Writing Rhetorically

A Lifetime of Christmas Poetry

My mom, Raynette Forister Eitel, passed away in September of 2022, age
85, drifting away into dementia. It was tragic to watch this woman who loved
words, who was a poet and teacher, fade away into wordlessness after a lifetime
of crafting poetry.

Mom had a tradition of writing a new Christmas poem each year and
sending it to friends and relatives. The mailing list grew each year, and
people always told us they looked forward to mom’s Christmas poems. She
published some in a couple little books. There are too many to post just once a
day during the month of December, but I’ll choose some of the best.

Songs
by Raynette Eitel

It’s Christmas—
String songs of joy
Across skies crested
With glitter of stars,
Above the blessed cry of a newborn child
Around children wild with the wonder of Noel.

Shape songs of peace—
Give them away like gold
And frankincense and myrrh
Beneath a blinding star of Bethlehem.

Send songs of love—
A hallelujah chorus mighty enough
To wake a shepherd,
A glory to God loud enough to
Shake a city,
A Good Will to Men reverberating
Around this shrunken earth
From heart to heart to heart.

A Lifetime of Christmas Poetry

My mom, Raynette Forister Eitel, passed away in September of 2022, age
85, drifting away into dementia. It was tragic to watch this woman who loved
words, who was a poet and teacher, fade away into wordlessness after a lifetime
of crafting poetry.

Mom had a tradition of writing a new Christmas poem each year and
sending it to friends and relatives. The mailing list grew each year, and
people always told us they looked forward to mom’s Christmas poems. She
published some in a couple little books. There are too many to post just once a
day during the month of December, but I’ll choose some of the best.

Mary
by Raynette Eitel

As many nails, she knew the pounding pain
In prelude to a Hallelujah chord.
“For on this night…” began the sad refrain
Her lips moved in communion with her Lord.

The awful thirst could not prevent her prayer—
Nor taste of vinegar upon her tongue.
She drank the cup which no one else could share,
While shepherds hid their eyes and songs were sung.

The pain was as a spear thrust through her side,
Then one bright star proclaimed the pain was done.
And as a mother hushed the Babe who cried,
The Father gave the world His only Son.

A Lifetime of Christmas Poetry

My mom, Raynette Forister Eitel, passed away in September of 2022, age
85, drifting away into dementia. It was tragic to watch this woman who loved
words, who was a poet and teacher, fade away into wordlessness after a lifetime
of crafting poetry.

Mom had a tradition of writing a new Christmas poem each year and
sending it to friends and relatives. The mailing list grew each year, and
people always told us they looked forward to mom’s Christmas poems. She
published some in a couple little books. There are too many to post just once a
day during the month of December, but I’ll choose some of the best.

The Star and the Magi
by Raynette Eitel

The star they followed by night
Never left them by day.
Dawn came dotted with doves,
Then they lay down to sleep.
That same star in their daytime dreams
Became God’s own voice whispering hope
Until twilight came again.

Then there it was. The star.
They studied the sky with its glint of tears,
Its hint of mystery,
Then resumed their journey
With certainty.
The new road they took
Became old as a wilderness trek
From Egypt.

When they saw Jerusalem,
They paused a bit,
Expecting the star to hover
Over a royal palace.
Instead, their star moved across desert hills
And they felt stars stirring in grief,
Leaping in joy.
Music resounded from the heavens
Filling their ears all night.
They could not speak, except to pray
As they obeyed a call no one could hear.

Finally, there was Bethlehem,
Their own bright star coming to rest
Over the humble place
Where a newborn king lay sleeping.
The three rejoiced, then longed for more than
Gold and frankincense and myrrh
To offer as gifts,
Knowing they would take the glittering star
With them ever after in all their dreams.

A Lifetime of Christmas Poetry

My mom, Raynette Forister Eitel, passed away in September of 2022, age
85, drifting away into dementia. It was tragic to watch this woman who loved
words, who was a poet and teacher, fade away into wordlessness after a lifetime
of crafting poetry.

Mom had a tradition of writing a new Christmas poem each year and
sending it to friends and relatives. The mailing list grew each year, and
people always told us they looked forward to mom’s Christmas poems. She
published some in a couple little books. There are too many to post just once a
day during the month of December, but I’ll choose some of the best.

