Bev Tappan

Category: Poems

All poems

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: FALLING LEAVES

    FALLING LEAVES

    They lift and pirouette in the pulsing breeze,

    These brown and desiccated maple leaves,

    Dancing and leaping and twisting, a phantom crowd,

    Surrounding me and my car in a thickening cloud.

    They seem to have some message they want to convey;

    They seem to want me to stop while they have their say.

    I will slow my pace but I will not come to a halt,

    Whatever these autumn messengers foretell.

    Bare branches offer an unimpeded view

    Allowing the splendor of sunsets to come through.

    Snow-dusted branches also have their charm:

    Who strides on snowshoes easily keeps warm.

    At any time of the year I’ll keep journeying.

    The day has not yet come for tamely sitting.

  • ECUADOR POEMS: THE UPS AND DOWNS OF ECUADOR

    THE UPS AND DOWNS OF ECUADOR

    Agoutis and ant-eating armadillos,

    Anis and toucans and bronze parrots

    Are just a few exotic dwellers

    Found in Ecuador’s cloud forests.

    And if you ascend to the Andean highlands

    Cara cara and condors will soar overhead,

    Andean deer will graze in the grasslands,

    Alpine hare will lurk in the shade.

    Unique parama plants abound

    Giant rosettes and grasses above all.

    Downy and lidded leaves are found

    Protected from the wind’s assault.

    And all are steadily upward moving

    As earth’s climate continues warming.

  • 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: OUR PLANETARY PROBLEM

    OUR PLANETARY PROBLEM

    Our cabana overlooks an Andean

    Valley lightly flecked with clouds

    That keep these jungle forests green.

    Before me hangs a feeder used by crowds

    Of hummingbirds of every stripe and hue:

    Tawny, black and white, scarlet or teal.

    But this is an aerial warfare view

    Far from a peaceful bucolic scene.

    These winged warriors swoop and dart

    At any color but their own,

    Briefly sip with kindred cohorts

    Then shoot the alien flyers down.

    Who’s unlike me must be my foe:

    A rule that every earthling knows.

  • 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: PINKHAM NOTCH SEPTEMBER 2015

    PINKHAM NOTCH: SEPTEMBER 2015

    It hurts my heart when I discern

    Our flaming maples brown-edged and sere

    At that ebullient time of year

    That brings the tourists to our region.

    And birches’ withered yellow leaves

    Are curled and dropping from the trees

    Depressing my spirits seriously.

    The Appalachians I have loved,

    Famed for fall foliage brilliance,

    May not deserve a second glance

    Without their scarlet Redcoats.

    I’m glad I won’t be here to read

    That chapter in their history.

  • 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.