Bev Tappan

Category: Tamworth Poems

  • RIVERWOODS/TAMWORTH POEMS: LIFE IS A FARMERS’ MARKET

    LIFE IS A FARMERS’ MARKET

    May brings the seedlings: parsley, sage

    Thyme and rosemary frail and green,

    Eggs of all sizes, turkey to quail,

    Ruby red radishes crunchy and sweet,

    The wild curled fronds of fiddlehead ferns,

    Lambs’ quarters, dandelion leaves.

    For rhubarb’s tangy sauce we yearn,

    New peas, garlic, onions, chives.

    Summer’s bounty is succulent corn,

    Heritage tomatoes and summer squash.

    Young carrots, beets and broccoli are borne

    To the growing family’s midday repast.

    New potatoes, yams and turnips appear.

    With the sweetness of berries the meal is crowned

    Before the table is finally cleared,

    The dishes washed, the family gone.

    The produce of fall is all about

    Preparing for frost: sweet or hard cider,

    Local beer, ales and stout,

    Grapes and berries transmuted to wines.

    Ripened root vegetables are stored.

    Preserves, pickles and relishes keep

    The taste of summer in our mouths

    Throughout the winter’s long cold sleep.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: WAKE UP CALL

    WAKE UP CALL

    Death is the surprise

    Life springs on us

    When we are not looking.

    Even when we see it coming,

    We’re never ready.

    It takes us unawares.

    Suddenly our dear one 

    Is not here,

    Is not there,

    Is nowhere.

    Death does not care.

    We care.

  • RIVERWOODS/TAMWORTH: A NOTE OF THANKS TO MY MAYFLOWER GIRL

    A NOTE OF THANKS TO MY MAYFLOWER GIRL

    Was it in the Sixties that I first heard

    The doorbell ring on the first of May

    And found your wildflowers at the door

    Of that hillside house your father girded

    With cedar logs and sturdy fieldstones

    To keep our family sound and safe?

    Fifty years later your “Free Spirit”

    Roses arrive (I love the concept)

    At my apartment, accompanied

    By purple and orange tulips and green

    Cymbidium orchids, as always on the First

    Day of May, their Andean-colored cheer

    Brightening up a rainy day

    And warming my heart with a memory.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: SPRING CLEANING

    SPRING CLEANING

     

    April twenty-six has been proclaimed

    As Roadside Litter Cleanup Day:

    Volunteer crews have arrived to obey.

    Good housekeepers would feel ashamed

    Not to be cleaning out cupboards today.

    Lawnkeepers are raking off dead leaves,

    Gardeners are turning up fresh soil,

    While everyone else in the Northeast heaves

    A sigh of relief that April rains

    Have washed the dirty snow away.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: THE COLOR YELLOW

    THE COLOR YELLOW

    Forsythia’s buttery bursts

    Glow in  the cloudy gray

    April rain, and willows’

    Key lime fingers sway

    In the watery atmosphere.

    I’m on my outbound way,

    Gladdened by hosts of daffodil

    Suns on a dismal day.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: A BACKWARD GLANCE

    A BACKWARD GLANCE

    From my car radio come the slow sweet strains

    Of Mozart’s First Horn Concerto, and I am

    Suddenly transported into that Victorian room

    Where we made music, seated on the piano stool,

    Hands on the black and white keys, my girl

    Standing beside me easing the smooth tones

    Out of her French horn, and I am aswirl

    In waves of nostalgia, longing for that ample home,

    Those five ripening minds, their patient Dad.

    We did not know what signal bliss we shared.

    We hurried forward through a sacred time

    That my heart now cries out to live again.

    (April 2014)

     

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: STOP THE CLOCK

    STOP THE CLOCK

    Sea shells, the exo-skeletons of pulsing flesh,

    What is this fascination that they hold for us?

    We search for them like treasures on the beach.

    They must fulfill some kind of inner need.

    I have a vase of dried flowers and reeds

    That I have kept in view for many years.

