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The Ontario Poetry Society
~ Tribute Poems for B. O'Donnell ~

Muhammad J. Akhtar

Inspirational B. O'Donnell

I will remember you
As long as I live.
You inspired me
To write poetry.
You urged me
To come to poetry meetings.

After meeting with you
And your poetry group in London,
My thoughts about
No difference among people
Of different religions
Turned to belief.

You and your group gave me
Love and confidence.
I always tried to write my best.
You always encouraged, admired
And insisted me to write.

You always hosted
Our poetry meetings in London.
I still remember last year
We went to Sarnia together.
It was nice to travel with you & Bonnie.
We exchanged so many thoughts.

I still have your farewell card
On my table, which you gave me
When I was moving to Alberta.

The last time I saw you,
and we said our goodbyes,
You asked me for a hug.
If I knew that would be our
First and last hug,
I would have hugged you much longer.

You reviewed my first chapbook
And wrote wonderful words about it.
B., tell me to whom I will call now
When I need guidance
To inspire me?

You left for Heaven too early.
It is true, God calls His nice people
Towards Him very quickly.
I am sure you are in peace
Singing and writing wonderful
Songs and poems
In heaven now.

---

I.B. Iskov

Parting Reflections

It wasn't hard for B to reach
Well attained articulate speech.
Fond memories of her little rhymes
Are like a church bell's ardent chimes.

She wrote of moons and parenthood,
Of loons and everything that was good.
Her Canadian stance was just a cover.
I think the world was her true lover.

She was a tour guide and guitar strummer.
She loved planning her garden every summer.
Her little bungalow was her cozy pride.
For friends, her doors were open wide.

She wrote of paintings, plays and song.
Her post-modern rhymes were good and strong.
She even wrote about herself.
She never put words on a shelf.

She wrote of love and nature's glory.
Each poem told a rhyming story.
Each glorious season had her writing
Verses she would love reciting.

---------------------------------------------------

In Memory of B. O’Donnell

The quiet void of an ignited memory
languishes inside an urn.
Posthumous parables perform
on trampled streets,
score a trail of deafening blood and silenced song.

---

Karen Calaiezzi

Incredible Lady
for B. O'Donnell

With her bright, shiny, captivating eyes,
Like the silvery moon,
Full of life,
Her friendly smile swept me over,
Like a warm ocean breeze,
Overflowing from her generous heart,
Always ready to offer support,
With kind, encouraging words.

Fond memories of that day we met,
Flash through my mind,
Like an old movie.

In a room full of strangers,
Hiding in a corner,
She found me.

Taking me under her wings,
Like a protective angel,
Oozing with maternal instincts,
She cushioned my transition,
Into to the family of poets.

From that point forward,
I knew how blessed I was,
To have met,
Such a special, incredible lady,
Who has left a lasting impression
On everyone she knew.

---

Leona Naylor

ODE TO BEA

Oh dear, sweet, gentle Bea
You have left me in a sea of emotions
Anger and tears, sadness and devotion.
A special friend, that I knew
On that first day we met.
Welcoming us all in your easy way
Of settling nerves; listening to our woes
Good criticism with gentle encouragement
Never in a hurry
As we tested the waters
In this world of poetry
Intelligence never flaunted
As some of us drowned
In endless red tape
Dreams were haunted
By delays of the presses and advances so slow in coming
BEA---you stuck by us all
Endless encouragement
Love of your friends
Belief in Our Creator
Always special, I knew that
From that very first day.

---

Carl A. Lapp

My First Poetry Meeting

Seven years ago, on a Sunday afternoon,
snow squalls rocked the car
and darkened the windshield
as I headed across town
to my first London Branch meeting
of The Ontario Poetry Society.

B.'s friendly welcome and warm hospitality,
including fresh muffins, grapes and cheese,
lessened my nervousness.
However, the phone kept ringing from members
informing B. they couldn't make it through the storm.

B. turned to me and said, "Let's start the meeting."
For the next hour and a half we read poem after poem
after poem to a circle of empty chairs.

Since that day, members filled B.'s living room
at every meeting and explored the magic of poetry,
sharing laughter, conversation and poems.

Even though The London Branch will carry on
through the generous efforts of Leona Naylor,
our new London branch representative,
there will always be an empty chair
and an empty feeling in my heart,
wishing B. could still be there.

---

Debbie Okun Hill

Soft spoken
warm hand reaching
across telephone line
like sunshine
your recorded voice
sits on my
answering machine
I play it again
your invitation
to your home
bran muffins
cheddar cheese
green grapes
the company
of fellow poets
your kind words
over and over
and I’m so glad
I called you back
and you were there
speaking clear
like you’re speaking now
your poetic spirit
still alive in the room
and I’m listening at
the receiving end
refusing to erase
our last conversation
your caring manners
still imbedded in my mind

---

Gayanne Dewar

The Quiet House

red brick house
on the avenue
stands
silent, vacant

yesterday
her warmth was poured out
in cups of tea
or coffee
from spring’s laughter
to winter’s chill

now there are the sounds
held within the walls
of the speechless poets
where once the circle of chairs
expressed
love, joy, happiness
death, sorrow

today we sit hushed
our words muffled
at the loss
of our gracious host
B. O’Donnell

---

B. L. Richardson

For Bea O'Donnell

Hello Bea
I miss you
I miss our talks
Your sincere face
With its intense questions

You yearned to know
Experience
Understand
All about life

I miss your quiet way
Your love
Expansion of self
Stretching to be
More than you were

I miss your courage
To feel your world
I miss your love of simplicity

You modeled acceptance
Tolerance
Compassion
Friendship
Abundance

Now you are free
And you will not be forgotten

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