Bev Tappan

Category: Family Poems

Love songs to family members

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: OUR DAN

    OUR DAN

    I imagine him out in the pasture blowing snow

    To make a space for four shelter goats

    And one wool coated sheep to move and browse

    Outside their shed and for impatient hens,

    Too long cooped in, to strut and hunt and peck.

    His Kathy may be knitting that sheep’s wool

    Or weaving a shawl on one of her many looms.

    And when the spring produces  brightly green

    Asparagus shoots on all  his roadside banks

    Dan will be canning them for winter soups.

    He must have inherited Grandma Lillie’s genes.

    They have no use for lawns.  Flowering shrubs,

    Rock gardens, raised beds and berry bushes

    Fill up their yard.  They gather eggs.  Sometimes

    An aging rooster transforms into a stew.

    This distinguished Cisco software engineer

    Has retired early to learn to play guitar

    And sing his songs at friendly open mics.

    When he was young Dan had an attic room

    In our three-story,  part-Victorian home,

    And in the space next to his bedroom he hosted

    Cages and cages of guinea pigs, gerbils and hamsters.

    He is true to his Tappan family Yorkshire heritage

    As shepherds and farmers, good stewards of the planet.

  • REUTEMANN ROAD POEMS: OUR JON

    OUR JON

    Our first born son was tolerant of

    His sister, born just fifteen months

    His junior, but he teased his younger

    Brother, who followed two years later.

    And yet, he helped Dan land his first

    Big bass, jaws locked on the lure

    Of a toy fishing rod, and he took

    The punishment for an annoying noise

    That Dan, not he, had made.  Jon set

    A high standard for high school grades

    And he got handy with Tandy in time to manage

    Data banks before computer classes were taught.

    Jon’s first puppy love was Sprite, his beagle,

    And later he loved three winsome collies

    And Becky, their owner, as well as his tall

    Dark-haired daughter, who shares his love

    Of all things and customs Japanese:

    He critiques animes, practices Shin Buddha

    Meditation, savors sakes, sleeps well

    On futons, kneels gracefully at tea tables

    And wields his chopsticks with skillful ease.

  • REUTEMANN ROAD POEMS: OUR CHRISTMAS CAROL

    OUR CHRISTMAS CAROL

    We named you for the season but we did not

    Know what elfin influence your name would bestow,

    For as we came to learn in later years

    You were the mischief maker in the family

    Who dared your younger brother to walk buck

    Naked in the snow to the wall and back,

    Enticed your younger sister to taste a little

    Temptingly sweet-smelling acrid vanilla

    And your baby sister to try a bite of dog fare.

    Treasure hunts in the mossy clearing were your

    Work and forced marches down our gravel drive.

    Big sister led her siblings a merry chase

    For which she has long since been forgiven because 

    She also led them to Bye Bye Miss American Pie.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: OUR SARAH

    OUR SARAH

    On the night you were born the snow had fallen all day,

    Drifting, walling us into our house on the hill,

    And since we knew that you were on your way

    We waited and prayed for the plow which did not come.

    As dark approached we thought to ride the toboggan

    To meet with a cab on the road at the foot of the Heights.

    Of course the plow did finally come in time

    But that is how I think of your arrival:

    A flight straight into our hearts over whispering white.

    And that is why I think you were the child

    To try a skateboard, parachute out of a plane,

    Ride on your Yamaha into the White Mountains,

    Run your half-marathons and keep up

    With your fast-peddling husband on mountain bikes

    And hundred mile road races, and why

    You still keep moving, living life on the fly.

  • 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.

  • POETRY ASSIGNMENT: WHAT A WORK OF ART SAYS TO YOU

    THE OSAKA VASE

    The lamplight glides off the sloping sides

    Of the blue-gray stoneware Osaka vase.

    My daughter, the potter, had asked advice

    From her teacher with the long black hair

    And gentle hands on how to inscribe

    In vertical kanji a plea for peace

    Inspired by her Hiroshima pilgrimage.

    This old vase of some thirty years

    Has suffered breakage and repairs.

    Equally old are the skeletal stalks

    Of the dried flowers and reeds it holds

    Which we found in the Victorian home

    A block or two from our children’s school.

    It sends a mute and ancient message

    Still falling on deaf human ears.

  • MEMORIES: BREAKING AWAY

    BREAKING AWAY

    One summer your daughter’s friends

    Trucked their hot air balloon

    To her annual potluck barbecue

    And some of us held the ends

    Of the ropes that tethered down

    That globe as it filled with air

    And struggled up to be gone,

    To be off and away somewhere.

    I feel you tugging the strings

    That bind our hearts to yours.

    Our bittersweet memories bring

    Less comfort with passing years,

    And our own ties that bind

    Us to our youthful friends

    Are severed one by one

    As they too take to the air.


  • TAMWORTH POEMS: HANDS

    HANDS

    They all called him handsome,

    But it was not his face

    I loved, though he was comely,

    And his smile could erase

    Any hint of gloom

    That ever lingered on

    In any darkened room.

    It was his hands I loved,

    Strong and long-fingered,

    Hands that gripped an axe

    With purpose and affection

    To cut our yearly firewood,

    Hands that drew the hoe

    Between the beans and cornstalks

    And arrowed our canoe

    Around the foaming rocks

    To where we had to go

    To reach our evening campsite,

    Hands that pounded tent stakes

    To secure us for the night,

    Loving hands that gave me

    Memories of sweet delight.

     

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: WISH YOU WERE HERE

    WISH YOU WERE HERE

    I’ve gotten used to 

    The empty chair,

    The unwrinkled pillow,

    And one place at the table

    Without you,

    But how can I watch

    The moon tangled in black branches,

    The sun rise over Carter Notch,

    Or the first flakes of new snowfall

    Without you?

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: SMOKE GETS IN MY EYES

    SMOKE GETS IN MY EYES

    How many campfires did you lay,
    Birchbark, twigs and slender sticks,
    To tempt the creeping tongue of flame
    And feed its fiery appetite?
    You learned to build the pyramid
    With tinder arching over bark:
    A single match would serve to wick
    The pyre construed with boy scout art.
    How many trees did you cut down
    And split and stack for winter fuel
    In the Franklin stove that kept us warm
    And gave us cheerful hearts as well?
    Now as I feed my grandson’s blaze
    Constructed with his sage advice,
    I think of your consistent ways
    And feel the smoke tear up my eyes.
    (July 2014)

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: STILL MISSING YOU

    STILL MISSING YOU

    I say I’ve shifted gears,

    Embarked on new affairs,

    Traveled to foreign ports,

    Shrugged off all my cares.

    But then a memory

    Will catch me unaware

    And I will start to weep

    Because you are not here.

    Because you are not here,

    My love, because you are not there:

    No matter where I look for you

    You are not anywhere.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: RIVERSIDE LILACS

    RIVERSIDE LILACS

    Lilac’s sweet scent

    And the Bearcamp’s sluicing song

    Give my heart ease

    Now that you are gone.

    Give my heart ease,

    But do not quell the pain

    Of knowing that I’ll never

    Walk with you again

    Except in memory’s bittersweet

    Though comforting afterglow:

    The luminous husk of happiness

    My heart will now know.

    (June, 2014)