs and pancakes; they’re the reason we’re here, so I look over examining the presentation, wondering if the trip was worth it, but my answer is in the look of concentration and excitement hidden in her face, as she pours maple syrup, carefully arranging her food, preparing for the feast.

I sip the fresh coffee our waitress just poured, watching intently, eyeing up the portion size, scrutinizing the intensity of her hunger, calculating my chances of getting anything she can’t finish. I’m not particularly hungry, but then I never really need to be, with her my chances always look good.

“Whu?” She asks catching my gaze.

“Nothing,” I quickly respond, turning back to my crossword.

And fumble along once more in the stream of endless clues and words.

She finishes what she can manage, and without a word lifts her plate over the crossword, placing it neatly in front of me. The bland crossword on the dreary gray paper loses all its appeal, and I drop my pen, opting for a fork.

She pulls the crossword in front of herself, and begins looking over our progress, halting suddenly bringing up the issue of my pen-men ship. I attempt to defend myself, but with a mouthful of food, simply shrug, saving my explanations for later.

I slide the empty plate away toward the space in front of us, averting my attention to her progress; there is none. The blank spaces on the page between logos, and headings, are filled with bits and pieces of her handwriting, she offers me the pen, smiling, asking to see how mine will compete. I concentrate on pulling off a casual neatness but fail to impress on my first attempt, causing my ego to push for further scribbles, changing of styles, and eventually succumbing to a reluctant defeat.

The waitress asks to fill my coffee again; I tilt the cool, nearly empty cup toward me the thin layer of bean puree swishes around at the bottom. I pass on the coffee sliding the cup away, asking for the bill, the waitress nods and smiles. I go back to watching her examine our writing; she stopped making comments about mine, pointing to hers she explains how different pens influence the end result. I realize I have never bothered to notice if that is also true for me, and make a mental note to do so in the future. The soft layer of light outside has faded, and now the illuminated pools of water under the lampposts reflect the charcoal sky.

We stand up to leave, and I hold her jacket while she wraps her scarf around her neck. I look down at our table and the stains of rings from the coffee cups, which cluster almost symmetrically. The newspaper sits disheveled and open, the scribbled crossword section with its gray paper and black text, seems odd with the stream of two peoples writing indelibly cast onto it. Merging at parts, the writing a mass of random utterances, holds no specific value, the blue words wind and weave intimately into each other, creating a tapestry of colour on the other-wise bland page.

This is for a very special lady in my life.  I think you know who you are...mommy :) , and a wink for creepy measure ;). I wrote this for Cuqui as a small example of all the ways she inspires me.

Lethargic Strides

 down forest road, my wanderlust nearly sated. My loneliness walked with me, I found the seclusion I had awaited. Time pressed on and as we strode a realization stirred, my nemesis beside me only echoed my hollowed words.

I came upon a clearing genuflecting as I did beseech.

“For so long have I marched alone, grant solace to the meek.”

Somber and dejected my spirit waning fast, I felt myself begin to lean toward the empty path.

I looked and saw a glimmer, through a thorny shrub. I cut my hand as I peered through kneeling on a stub.

Counting Many Poems

their beauty now seemed bland; my eyes beheld a wood nymph, my legs once more did stand.

She sat on an embankment of water green and brown; she dangled her soft foot and played as water rippled ‘round.

Her silver hair it sparkled sent shimmering the air, her clothes woven from the grass so green, the forest seemed plucked bare.

The moonlight poured through her stained glass wings and painted shadows gold.

This marvel held me spell bound, as love in words is told.

She stared outside the window, watching the petals bend.

The weight of their huge coloured wings forced the flowers downward.

They seemed free and happy dancing and whirling as though caught in the breeze.

Her eyes glared through the glass, imagining something so delicate, how it would feel.

Pressing her face against the glass she sighed and becoming impatient she pawed at the window.

The sun was starting to set and the fluttering spectacles were retreating.

Disappointed she bent her head licked her paw and retreated for more sleep

Perhaps tomorrow they would go out.

This is a work of fiction meant to be nothing more than entertaining. I hope you enjoy it, as much as I enjoyed practicing the secret way to make Jesus happy that my Pastor showed me at church camp. I think he's in jail now...or teaching kindergarten, I cant remember.......well enjoy :).

The blood of the gunner sprayed out of the exit wounds in his body and smeared across my face, he fell, lifeless. I had just met him a few hours ago I couldn’t even remember his name and he was dead, his face twisted in agony. My mind wasn’t on him now, I just looked up and the 50 cal. realizing that without its cover-fire we were all as going to end up like him, I just didn’t want that.

A coward’s death had never appealed to me, I jumped up and grabbed the gun by its handle swinging around and pointing it an approaching technical. Choking hard on the trigger the gun bellowed its angry grunt and sent forth a volley of bullets hurtling towards my target. The wall of lead collided with the front make-shift war wagon, tearing through the engine block and mangling the driver. The trucks front tires seized overturning it, cause the gunner in the back to be ejected face first onto the sandy earth. The immediate threat accomplished I put my eyes on the prize. I had caught them all by surprise, as they were dismounting the back of the troop carrying trunk. Tracers and bullets flew towards them, men scrambled and jump but to no avail. I minced the truck to shreds soaking the earth underneath it with crimson puddles. In all the commotion I hadn’t noticed the bullets whizzing by my head, they eventually noticed me however…….

Well, the title says it all.