Tag: bordentown poetry

• Ellen’s Tree

  (A tribute to my teacher, Mrs. Ellen Wehrman, and her lovely tree)

  On Park Street down in old Bordentown where houses reside in rows…
  Along a path of brick and sand, a tall young sapling grows.

  And on the ground for all to see are two words upon a stone,
  not a long and lengthy diatribe from some old forgotten tome.

  
  There upon that rock it reads the inscription, “Ellen’s Tree”…
  a reminder of our teacher to preserve her memory.

  Not a stoic oak or sappy pine, but something in between
  like a skinny, awkward juvenile, or a preadolescent teen.
  Its branches frail and flimsy with over-large green leaves
  and bark that seems ill fitting almost bursting at the seams.

  With patience, care, and nurturing it will one day come into its own
  And will rise to be a pillar where its humble seeds were sown.

  Upon a second look it seems more fitting than before,
  with a strong and noble bearing there from a sound and righteous core.

  Each budding leaf a priceless jewel, every drop of dew a gem
  Branches stretch to touch the clouds as skyward they extend.
  Ever-reaching toward improvement, from a grounded point of view …
  Ellen’s tree keeps on growing like her former students do.

  by D. Ryan Lafferty

  DartanionPress.com

  April 22, 2023

  Bordentown, bordentown poetry, BRHS, BRMS, legacy, poem, poetry, rhyme, teachers

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• Bordentown Rises

  City of history, pride, and Paine,

  Hopkinson, Patience, and Bonaparte’s fame.  

  Pointe Breeze, the home to that brief King of Spain, leveled by fire, but the townspeople came.  Saving his riches and wealth from the flames, honest integrity earned his acclaim.

  Farnsworth, Borden, and Lafayette’s names sit atop main streets, alleys, and lanes.  
  From Quaker beginnings, to Riverline trains,
  the hallmark of each generation remains. 

  Places and spaces where new children play
  amid aged reliefs from colonial days.

  Cast iron fittings and cobblestones paved
  the streets under horse hooves, trolleys, and sleighs.  

  Slate shingles and mortar, redbrick, plaster and lath,
  runny glass windows, and cast iron baths,
  an avant-garde blend of the old and the new,
  combine to rekindle the home fire within you.

  Shutters and dormers peer down from above,
  vestiges silently witness the love of community, liberty, the best to be true,
  to keep you in comfort like those before too.

  The faded and crumbling give rise to new ways.  
  The foundations of old forge the paths for today.

  The barber poll spins in an endless cocoon
  while fireflies dance and sparkle in June,

  a soft orange sun sets in the late afternoon.  
  The winds high on the bluffs blow a sweeping low tune
  with a chorus of crickets under a deep autumn moon. 

  The city looks sleepy and resting supine,
  like the Delaware’s current that’s hidden behind
  that calm placid surface it rushes and flows,
  the deep and the deadly strong undertows;
  a hotbed of passion where creativity shows
  a richness of culture, the community grows.

  Clara Barton’s old schoolhouse was moved, but still stands,
  her lifetime of work and her kind healing hands.  

  The John Bull’s mighty steam engine brought together a land
  so far-flung and distant, the longest it ran.
  After sailing Old Ironsides, his famous command,
  Commodore Stewart left to the children his land.  
  The Bordentown School where Johnstone now stands,
  high on the hill hosting youthful remands.

  The landscape, it changes, it shifts and it bends,
  as time marches forward, the tale never ends.  

  While we’re building our vision and resources spend,
  the next generation arrives and extends.
  Long after we’re gone,
  with our families and friends,
  a memory, a moment,
  the city transcends.

  Bordentown rises where that great river bends.

  by D. Ryan Lafferty

  http://www.DartanionPress.com

  April 22, 2023

  Bordentown, bordentown poetry, NJ, NJ poetry, poem, poems, poet, poetry, rhyme

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