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Check the map to see where OHF Abroad poems come from.
Venus as a boy – Conroy Dockal, Roswell, Georgia, USA
Willie’s Guitar – Ron Gillis, North Sydney, Nova Scotia
The Hunter’s Mountain Chalets – Guohua Li, Montebello, New York, USA
My good friend John – Don Macmillan, Lac Brome, Quebec
Venus as a boy
Poem by Conroy Dockal
Foot, line, meter, verse,
Dad’s arms were as big as a car
Steel can’t comfort
Melting bucket seats discounted
Hands then forearms rolling away from my body
maybe over me
Junk yard parts his favourite fruit above all
Foot, line, meter, verse,
Down to a unit
I was a boy when Venus was bright in the sky
Tears were weakness
when my brother was taken
I needed a foot, line, meter, and verse
for nonverbal at 4.
Why I wrote this poem
Celebrating 60 years of Autism and Autism Acceptance Month this past April. A recent game of Connections inspired this poem. The units in poetry—foot, line, meter, verse—bring comfort as a list, in practice and a repetition.
Willie’s Guitar
Poem by Ron Gillis
Dad, how old are the pyramids of Egypt
How old are the heavenly stars
How old is the arctic circle
How old is Willie’s guitar?
How old is the old man of the mountain
How old is Henry’s first car
How ancient and old are the dead sea scrolls
How old is Willie’s guitar?
Is it as old as Kris Kristofferson
And is it as old as Johnny Cash?
Maybe it’s old as Willie and Waylon
Maybe it’s old as yesterday’s past
Perplexed but undaunted, his mind travelling afar,
Remembering as a boy of ten, seeing Willie’s old guitar.
Son, it’s old as a weathered blanket, bearing holes where holes shouldn’t be.
Tied up with love and pure music, is Willie’s antiquity
Tied up with love and pure music, is Willie’s antiquity.
Why I wrote this poem
The inspiration came about while watching a Willie Nelson Tribute by his country music friends. I was amazed by a closeup of Willie’s Guitar, noticing all the holes. This poem is now a song, with Kenny Walsh writing the music and performing it, and it is on my CD album Ceilidh Hall.
The Hunter’s Mountain Chalets
Poem by Guohua Li
The hunter has disappeared in the river of time,
The mountain remains green and still;
The quiet chalet is a sweet home
for the weary traveler and wandering soul.
Why I wrote this poem
During my visit to the Cape Breton Highlands National Park, I stayed in the Hunter’s Mountain Chalet. This poem was a thank-you note I jotted down in the guest book for the innkeeper Roland.
My good friend John
Poem by Don Macmillan
My good friend John, he died today
A man of courage, a man of sway
Friendships cherished, which I hold dear
Beyond Scottish shores, both far or near
My fellow Scot, he died today
Words may fail, just what to say
For so many years he was my friend
With a generosity that knew no end
Today our John, he remains nearby
With a legacy that one cannot deny
So much to learn, so much he knew
“Un grand homme.”
Our MAN among few.
Why I wrote this poem
A year ago I entered hospital to undergo major brain surgery. Prior to this, I knew that my good friend John, a fellow Scot, was in the late stages of terminal cancer.
Awakening in intensive care, I came to the realization that I was indeed alive, apparently in possession of all my faculties. However, in my post-operative delirium, I suddenly had the thought that my friend had passed away while I was undergoing surgery. I found myself writing this short poem, “My good friend John”, while I remained in intensive care.
My thought was in reality a premonition; my friend passed but a few weeks later, such that my poem became my fond farewell.
Open Heart Forgery 