    The purple hyacinths that now perfume my doorway

    Will droop and fade within a dozen days.

    Oh let me net the butterfly of time,

    Sculpture your marble presence in my mind,

    Inscribe the notes of every bluebird’s song,

    And keep you with me after you are gone.

    (April 2014)

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: TIMING IS EVERYTHING

    TIMING IS EVERYTHING

    In April, driving north on Route Sixteen,

    You top a hill just south of Ossipee

    And in your face arise the peaks and flanks

    Of Washington and the Presidential Range.

    Fiercely white, they reign over the horizon,

    An awesome sight you want to keep your eyes on.

    But you go on and Chocorua hoves into view,

    Clothed with his Sisters in somewhat mottled hues,

    And they call out for climbing, but you know

    The trails will still be treacherous with snow.

    Black ice will subtly coat the shaded rocks,

    And slow going may find you still on top

    When shadows coalesce around your feet,

    The sun beating an all-too-fast retreat.

    Some shining prospects should be kept in sight

    Until the time for venturing is just right.

    (April 2014)

  • RIVERWOODS/TAMWORTH POEMS: ON THE SECOND DAY OF APRIL

    ON THE SECOND DAY OF APRIL

    This morning as I drove down our street

    (No April fool!)  I saw a real bald eagle

    Perched high up in a leafless tree,

    Feathers held close in the frosty air,

    Keeping his eagle eye fixed upon

    The newly black surface of Brickyard Pond

    So recently rid of its lid of ice.

    I’m sure he was thinking it would be nice

    To spot a fishy shape moving there

    Or a careless robin along the shore.

    At breakfast I had been pleased to see

    A house finch in the blue spruce tree

    Below my window, ready to hop

    Back into the sheltered nest in its top-

    Most branches, last year’s nestling,

    No doubt on the lookout for a mate,

    Thinking of making a tentative date

    As soon as the sun warms up the air

    To check out the housing situation

    And get some eggs ready to sit on.

    At last, when I had got back home,

    Ready to close the garage door,

    A cardinal bugled his announcement calls:

    “I’m here! I’m here! Don’t come near!”

    I got the message loud and clear:

    Elusive spring is finally here!

  • RIVERWOODS/TAMWORTH POEMS: A CHANGE OF MOOD

    A CHANGE OF MOOD

    (With thanks, as always, to R. Frost)

    I know how Hester must have stood,

    Branded with shamed ignominy,

    And why she took to the woods.

    Public humiliation can be hard

    To take, but on the other hand,

    I have found sympathetic friends

    And shared my woes with them:

    “I didn’t expect to see YOU here!”

    “Well you can leave if you want to!”

    Their laughter dissolved my embarrassment.

    I now can tell myself, “Get over it!”

    (3/30/14)

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: LEARNING HOW TO LET GO

    LEARNING HOW TO LET GO

    The child’s umbilical cord

    Is the first binding tie

    Which has to be broken.

    And then our nurslings must

    Be weaned from the breast.

    Nestlings have to learn to fly.

    The yellow school buses

    Take them from our doors.

    We share an empty house

    With an aging partner or spouse,

    Who one day is no more.

    Comrades wave their goodbyes.

    We all go on our ways,

    Turning into memories.

    So let us raise a parting glass

    To all the loved ones of our pasts.

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: THE TRAIL NOT TAKEN

    THE TRAIL NOT TAKEN

    (With apologies to R. Frost)

    I followed the Great Hill Road,

    Heavily sanded on melting ice,

    To where it diverged to the wood

    And found a parking space.

    I took out my snowshoes and poles,

    Tightened the bindings twice,

    Set out down the trail,

    And then I felt the rain.

    The mountain had sent forth clouds

    Which blotted out the sun.

    Much as I longed to go on,

    I knew I had to run.

    Oh I will remember the way

    To that white unblemished path.

    I’ll come back on a better day

    To trace its beckoning track.