Bev Tappan

Category: Seasonal Poems

Always an observer of the changing days

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: A SHOW OF COLORS (Autumn, 2016)

    A SHOW OF COLORS

    At first we thought the lengthy drought

    Would quench our usual fires of fall

    And we would enter winter without

    Our annual foliage spectacle,

    For many of our trees went brown

    As summer neared its torpid end

    And leaves dropped serely on the ground.

    What else could this sad sight portend?

    Some say that trees can communicate

    By underground telegraphic systems.

    Perhaps they sent word to their forest mates

    That the time had come to show resistance.

    So our maples were able to concentrate,

    Condense their chromosomes and atoms

    And flare up in a blinding last display

    Of death-defying radiant patterns.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: EARLY WARNING

    EARLY WARNING

    For all you leaf peepers who know

    To come up to the Whites in October,

    You may be too late for the show.

    Our maples are reddening early.

    Leaves and needles are brown.

    It is only late September, but

    We are suffering from a drought.

    Some branches are already bare.

    By the time most of you get here,

    We may have no vistas to share.

    Is this the promise of the future?

    Has the time come to mourn the maples?

    That is a most depressing picture,

    And for spring sugaring it bodes ill.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: A GLADSOME TIME

    A GLADSOME TIME

    Horse chestnuts lift white candles to the sky

    A paean of celebration to the season.

    Tri-colored lilacs bless us passersby

    Censing their fragrance as they gently lean.

    May burgeoning on every hand is seen.

    Back roads are edged with phalanxes of phlox:

    Mauve and pink and white they gladden the eye.

    In sheltered woodlands dogwoods shyly flock

    With mountain laurels blushing near the ground.

    Old fashioned bleeding hearts our yards festoon

    And lilies of the valley cluster round

    Our feet as we with gratitude proceed

    To make our way through one more riotous spring

    Renewed, uplifted, consciously thanksgiving.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS:SPRING BEAUTIES

    SPRING BEAUTIES

    How flagrantly the tulips flaunt their flavors

    (Vanilla, cherry, orange and lemon savours)

    While overhead the apple blossoms swath

    Their hosts in clouds of billowing cheesecloth.

    On woodland verges daffodils brightly beam

    And luminous lilacs over us sometimes lean.

    Modest blue grape hyacinths peep out.

    Scarlet quinces give a lusty shout.

    Cherry trees dropped their petals some weeks past.

    Violets modestly blush amidst the grass.

    Korean dogwoods are the first to blossom

    Before our native rose and ivory cousins.

    Lilies of the Valley perfume the air.

    My eyes delight in flowers everywhere.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: HEADS UP

    HEADS UP

    The snow arrived in April

    But it did not kill

    The crocuses and snowdrops or

    The long-stemmed daffodils.

    The daffodils bent over

    Compliantly lay down

    Accepted their cold cover

    Prostrated on the ground.

    But in the week that followed

    Yellow heads began to rise and

    Stems began to straighten.

    We rejoiced to realize

    That spring was not defeated.

    Winter really had retreated.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: THE COMING OF SPRING

    THE COMING OF SPRING

    It begins with the house finches

    Reclaiming the blue spruce

    In early February

    Unfazed by lingering inches

    Of snow or cold,  using

    Their last year’s sanctuary.

    And then the cardinal calls

    From behind the garages.

    A crowd of robins assembles

    To sample a pear tree’s largesse.

    By now it is March.  Snowdrops

    And purple crocus are showing.

    Maples turn red.  Willows

    Turn yellow.  A circle

    Of lady bluebirds flies close

    To my daughter’s Dunstable windows.

    Today is the first of April.

    Forsythia blooms beside daffodils.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: THE SNOWS OF SPRINGTIME

    THE SNOWS OF SPRINGTIME

    Old Man Winter has lost his grip.

    This March storm he has thrown at us

    Is not an overpowering blizzard.

    We watch the white blobs plopping off

    The spruce arms.  Where the plow has passed

    Pavements are black and bare and glistening.

    We are not housebound.  We can dare

    To venture out and do our errands.

    The kids will build their snowmen, make

    Snow angels, hurl snow missiles.

    Sun will turn snowflakes into wine

    For crocuses and daffodils to drink.

    There goes a crow, casually high-stepping

    Pausing to dip his beak into the ice cream.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: ON A FRIGID MORNING

    ON A FRIGID MORNING

    They hang from the eaves like spikes

    The fingernails of old man winter,

    Translucent tapered icicles,

    A warning to stay inside.

    A blast of Arctic air

    Has caged us in our rooms

    Hoping the grid won’t fail,

    Fearful of roadside breakdowns.

    Some say our end is fire

    But we fear more the ice.

    We know how to deal with desire:

    Hypothermia’s not so nice

    Though if one must really go

    There are worse conveyors than snow.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: MELTDOWN

    MELTDOWN

    This morning we woke to a black and white world:

    Cars and rooftops, walks and road

    Frosted in white.  Every deciduous

    Twig and branch, every needled bough

    Of pine and hemlock coated in snow

    Which the sunset last night gave a rosy glow.

    Midmorning the drops began to fall.

    Drooping pines again stood tall.

    Our windows were streaked with watery streams.

    Sunstruck icicles softened and gleamed.

    By noon the parking lot was bare.

    Winter was retreating here.

    We can’t yet call it an early spring:

    Let’s see what next week’s weather will bring.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: THE WINTER THAT WASN’T

    THE WINTER THAT WASN’T

    On February first the wind

    Leapt up in my face and opened

    My jacket, which I did not mind

    So balmy and soft was the air.

    It felt like the first day of March

    Roaring in, dissolving the snow,

    Summoning vultures whose harsh

    Cries raised my eyes to the sky.

    And so they continue, these warm

    Days with cold nights which cause

    Our maple tree owners alarm

    Lest their syrup season founder.

    Behind us the two warmest years

    On record and now a foreshortened

    Winter: it surely appears

    Our New England climate has altered.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS:THE WOODS IN WINTER

    The Woods in Winter

    When the snow blows up and sideways

    And a white mist fills the air,

    When spruces, pines and hemlocks

    Have donned white winter wear,

    When rocks in the mountain rivers

    Are circled by collars of rime

    And snow on the boulders’ shoulders

    Wraps them in capes of ermine,

    Then I must take to the woods,

    Set my boots on snow-packed trails,

    Follow the tracks of deer,

    Coyotes and snowshoe hares,

    Rejoice in the white open spaces,

    Respond to the call of wild places.

  • 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.