Family Poems – Bev Tappan

RIVERWOODS POEMS: HAND ME DOWNS

Bev Tappan — Sun, 26 May 2019 15:19:44 +0000

Hand Me Downs

My husband was a small town Indiana boy

Who heard the lonely whistle of the train

Just down the street and watched the glowworms

Dance above the seas of cornfields lapping

At his door. The eldest son, at the age of twelve

He drove a tractor on his uncle’s farm.

In the village school his father was the principal.

His mother put small stitches into quilts

And watered African violets with her tears.

Chickens, bees and gardens fed them for the year

Along with fallen fruit and Uncle Paul’s

Pork and goat milk. Nothing went to waste.

So when a research scientist, he built a woodland

House, cleared trails and planted raised-bed

Gardens fertilized by red worm-generated compost.

Gardens and chickens were carried on by his son

An engineer who felt the family heritage was worth

Preserving and perhaps even passing on.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: CUTTING THE CORD

Bev Tappan — Tue, 05 Jun 2018 12:42:00 +0000

CUTTING THE CORD

At the age of twelve, why did I

Decide it was time to be baptized?

In our church, full immersion was the rite.

I never experienced an epiphany,

No inner voices spoke to me,

My nights were calm: no vision dreams.

It was a fairly embarrassing sight

To be draped in a tent-like gown of white:

A dunked and dripping young acolyte.

But it seemed like a step toward maturity,

Like a high school diploma, a college degree:

An escape from parental authority.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: THE STAFF OF LIFE

Bev Tappan — Wed, 23 May 2018 19:59:21 +0000

THE STAFF OF LIFE

My daughter has carved a stout hiking staff

For me to carry along Elysian trails.

She thinks that on that journey I will have

A need to warn sky bears to stay away.

We carried bear sticks once in Glacier Park

And bear bells tinkled merrily as we walked

Back when the ice fields still were white and hard.

That they would disappear we never thought.

The river of time runs either slow or fast

Depending on the season and the flood.

How much I’d give to live again the past

And I’d not change it even if I could.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: ECLIPSE MOMENT

Bev Tappan — Sun, 19 Nov 2017 23:36:41 +0000

ECLIPSE MOMENT

(A Sonnet for Mark and Sarah)

We watched the moon consume the sun,

Its ebony circle slowly dim

The light, but darkness did not come

Until the black blot reached the rim

Where only a halo of shine leaked out

And pale pink bled on every horizon.

It was then we felt the fearsome clout

Of nothingness to put our eyes on:

No crickets chirped, the birds were still.

All energy, spirit seemed to leave us.

Our batteries were drained of will

Luna, moon goddess, of life bereaved us.

How we all cheered when light returned.

The sun our gratitude had earned.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: IN MEMORIAM

Bev Tappan — Wed, 10 May 2017 23:59:44 +0000

IN MEMORIAM

We saw what it was to labor with love

Everywhere his hands had worked.

He girded us with cedar logs

And sheltered us with sturdy trusses.

He paved a path around the pond

And cleared a loop trail through the brush.

Hie gardens fed us healthy food.

Colorful blooms were harmonious.

Patient, quiet, steadfast and good,

A listener whom we could trust,

At ease in the role of fatherhood,

Not the type to make a fuss,

He was taken from us all too soon.

How we wish he were still with us.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: CHOICES

Bev Tappan — Mon, 13 Mar 2017 14:26:17 +0000

CHOICES

The wintry wind whipped at our cheeks

Teared our eyes and misted our glasses.

Before the end of the driveway we meekly

Turned in submission to its lashes.

It’s no day to venture onto the slopes:

Lifts won’t run be running in these blasts.

So much for our high school senior’s hopes

Of trying the Notch’s challenge at last.

Instead we head for the nearest mall

Load up on soda, popcorn and nachos

And find a film agreeable to all

Where the weather is less ferocious.

Sometimes it’s better not to try

Against all odds to do or die.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: FAMILY REUNION

Bev Tappan — Thu, 04 Aug 2016 12:39:18 +0000

FAMILY REUNION

On the river bank

I look for you

Where the poplars bend

And our green canoe

Hangs under the eave

Of the little shed.

On the grassy heights

Of old battlefields

Where the purple knotweed

Now invades

I trace the trails

Where we once skied.

As your daughters voice

Old family songs

My heart responds:

I sing along.

REUTEMANN ROAD POEMS: MY GRANDFATHER’S HOUSE

Bev Tappan — Mon, 25 Jul 2016 14:17:37 +0000

MY GRANDFATHER’S HOUSE

Under the hydrangeas on the front lawn

I played with little dolls, the ones

You cut dresses for out of sewing scraps,

Envying my cousins their sibling

Camaraderie. Blackberries bubbled

In pastures overgrown with birches

Where no wolves loitered and rose

Again at breakfast dewy with cream.

The linoleum was cool under feet admonished

To wear sandals. Sunlight baptized

The dining room and half an acre

Of canning vegetables and cucumbers

To be salt-layered in crocks. Roosters

With a glad cry woke me on the airy

Piazza where insects ticking on screens

Had lulled me to sleep. My humpty-dumpty

Grandfather brought four daughters and

Eliza Jane down from New Brunswick

To start a new century in a new land.

A master carpenter, he built their house

Commodious with indoor plumbing. My

Youngest aunt was married in the parlor

While I, a flower girl with stage fright,

Cried on the oak stairs. By that front

Window my grandmother’s cheek

Was granite under my lips when Aunt

Pearl led me to her coffin. “Let

Your vittles shut your mouths,” Grandpa

Advised his grandchildren at the table.

Every Thanksgiving the hydrangeas were brittle

Brown cotton candy on fragile sticks.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: A PASSING THOUGHT

Bev Tappan — Sat, 04 Jun 2016 01:46:15 +0000

A PASSING THOUGHT

Flesh of my flesh

(As well as their father’s)

Bone of my bone

(Their father’s too)

How proud they make us

These five fine siblings,

Spouses and offspring.

We are transmuted

Translated to new

And complex persons.

What more do we ask

Than to have a share

In this chain of lifetimes

On our planet Earth.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: HERITAGE

Bev Tappan — Thu, 05 May 2016 19:09:23 +0000

HERITAGE

What we leave behind

Is not a rich estate:

A bent for garden plots,

A gift for making rhymes,

A music-making taste.

Or perhaps you’ll find

Some pre-Columbian pots,

A few hooked rugs in place,

A great-grandmother’s table,

A World War silver star,

Some letters from Peru

With sterling silver flatware.

And hopefully we’re able

To leave behind for you

A wrap-around of love

To warm you when we’re gone.