Bev Tappan

Category: Adventure Poems

Traveling and exploring are the keys to longevity

  • ECUADOR POEMS: THE SPICE OF VARIETY

    THE SPICE OF VARIETY

    In Ecuador platanos are fed to the birds:

    Dozens of hummers, tanagers and such.

    In Ecuador mango juice is savored

    And passion fruit mousse, but not too much.

    Ecuadorians favor grass-fed beef,

    Sea bass, camarones and farm-pond trout.

    Yuca strips dipped in sugar are a treat.

    Espresso they will never do without.

    Ecuador is home to many climates,

    Subtropical and temperate and more,

    Which Andean cloud forests generate:

    It all depends on how far up you go.

    So if you’re feeling tired of deja vu,

    Ecuador is the perfect place for you.

  • ECUADOR POEMS: AT THE RIO COSANGA

    AT THE RIO COSANGA

    We left our San Isidro cabanas

    And stopped at the bridge on the Rio Cosanga

    To search for the elusive yellow duck

    For which we were not to be in luck.

    However, blue swallows sat on a rail

    Preening and flipping their wings and tails,

    Then dipping and swooping in widening arcs

    Snapping up insects above the rocks

    Where the river rushed in a foaming flood

    Fed by the weeping clouds above.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: WHITE LAKE

    WHITE LAKE

    It’s like dipping our paddles in glass

    So clear is the water, so pristine the sand.

    We watch as reflections glide past:

    The pines and the hemlocks in orderly ranks.

    Three loons are reflected as well,

    The mother and father with chick in between.

    Soon they will hear the South call

    And singly take flight to the beckoning sea.

    A migrating monarch drifts by,

    One of an army toward Mexico bound.

    And what is our path, you and I?

    Do we too respond to the warm siren’s sound?

    Or must we accede to the cold,

    Settle down in our comforter blanket of snow?

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: SEPTEMBER MORNING ON THE EXETER

    SEPTEMBER MORNING ON THE EXETER

    In the river today the trees

    Mirror themselves.  As we paddle

    Our kayaks we see double:

    Two trunks, two thatches of branches,

    Two patches of reeds, two blossoms

    Of pickerel weed, two bushes

    Of orange-bespotted jewelweed,

    Two bare and barren wood-peckered

    Skeletal hulks with bony limbs.

    From the dark woods a hoot owl

    Invites us to come on in, come on in.

    Bluejays flit across our bows.

    Wild ducks practice flight patterns.

    The heron is no longer present.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: THERE IS A TIDE

    THERE IS A TIDE

    The tide was high when we put in

    At Chapman’s Landing halfway down

    The Squamscott, and there was no wind.

    We thought the fisherman’s advice was sound

    To head downstream toward the Great Bay

    So when the tide began to ebb

    We’d be assisted on our way.

    We watched the heron overhead,

    Admired the osprey nest on shore

    And came in sight of the railroad bridge

    Through which the current was moving more

    Forcefully on its leading edge.

    While turning around to look behind

    One paddler broadsided the flow

    And we were suddenly shocked to find

    That she was swimming outside her boat,

    Her kayak firmly pinned in place

    Against two randomly rooted posts,

    Nailed by the current’s relentless pace,

    Weighed down by the water’s steady flow.

    Then it was that we recognized

    What tidal power held  us fast,

    That there would be no compromise

    Until we reached the sea at last.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: TODAY’S KAYAK

    TODAY’S KAYAK

    As we put in our three boats

    We feel the first few drops.

    It is too warm for raincoats

    So we push brashly off.

    Across the lily-padded cove

    A hectored heron flies

    Harassed by a persistent crow

    With persecution on his mind.

    The large dark cloud above us

    Then looses its watery freight

    And soon has sprinkled upon us,

    Refreshing on this hot day.

    Undaunted, we paddle onward

    Along the reedy marsh

    Hearing children’s voices behind us

    From the camp whose beach we passed.

    At the island we turn back landward.

    Damp but happy we’ll head homeward.


  • TAMWORTH POEMS: BELGIAN DRAFT HORSES

    BELGIAN DRAFT HORSES

    Huge and heavy-hoofed,

    Wide-eyed but placid Pete

    Gives me a curious look

    While slightly shy-eyed Fred

    Stares modestly at the ground.

    Patient, they stolidly stand

    As straps are buckled round,

    Collars and spreaders hitched

    And wagon tongues hooked on.

    Twelve tourists climb aboard.

    Our driver flicks the reins.

    Fred and Pete ease forward

    And then with a powerful trot

    They pull us up and onward

    Until we crest the hill

    And feast our eyes upon

    A long lake filled with isles.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: THREE HIKERS AND A DOG

    THREE HIKERS AND A DOG

    A flash of orange bounds across our snowshoes.

    Checker, the black and white Australian shepherd,

    Wearing his lustrous “Hunters, don’t shoot me!” coat,

    Checks up on us as we crunch along White Lake’s shore.

    We watch him tree a saucy squirrel not at all

    Fazed by his leaps and sharp impatient barks.

    Our eyes are drawn to jagged cavities drilled

    In the trunks of pines by woodpeckers after bugs.

    We hear a raven’s hoarse foreboding croak

    And note the jumbled prints of skittering voles.

    Here where the track accesses the shore we take

    A shortcut over the lake.  Checker says “Hey!”

