Lunch Break

I thought Id take account today
Of all the things that've come my way
Or that I can plainly see
From my bench
On the Mall
In old DC
There's geese a-swimming in a
Green ripply pond
Some folks look
But most move on
Achy feet or
Scooter bikes
Wheelchairs, or
Strollers for the little tikes
Languages
I hear a-plenty
A German tour with
More than 20
I've seen horse-mounted cops and
Black sedans
Souvenirs and hotdog stands
Along the asphalt trail with simple benches
Like the one lI've already mentioned
Portajohns wrapped up with tape
If you gotta go
You'll have to wait
So many people
Come to see
The head of this land made
For you, For me
If you make your way out here
I think, you too
Will be amazed
At what you see and hear

It's Midnight

By Joel Seppala

It's midnight. Cardboard boxes ornamented with van line logos climb the walls, the writing literally and figuratively there. Closing Time, Semisonic. The familiar yet mildly haunting echoes return. It's moving day. Relocation. One last call, Semisonic. Shadows reoccupy lost ground in this home become hostel. Memories are everywhere, but somehow they aren't anywhere. The radio intoxicates. Again, Alexa, play that one again. It's the life we live, the price we pay-looking forward, never back. Well, maybe, this time, just a peek.

#movingday

Just Me and the Trail and My New Nikon

Everyone was gone so I hit the trail
With my new Nikon, the one I got on sale
The wind was down and the sky was right
The way it normally is this time of night
I was hoping I would see some green
The kind of verdancy that comes in spring
I grabbed my plaid shoes and my walking hat
Or, something like that
When I found the path I started clicking
Woodland scenes that I was picking
The stream was bubbling
And there was mud
Trees with leaves, flowers with buds
Plaid hat and my walking shoes on
Just me and the trail and my new Nikon

Matthew Chambers

I was in an airport today when a page came across the intercom system for a gentlemen to return to the gate to retrieve something he'd left there. In this poem I attempt to personalize what so often are the most impersonal types of messages.


Matthew Chambers

By Joel Seppala

If your name is Matthew Chambers
Please return to the gate
If your name is Matthew Chambers
Please return and don't be late

Matthew Chambers you've forgotten
Something very dear to you
Matthew Chambers please come back
If we're still near enough to you

Matthew Chambers, Matthew Chambers
Which one of you is he?
Matthew Chambers, Matthew Chambers
Oh where now could you be?

Attention, Matthew Chambers
I say attention, if you please
Attention Matthew Chambers
Come at once, hurry please!

We're all a Matthew Chambers
Scurrying on our way
Forgetting and not listening
Scurrying on our way

The intercom goes silent
Did Matthew Chambers hence return?
Little do we know
And nary shall we learn

Go Easy

A poem about a scene I witnessed involving a mother and child at the pharmacy.

Go easy on him
He's already sick
He wouldn't be here if
He had a choice
The mask on his face
Marks him Afflicted
His barking cough
Announces his arrival
"Don't you throw up"
His mother warns
Her selfish scorn
Is more infectious and insidious
Than is his virus
Sunlight and rest
Fluids and love
Is what he needs
Reproach and repentance
Is her prescription