Ring Out!

A neighbor died this week. He was a fixture at St. Olaf Church, a small country church with a congregation of less than a hundred. Every Sunday, for many years, John would ring the church bells for the beginning and end of services. It was something small he did that not everyone noticed, but was part of the worship.

Next week someone will take up his role, but no one will do it better.

Ring Out

John’s hands gripped St. Olaf’s bell tower rope,
Sounding God’s message of forgiveness and hope.
A practiced cadence and years of measured strokes,
His special gift; a heartfelt call he shared with prairie folks.

Ring out the sound of salvation; Ring out God’s loving call
St. Olaf’s tower won’t be silent; John’s soul rings for us all.

                                                  -Clarence Holm

Morning Sight

Walking near my home, in the crisp December sun, I saw seven pheasants hopping and rolling in the snow. As I approached, they flew off into the chilly air. I regretted I had interrupted their fun…

Winter solstice freeze
Sundogs flicker, guarding light
Pheasants dance in bliss

                            -Clarence Holm

Lussinatta

Lucia-13.12.06

Photo Credit Claudia Gründer, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3221537

White tallow candles
Burn slow in Lucia’s Crown
Light the winter night

                             -Clarence Holm
Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge 180 Slow / Burn
Prompt words: Slow & Burn
Haiku in 5-7-5

ronovan-writes

https://ronovanwrites.com/2017/12/18/ronovanwrites-weekly-haiku-poetry-prompt-challenge-180-slowburn/

Just Before

For those who have experience mid-west winter weather, you’ve learned that December warm fronts proceed killer blizzards. Legendary storms stories always begin with “It was a warmer than normal start to the day!”

before

Words and Image ©2017 Clarence Holm

December fog drifts
over the freshly tilled field
-nature seems wary

Just before the winter storm
Gives this last taste of autumn

                                    -Clarence Holm

My Masters

The Cats – Charles, Peter and Tapioca

I am an inanimate object;
My three spoiled cats have told me,
I’m just a thump in a well-traveled route,
Between their water, fresh food, and smelly sandboxes.

They expect me to know their special needs,
They prefer houseplants to dry crunchy kibbles and bits.
But whatever they eat, they cough and they spit
Messy hairballs on my dining room carpet.

At night when I lay in my warm cozy bed
Scampering claws dig into my flesh.
They scream and hiss in purr delight
Then quietly settle wherever they wish.

It seems like so many years ago,
When my daughters selected cute bundles of fur.
They promised us they’d alwys take care,
Now they’ve fledged and left them behind.

Nine lives is a long, long time,
About nineteen years, my vet has advised us.
But still I would protest if someone took them from the nest,
I’d miss my lords and my fur masters.

               -Clarence Holm, Servant of the House