Season Defined
by Raynette Eitel

It isn’t the tinseled branches,
It isn’t the holly wreath,
It isn’t the tallest, brightest tree
Or the packages underneath.

It isn’t the sugar cookies,
It isn’t the caroling,
It isn’t the stocking stuffed with toys
Or sleigh bells’ merry ring.

It isn’t the frothy eggnog,
Or cards from near and far—
But oh, the truth of angel wings
Beneath a blinding star!

A Lifetime of Christmas Poetry

My mom, Raynette Forister Eitel, passed away in September of 2022, age
85, drifting away into dementia. It was tragic to watch this woman who loved
words, who was a poet and teacher, fade away into wordlessness after a lifetime
of crafting poetry.

Mom had a tradition of writing a new Christmas poem each year and
sending it to friends and relatives. The mailing list grew each year, and
people always told us they looked forward to mom’s Christmas poems. She
published some in a couple little books. There are too many to post just once a
day during the month of December, but I’ll choose some of the best.

Pilgrimage
by Raynette Eitel

I must go back to Bethlehem
Under a song-filled sky.
I long to hear the cattle’s low,
Pierced by a newborn’s cry.

I would turn from wars and strife,
Weary and worn and bent
Just to know the healing touch
Of One Whom the Lord had sent.

I would give up each worldly gain
And never ask for more
If I could humbly kneel in thanks
There by that stable door.

I must go back to Bethlehem
If only for this night;
To fill my ears with angel songs,
My soul with Holy Light.

A Lifetime of Christmas Poetry

My mom, Raynette Forister Eitel, passed away in September of 2022, age
85, drifting away into dementia. It was tragic to watch this woman who loved
words, who was a poet and teacher, fade away into wordlessness after a lifetime
of crafting poetry.

Mom had a tradition of writing a new Christmas poem each year and
sending it to friends and relatives. The mailing list grew each year, and
people always told us they looked forward to mom’s Christmas poems. She
published some in a couple little books. There are too many to post just once a
day during the month of December, but I’ll choose some of the best.

Only a Star
by Raynette Eitel

Only a star marked the place
Where a baby King was born.
Only a host of angels
Filled the far sky with their
Hallelujahs, their Peace on Earth.
Only a young mother gazed at the babe
With stars in her dazzled eyes.
Only a few shepherds came
With wonder on their faces
And grass stains on their weary feet.
Only the soft, silent sheep seemed to know
The Holy Night was a beginning
As three kings stumbled in bearing gifts,
Sharing fulfilled prophecy,
Daring the wrath of Herod.
The baby slept as though He
Did not know what was ahead.
Only a whole world changed forever.

A Lifetime of Christmas Poetry

My mom, Raynette Forister Eitel, passed away in September of 2022, age
85, drifting away into dementia. It was tragic to watch this woman who loved
words, who was a poet and teacher, fade away into wordlessness after a lifetime
of crafting poetry.

Mom had a tradition of writing a new Christmas poem each year and
sending it to friends and relatives. The mailing list grew each year, and
people always told us they looked forward to mom’s Christmas poems. She
published some in a couple little books. There are too many to post just once a
day during the month of December, but I’ll choose some of the best.

Nothing is as it Seems
by Raynette Eitel

The children of Bethlehem
Wake in the night
“Mama,” they call,
“What is that bright light?”
“Hush, little ones,
Return to your dreams
For nothing this night
Is as it seems.”

The fathers stir restlessly as they sleep
Hearing footsteps of shepherds
And their sheep.
They mutter in the midst of dreams,
“Nothing this night is as it seems.”

The mothers lie listening to sounds nearby,
A young girl’s moan, a newborn’s cry,
Then the musical voice of newfound joy.
“The child,” they murmur, “is a boy.”

The talk by the Sea of Galilee next morn:
“A King in Bethlehem was born.
One who will still the mighty sea,
And make fishers of men like you and me.”

“For nothing last night while we dreamed
Was as normal as it seemed.
From a night of miracles and pain,
Nothing will be the same again.”

And so the word passed near and far
Of a lowly birth and a royal star
And a night that passed while many dreamed
While nothing, nothing was as it seemed.