Bev Tappan

Category: Poems

All poems

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: THE ECLIPSE

    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.

  • 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.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: A TIME TO REAP

    A TIME TO REAP

    A waterfall of crab apples spills

    From the tree beside our driveway:

    Christmas tree ornaments, scarlet balls

    Calling out to be jammed or jellied.

    “Do not waste us,” they cry.  “Do not leave

    Us here hanging to rot unsavored.”

    And at church a farm wife rises

    To offer her truckful of apples

    For cider, for canning, for pies.

    This has been a bountiful year.

    The branches hang heavy with ripe

    Fruit ready to gather, to reap

    The summer’s production, a time

    For thanksgiving, for counting our blessings.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: MOUNTAIN TOP EXPERIENCE

    MOUNTAIN TOP EXPERIENCE

    We have clickity clacked to the misty summit

    Of New England’s tallest weather-wracked peak,

    Cog after cog dropping into their sockets,

    I accompanied by my kids and their kids

    (Hoping we won’t slide back to our doom).

    At the age of ten I first ascended the trail

    That ran from the railroad base to the Lake

    Of the Clouds to the tip-top and down the Jewel,

    My mother in sneakers and black print dress

    (The last ascent my parents tried).

    But I got to know Mt. Washington well:

    Repairing cairns in the Alpine Meadows,

    Boulder-hopping down Huntington Ravine,

    Traversing to Madison Hut and back,

    And watching skiers bolt down Tuckermann’s.

    I have grown fond of the ancient rock pile.

    It was good to re-visit an old friend. 

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: STARTING FROM SCRATCH

    STARTING FROM SCRATCH

    Bits and pieces, odds and ends,

    The Found Art sculptor rescues them

    From long discarded bowling pins

    Or Chinese combs or beaded etuis.

    Just so from stardust, we are told,

    From random protons and electrons,

    Were fashioned creatures new and old

    As chance and whimsy brought them forward 

    Jigsaw puzzles, each of us,

    Put together by Found Art,

    Disassembled for new purpose,

    Recreated part by part.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: PACING

    PACING

    On the first day of August I taste

    My first ear of garden-fresh corn.

    Not a single sweet kernel is wasted

    And soon the whole earful is gone.

    But with tears in my eyes I recall

    A man who, perceptive and slow,

    Savored each delicate morsel

    As he nibbled his corn row by row.

    He split measured logs for our stove,

    Swung his ax in unhurried arcs

    And moved our canoe with sure strokes

    To reach our next campsite by dark.

    Now as I hasten my days,

    Willing the hours to pass,

    I long for his deliberate pace

    And the will not to live life so fast.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: ON THE NIGHT OF THE FULL MOON

    ON THE NIGHT OF THE FULL MOON

    On the porch the women spoke

    Of goddesses and wonder.

    Behind the trees the moon arose

    In glowing orange splendor.

    From north and south and east and west

    They called for strength and power

    To meet life’s most exacting tests,

    Lighten life’s darkest hours.

    Then Luna, Goddess of the Moon,

    Rose queenly in the night

    To grant them her distinctive boon

    Of clear and healing light.

    She inspired them to journey on

    Casting impediments off,

    Aspiring to new horizons,

    Daring to venture forth.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: ENCOUNTERS

    ENCOUNTERS

    When I see the deer in the meadow

    I brake the car to stare.

    They seldom allow us to know

    That they like to forage there

    Unlike the wild turkeys who march

    Their rapidly fattening families

    Into suburban backyards

    Where feeders scatter down seeds.

    A handsome red fox used to score

    Always available dog treats

    At my son-in-law’s front door

    But we’ve learned to limit these

    Handouts to creatures untamed.

    When a moose steps over the wall

    We take the flare gun in hand

    To encourage him not to call.

    When a burly bear knocks on

    The window and breaks down the door

    We know we’ve made him too welcome:

    We know we’ve gone too far.

  • 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.

  • REUTEMANN ROAD POEMS: BABY-SITTING JENNY

    BABY-SITTING JENNY

    We stroll the park, popping snowberries with our fingers

    As I did when a child along the shady drive

    Of my best friend’s house.  We’re pleased to find

    Ripe Concord grapes hiding under leaves

    That vine the walls she loves to walk on.  In the canvas

    Swing her small bottom fits my hands

    Like a teacup as I lift and send her soaring.

    She is old enough to pump herself once

    She gets going.  We rescue a daring toddler

    Who crawled up the slide as a kitten climbs a tree,

    Unable to back down.  Faster than she expects

    Jenny rides the slick steel to a sandy

    Landing.  She tries it again.  We follow pigeons

    To the soda stand, and seagulls lead us to the beach

    Speckled at low tide with perambulating periwinkles.

    They single foot among the Irish moss and sea lettuce

    Where clusters of mussels congregate like Portuguese families.

    Seven geese drift by in a low-flying convoy

    Nattering about the scarcity of minnows.  Jenny splashes

    Ashore to dump her bucket on a sand patty.

    The day is opalescent and fragile as fine crystal

    Or the beauties she blows on her soap bubble ring.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: THOUGHTS ON A HORSESHOE CRAB SHELL

    THOUGHTS ON A HORESHOE CRAB SHELL

    Its carapace lies on the shore

    More ancient than the dinosaur.

    It spawned a hundred thousand roe

    A tasty treat, as Thai folk know,

    And food for heron, gull or tern

    Or any shallow water bird,

    A good arrangement all around

    To hold an overpopulation down.

    Phragmites, called the common reed,

    Can generate a million seeds

    Or send its runners all about

    To crowd its native neighbors out,

    Though grazing cattle can contain

    Its spread and keep the landscape sane.

    The pink wild rose stays in its place

    And does not seek to dominate

    While multiflora roses shoulder

    Their way around, forever bolder.

    What lessons can we humans take

    From other species’ use of space?