Ellen Schmidt Open Mike – July 18, 2022
hosted by Dan Tappan

• On a Summer Evening
• My Grandfather’s House

More credit should be given

To brooders, to mother hens.

Surely the gates of heaven

Must be open to them

Whose warm breasts shepherd the young.

And those should be commended

To whom the song is sung,

Who put their hands together

And give their welcome tongue.

Appreciation is due

To all receptive ears,

The openhearted who

Say yes to balladeers

And sponsor new careers.

 (Inspired by the British boys’ choir Libra)

Making music is among

The least pernicious things

We humans know how to achieve.

Children’s voices raised in song

Touch our hearts with melody,

Rid us of self-centered sophistry,

Soothe our savage propensities,

Angelicize our bestiality.

While we sing we feel no greed.

No self loathing possesses us.

Conniving envy passes us by.

With ears attuned to harmony,

We open ourselves to beauty.

There’s love-light in our eyes.

]]> https://bevtappan.net/2017/01/26/riverwoods-poems-music-hath-charms/feed/ 0 1766 https://bevtappan.net/2016/08/11/the-art-of-the-poem-riverwoods-poems/ https://bevtappan.net/2016/08/11/the-art-of-the-poem-riverwoods-poems/#respond Thu, 11 Aug 2016 02:28:42 +0000 https://bevpoems.wordpress.com/?p=1414 THE ART OF THE POEM

Oh I could probably pen

The enigmatic page:

“In the shattered mirror

At the window I see crows…”

Op Art is all the rage.

As every critic knows,

Poetry in plain style

Is rather juvenile.

But I would sooner share

The loon song on the lake

Or a stand of birches,

One moment that may make

Its mark on the sands of time

In rhythm and in rhyme.

Atop the Exeter town hall

Our Lady of Justice

Back-lighted by sunset

Holds high her scales

And weighs the brassy

Marching strains

Of the Exeter town band

As we in our lawn chairs

Watch the frisking children

And smell the popcorn.

A pair of Mexican Hairless

Dogs parade by.

The band segues

Into a medley of waltzes.

]]> https://bevtappan.net/2016/07/12/riverwoods-poems-on-a-summer-evening/feed/ 0 1358 https://bevtappan.net/2016/06/19/riverwoods-poems-thoughts-in-the-newfields-word-barn/ https://bevtappan.net/2016/06/19/riverwoods-poems-thoughts-in-the-newfields-word-barn/#respond Sun, 19 Jun 2016 14:40:45 +0000 https://bevpoems.wordpress.com/?p=1286 THOUGHTS IN THE NEWFIELDS WORD BARN

At Open Mikes

The spoken word

Is often heard, but

What of the unspoken word

The forgotten word

The belated word

The word of advice

The word of wisdom

The word of caution

In the Beginning

Was the Word.

Who will have

The last word?

Who will hear

Our last word?

Last night we heard Beethoven’s

“War and Peace” sonata

(Or so I choose to call it):

Brief interludes of harmony

Give way to the clash of arms.

And then the “Blitzkrieg Waltz”

(Though he himself denies it):

The dimly heard Valse by Ravel

Drowned out by war’s alarums.

It seems this new generation

Of promising high school students

Does not expect peace in their time.

And those of us in our nineties

Suspect that they are right.

]]> https://bevtappan.net/2016/06/02/riverwoods-poems-at-the-academy-concert/feed/ 0 1261 https://bevtappan.net/2016/03/02/riverwoods-poems-dance-time/ https://bevtappan.net/2016/03/02/riverwoods-poems-dance-time/#respond Wed, 02 Mar 2016 01:53:33 +0000 https://bevpoems.wordpress.com/?p=1070 DANCE TIME

There’s a time for Ring Around the Rosy,

Musical chairs and Farmer in the Dell,

And a time for jitterbug, electro-pop,

Disco, Eurobeat, New Wave as well.

And then we do the wedding march and waltz,

Virginia Reel and polka and all that

Or mambo, samba, tango, lindy et al.

Before the final shuffle with the walker.

So when the caller hails you to the dance floor

Kick up your heels and swing your partner round.

Promenade and bow and dos si dos.

Make the most of your time on the ground

Before the lights begin to turn down low,

The Exit sign above the door to glow.

Ebullience is the word for a squirrel.
He does not somnambulate.
In his tree-limbed, fence-posted world
He will fly with a flame-like grace.
No dog can travel as he can,
No bird out-fly his act.
When I’m next on a ledge or a precipice
At his antics I’ll take a crack.

Their slender fingers ripple over the keys.

Their bows stroke the strings with graceful ease.

Over complex scores their ungrayed heads are bent.

Their unlined brows furrow with grave intent.

Mini-skirted or tie-shirted, they create

Music we oldsters gratefully appreciate.

This tender talent so pleasing to our ears

We know will ripen richly in coming years.