Friendship Poems – Bev Tappan

RIVERWOODS POEMS: EVE’S FRUIT

Bev Tappan — Sun, 11 Jul 2021 16:01:27 +0000

WHEN WE ARE YOUNG

WE GNAW THE APPLE GREEDILY

WIPE THE JUICES FROM OUR CHIN

AND THROW THE CORE AWAY.

IN MIDDLE AGE

WE SLICE THE APPLE

INTO DECOROUS FOURTHS

TO BE CHEWED DELIBERATELY.

AND IN OUR FINAL YEARS

THE APPLE MUST BE STEWED,

SUGARED AND SPICED

TO SWEETEN ITS SOUR TASTE.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: A PARTING WORD

Bev Tappan — Tue, 29 Aug 2017 15:08:51 +0000

A PARTING WORD

(In Memory of JB)

At first the heart does not remark

The passing of another friend.

The aging brain makes routine note

That all good things must come to an end.

The list of those who’ve gone beyond

Outnumbers now those who remain.

But then the funeral brings to mind

A cache of memories bitter sweet:

Saturday evening cheese and wine

Trail clearing bouts with fallen trees

The underlined article under the door

With questions: What do you think of this?

Do you agree? And furthermore

What do you think the answer is?

And then the heart begins to crack.

That kindred spirit will not be back.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: BEACONS

Bev Tappan — Mon, 12 Jun 2017 15:49:19 +0000

BEACONS

(For Judith, with apologies for poetic liberties taken)

Each night as on our bed we lay

I saw three lights across the bay,

Three glimmers on the darkening sea

That seemed to call and beckon me,

And as we settled into sleep

They seemed a silent watch to keep.

Now that dear cot no longer sits

Atop the fast eroding cliff.

Only the low rock wall and gate

And a flagpole mark our nesting place.

Victorian, loosely built and frail,

It was not destined for repair.

But still each night alone I dream

Of three clear beams across the sea.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: SNOW DAY

Bev Tappan — Thu, 22 Dec 2016 23:15:37 +0000

SNOW DAY

Thankful for shelter,

I watch the snow

Falling on spruces,

Coating the patio

Where pecking away

Are three ebony crows

After yesterday’s scraps

Which are blanketed now.

Thankful to have

No place to go

No errands to run

No rows to hoe.

Grateful for warmth

And neighbors I know.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: LOOKING BACK

Bev Tappan — Thu, 22 Sep 2016 21:06:30 +0000

LOOKING BACK

I see them now, the friends of my childhood.

We had the run of the Pine Hill neighborhood:

Out on the vacant lot swinging at softballs,

Called home by porch bells and whistles at nightfall.

Pauline was my first mate, found at age three.

Then there were Millie and Peewee and Jeanne.

We walked as a foursome to the Anderson School,

Played Cowboys and Injuns in adjacent woods.

Weekends and evenings older brothers joined in

For Kick the Can, Ringolivio or Sardines,

Scrambled on cliffs overlooking the hospital,

(Conveniently placed should one of us fall)

Or perhaps tried a game of croquet in our yard,

Rollerskating or biking or rainy day cards.

Those were Depression days, parents worked hard.

Those were our glory days, fondly remembered.

(Inspired by our Chorus’ rendering of “Song for the Mira”

RIVERWOODS POEMS: A MORNING MISSION

Bev Tappan — Wed, 24 Aug 2016 01:00:46 +0000

A MORNING MISSION

This morning a smoking sea

Of fog enveloped my friend’s

Adirondack lake cottage.

The straggly tips of lonesome

Pines poked out of the mist.

Through glassy water we paddled

To reach a secluded cove.

My friend was on a mission:

She carried her cat’s ashes

To lie in a pristine place

Among the wild inhabitants

Close to the sacred stone

Marking her son’s grave.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: THE CCRC COFFEE CIRCLE

Bev Tappan — Sat, 21 May 2016 18:29:10 +0000

THE CCRC COFFEE CIRCLE

The time has come, the oldsters said,

To talk of many things:

Of presidential candidates

And whether it will rain,

Of Bobcats scooping up the yard

And the installation of drains,

Of who is in the nursing lodge

And the state of someone’s brains.

The three percent rise in annual fees

Is always food for thought.

Whoever came up with that idea

In our good books is not.

By this time the muffins are all gone

And the coffee’s no longer hot.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: THE ECLIPSE

Bev Tappan — Tue, 29 Sep 2015 01:42:16 +0000

THE ECLIPSE

Three oldsters sit on a wall to watch

The super moon’s eclipse, a sight

They will not live to see again.

The stars shine faint in the ebony night

As a shadow darkens the moon’s left rim.

This moon that bathes our faces with light

And spotlights the jet plane streaking west

In olden times would have filled with fright

Our primitive ancestors’ childish hearts.

A monstrous mouth they would have thought

Was eating their beacon amidst the gloom.

It is not without some dread we watch

The red cloak spread across the moon.

When barely a sliver of silver shows

We rise and repair to our separate quarters.

The next night we welcome the cheering glow

Of an only slightly diminished goddess

Who yet protects us from the dark.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: KISMET

Bev Tappan — Fri, 20 Feb 2015 00:07:56 +0000

KISMET

As the cribbage game comes to an end

She wonders about Bev’s maiden name.

“What?” she exclaims. “Is that who you are?

I knew you in high school. Your friends were mine.

We often sailed on your husband’s boat.

How did I come to find you here?”

Ah, that is the mystery Kurt Vonnegut

Called “Karma”. Who does Fate arrange

To saunter in and out of our affairs?

As once we ferried down Lake Ullswater

Where Wordsworth saw his daffodils,

We saw, on landing at the ferry dock

A friendly and familiar figure calling out,

A welcome face so far from kith and kin

That last we’d seen afloat on Big Moose Lake,

A fellow paddler in the Adirondacks.

And once on a remote Montana trail

To Cracker Lake in Glacier National Park,

We recognized a couple by a rock

Who greeted us with an astonished hail:

Friends we had made on Elderhostel treks.

And how did you and I manage to meet?

On such encounters do our fortunes rest.

RIVERWOODS POEMS: THE OPENING GAMES

Bev Tappan — Sun, 08 Feb 2015 18:49:41 +0000

THE OPENING GAME

On the cribbage board your hands,

Your big and bony masculine hands,

Move your pegs, your red pegs,

And my unwomanly sturdy hands

Want my pegs to follow

But the cards do not cooperate.

Instead I tell you how my sled

Slid into the sunken garden.

You tell me your father died young

But yours was a kindly stepfather.

And now my blue pegs come up

To yours and we move in tandem.