Our poet has passed on. Hope he has his guitar with him and is still singing from the heart. Of all the things we might say about Mike Stonehouse, he was authentic, true to himself, and an extremely caring person. We’ll miss him, his poetry and his observations on life.
How To Look Cool
Wear a pair of
sunglasses and
carry a guitar
case around town.
No one needs to
know it’s empty.
(2025-06-25)
An old friend has graciously allowed their collection of poetry and other reflections, inspired by their experiences growing up in our town, to be shared with us at Hello Oxford! Many will know their prose, but let’s agree to maintain their anonymity under the pseudonym “Nom de Plume,” Oxford’s unofficial Poet Laureate!
There will be no order to their appearance here. Some will be drawn from the past, some will be relevant to current events. But all are heartfelt and tell us another story of our hometown, among other journeys.
Ol’ Pogue
I trusted him. Maybe that’s why I always loved him. Maybe that’s where love really starts – with trust.
He never lied to me. Stood between me and trouble. Everytime. He was genuine every split second of his life. Everytime. One time I threw his ball and it bounced off a wall or two and he didn’t see it in the shadows.
I said, ‘Look Pogue!’ and pointed across the room. I watched his brown eyes as he peered straight down my arm then across my wrist and hand until he stared at the end of my fingertip. He paused Like he was doing some kind of math. All in the flicker of a moment. Then he made a direct line through the air past my finger to the dark corner where he spied his ball. Overjoyed dog.
Regular nights – him and me watching tv on the couch him curled up behind my crooked legs with his chin on my knee. He didn’t care what we watched. Other times, when I was feeling low, he was the first to notice. Slow tail slaps with eyes trying constantly to make contact – licking my face every chance he got. Everytime. That was a long time ago now – last century – but damn, he was a good dog.
I’II tell you a secret. Sometimes, when I find it hard to fall asleep? I think about ol’ Pogue. I heard it’s said all dogs go to heaven. I hope that’s true. And between him and me, if there’s one who’s gonna get in, it’s him.
(2020-05-29)
Cove Road
I remember you
after church that
one Sunday. I
never knew
one day I’d ever
see you again.
You asked me
how I’ve been. I
lied and grinned.
We stood among
those birch trees
where we used to
skin and scar
our knees. You
held my hand
and you smiled
just before you
had to go
whispering
to me about that
long ago December
when we barely
had an ember
in our wood stove
out on Cove Road.
Doorstep
Watch your
step.
Those real
regrets.
You’ll slip
on those
in front of
the crows.
Watch your
step.
Exhibition (II)
Like Big Stephen Petitpas jumping off
the top rope and he judges his own reflection.
The Queen of the Cumberland County
Exhibition always double
checks her own complexion.
Like wrestling a grizzly with your bare hands.
(2021-06-01)
Oxford People
Oh, to walk into Marg’s Restaurant one more time and order a cheeseburger and fries…maybe with clam strips on a friday or saturday night. And push B-7 on the juke box. Or to have a pop handed to me out of a cooler full of ice and it’s cap popped off from the opener attached to the side of the cooler or the one in her hand.
Or to Harry Fowler’s where he placed the plush red seat up on the adult chair and you almost had to climb up into it so he could cut your hair the way your father expected. He became a barber in 1935. I recall reading that countless times whilst I sat there as a boy. The certificate was on the wall, to the right of the window facing Mactonish’s Hardware.
And Orlie’s. Orlie’s gang sign was the plastered rocks attached to his building. His gang sign was also playing Christmas music as the town employees made sure the red and green lights were strung back and forth Water Street were lit up. The man — and his wife Anis — also had a vast selection of black and white movies. A vast selection. He shared them at every small community center and church and living room for a hundred miles every chance he got… long before most of us were even born and the all sat there enjoying tea and coffee and snacks and small talk part way through during the intermission.
We should talk about these people, and people just like them. Every generation of them. These peeps above were the pillars from my teenage years for many different reasons. Marg Shenton fed young fellas who were kicked out from home for whatever reason, NOT with fast food but she’d cook a roast wih potatoes and carrots so he’d get a good supper.
Orlie Thompson put work boots on my feet when I was seventeen when I didn’t have any.
Harry Fowler STILL cut my hair the way my father wanted. Even though, I was like twenty years old.
There are many more I easily recall and could talk about but I’ll leave it at that for now. Tell me about the people who you remember after all these years no matter how many years ago it’s been because they know they deserve to be remembered.
Slabtown Style.
(2017-09-21)
Tomcat Alley
Do you know how Tomcat Alley got it’s name? Jim Shenton said it first. He watched for years all those young punks with their slicked up hair and their best clothes strolling past his house in the sixties and early seventies from a dead-end street headed for town on a Friday night. Double Trouble if it was Exhibition time. Because that’s where they climbed over the fence. Marg just shook her head. I remember the night the ambulance took him away.
(2024-02-28)
Exhibition
I dreamt last
night I was
a Ferris wheel
out of control.
Rolling down to
Water and Main.
Only to fall apart
at the foot of
Walsh’s Apartments.
(2024-10-04)
The Smell of Bananas
I remember
sitting in
a cardboard
box in the
living room
driving it
like a car
after the
groceries
had been
delivered.
(2024-11-08)
What a great trip down memory lane ,And remembering those that impacted our teenage years .