    To an angler who’s driven his truck and fish shack

    Onto the ice but reports, “No dice!” for a catch.

    Halfway around we reach the beeches.  Our poles

    Break free of entangling brush whose name we can’t

    Recall.  We learn the dog has a checkered past:

    Rejected by his siblings, he was the outcast,

    The runt about to be dispatched, but love

    Has prevailed.  He’s now a lively obedient rover.

    Nearing our cars we are brought to a halt.  A mountain

    Bike with snow tires stops our forward momentum.

    We understand Checker’s anxious barks.  We feel

    These forest paths were meant to be trodden by feet.

    Out of the west a wall of darkness dispatches

    The sun and a wintry wind assaults our backs.

    We are just in time to retreat to Rosie’s for lunch,

    Safe from the blast of a fast moving polar vortex.

    Checker curls up for a nap in the back of the van.

    It’s time for next week’s outing to be planned.

  • JAPAN POEMS: 22 HAIKUS

    TIME TRAVEL #1

    Westward to Japan

    We fly into tomorrow

    Before today ends.

    JAPANESE TODDLER

    Petite and sad-eyed,

    When gifted with a toy car

    She glows with wonder.

    JAPANESE FATHER

    The headphones he fits

    To his daughter’s tiny head

    Are like a blessing.

    FALL REUNION

    Three old Japanese

    Comrades smile for our camera

    At the Buddhist shrine.

    GINGKO BILOBA

    Maidenhair fossil

    Tree, you are said to be the

    Cure for all life’s ills.

    jAPAN CITIES

    Swarming urban hives,

    Every bus a cattle car,

    Each crossing, Times Square.

    FORECAST

    Japan, exemplum

    Of the word “congestion”:

    Our planet’s future.

    THE PHILOSOPHERS’ WALK

    Lined with cherry trees

    By a flowing waterway,

    A respite from crowdS.

    A FAR CALLING

    From the Zushi train

    We see a glimpse of Fuji,

    Clear but far away.

    THE TRAIN TO TAKAYAMA

    Along a river

    Cut into volcanic rock

    The night falls early.

    TAKAYAMA TO NAGOYA

    Bullet trains cut straight

    Through and between mountainsides

    Gowned in fall colors.

    MEMENTO MORI

    At Hase temple

    Kites circle over our heads.

    Death is never far.

    AT THE ZOO

    With unhopeful eyes

    The elephant looks at me

    And I feel ashamed.

    APPEARANCES CAN BE DECEIVING

    Fragrant lychee fruit,

    Your delicious white sweetness

    Hides in your rough rind.

    THE HAKONE YAJIKITA

    Painted charlatan,

    You gull foreign visitors.

    You are no ryokan.

    TAKAYAMA MARKET

    Your vegetables

    Astonish foreign viewers:

    So big, so perfect!

    RESTING PLACE

    Towering cedars

    Shelter a benign spirit:

    Koyasan’s founder.

    LITTLE TREES

    Gracious persimmons,

    Your golden globes light our way

    And your fruit hangs low.

    AUTUMN SPLENDOR

    Delicate fingered

    Fiery red gold maples:

    Fall epiphony.

    ANOMALY

    Sea of sand and stone

    At the Silver Pavilion

    A respite from crowds.

    PETITION

    Gnarly limbed old pine,

    Symbol of longevity,

    Teach us how to age.

    TIME TRAVEL #2

    As I’ve longed to do,

    We fly back in time, but we

    Don’t fly far enough.

  • JAPAN POEMS: ODYSSEY

    ODYSSEY

    I have returned to Japan after thirty years

    Since our youngest daughter made her way

    To complete in Osaka her BU college degree.

    Her father was still jogging every day.

    Life and the rice fields were still green.

    On this fall visit to Japan I plead

    For some relief from grief.  I ask

    The gracious Buddha for heart’s ease.

    And as the strenuous swift days pass

    Through alien and exotic scenes,

    I sense a slowly growing distance

    Between my sweet lost loves and me,

    A moat of separation from the past.

    Though no less dear their features be,

    I stand outside the looking glass

    Between what is and what can never be,

    Between acceptance and a world of pain,

    And lightening my dark misery

    I feel a welcome sense of peace.

    The rice stalks now are drying in the fields.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: WE ARE NOT ON THE LEVEL

    WE ARE NOT ON THE LEVEL

    Clambering up slippery slopes,

    Avoiding obstreperous rocks,

    Teetering on edgy brinks

    On this over-the-hill hike,

    We’ve summited our local Everest,

    Mounted steep fire tower steps

    And gazed with a mild surprise

    Over hills and lakes and skies.

    Now sprawled on boulder benches

    We eat our ten o’clock lunches.

    A mild breeze stirs our hair

    While Nancy sketches us there.

    Wind-bent pines lean toward us.

    A redtail circles over us.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: COLLAGE

    COLLAGE

    Pieces of our shared past

    Drift softly in my mind,

    Flutter like shaking aspen

    Leaves in the autumn wind:

    Otters on the French River,

    Haleakala’s silver swords,

    Sea anemones aquiver,

    Beaver woodcutters at work,

    Red spires in Bryce Canyon,

    Deer on a frozen lake,

    A herd of honking sea lions,

    Phosphorescence in our wake.

    Shifting images coalesce,

    Merge in a misty scene:

    Bright moments of our happiness

    Weave in a fading dream.