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.
‘Twas the Dieting Christmas
by Raynette Eitel
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
No crumb could be found to feed one little mouse.
The stockings were hung (by the spouse who was handy)
With my note, “I’ve been good but please sir, no candy!”
I stepped on the scales and went straight to my bed,
Praying no sugarplums would dance in my head.
When up from the kitchen there arose such a cry,
I bounced out of bed to find out who, what, and why.
Straight down the stairs I made a mad dash,
Burst into the kitchen, overturning the trash.
The light from the open refrigerator door
Gave an emptier look than the place had before.
And my husband, with tears in his eyes, turned around
Saying, “Skim milk and yogurt were all that I found.
I looked for some ice cream or a chocolate bar.
This Christmas you’ve carried your diet too far!”
“But Darling, my fat cheeks and round little belly
Have come from way too much butter and jelly.
I resemble that red-suited, sooty old elf
And I don’t like this round me, this chubby new self.”
And then while I stood feeling sorry for me,
I heard a new sound by the tall Christmas tree.
That fabled old gent with the beard snowy white
Just stood there and smiled on that pre-Christmas night.
“Someone,” he said kindly, “has started to diet.
And right after this strenuous trip, I must try it.”
Then he loosened his belt, gave his tummy a pat,
Said, “Don’t tell a soul, but I’ve really grown fat!
“So I’ve brought gobs of goodies for the one who’s not plump:
Peppermints, pretzels, a chocolate clump,
And you get assortments of magical treats—
Delicious, nutritious, non-caloric sweets.”
Then he spoke no more words but went right to work
(Although overweight, he was surely no shirk).
Now finished, he exited through our front door.
(I don’t think he’d fit in the chimney once more.)
And then in a twinkling, I heard loud and clear
A new Christmas phrase from the old saint so dear:
“On Dasher, On Dancer, Do try to be quiet,
Merry Christmas to all, and
GOOD LUCK ON YOUR DIET!”
Writing Rhetorically 