Bring It Back

Ormsby Field

Ormsby, MN Ball Field

Our Old Field

(Sung with Gusto to tune of My Bonnies lies over the Ocean)

There once was a town that played softball,
Our teams all played with great skill!
In Ormsby we cheered for our hitters,
And heckled opponents with glee.

Bring back, bring back
Oh, bring back our slow pitch to town, to town.
Bring back, bring back
Oh, bring back America’s game.

Our players were locally famous,
The chanted their names at Knight’s Lounge!
They swung for fence with abandon
But struck out most of the time.

Bring back, bring back
Oh, bring back our slow pitch to town, to town.
Bring back, bring back
Oh, bring back America’s game.

The lights have been burned out for ages
The base paths are now overgrown
Our bleachers were sold off to Odin
The gophers have eaten the grass

Bring back, bring back
Oh, bring back our slow pitch to town, to town.
Bring back, bring back
Oh, bring back America’s game.

There once was a town that played softball,
Our teams all played with great skill!
In Ormsby we cheered for our hitters,
And heckled opponents with glee!

 

©2019 cj holm

Fishing

In the river valley below the dam, I spent days watching the lazy river’s current, while my thoughts went out to play…

Sun-bleached signs along the trail
Timbered shadows surround me
Songbirds call to find their mate
Forest chorus rejoices.

Tufts of grass provide my chair.
Far river rock my target.
Toss out my silver lure,
A bamboo pole restrains it.

Deepwater in this creek,
A hidden world below.
Minnow play around my bait,
Small memories from that time ago.

                                     ©2018 cj holm

Echoes

12/18/2018

                          -©2018 cj holm

snowy fields
echoed in the sky
blue shadows

++++++++++++++++

steel grain bin
leaning against tree
vacant now

clock always ticking
reaper gone away

+++++++++++++++++

snow covered tree stump
all the branches hauled away
squirrel scurries on

+++++++++++++++++

my brother’s birthday
he is younger by a year
and missing old farm

Sourdough Thoughts

bread3

Golden loaves of bread
that rise in grandma’s woodstove
served with fall preserves

Smokey farmhouse memories
of breakfast conversations

                                         -cj holm
Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge 223 Rise / Fall
5-7-5 7-7

ronovan-writes

https://ronovanwrites.com/2018/10/15/ronovanwrites-weekly-haiku-poetry-prompt-challenge-223-risefall/