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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.

New Mexico Christmas
by Raynette Eitel

Let’s have a New Mexico Christmas
With ristras on the door
And chile peppers on our plate
As still we ask for more.

Let’s have a New Mexico Christmas
The yucca piled with snow
And luminarias lighting up the night
Just everywhere you go.

Let’s have a New Mexico Christmas
Piñata swinging high
The children squealing as it breaks
Beneath a bright blue sky.

Let’s have a New Mexico Christmas
Build a fire with piñon wood
Then sit and drink hot chocolate
Laced with cinnamon…so good!

Let’s have a New Mexico Christmas
Feliz Navidad to you.
And may you have Christ in your heart
In everything you do.

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 Day After Christmas, or Why Santa’s Nose is Red
by Raynette Eitel

On the day after Christmas with deliveries done,
St. Nicholas heads for a place full of sun.
He oils Rudolph’s nose and aims Dasher south
Then reclines with a peppermint cane in his mouth.
And before he discovers his coat is too hot,
Comes the clatter of hoofs on the deck of his yacht.

His cheeks how they dimple, how twinkly his eyes
When first he beholds those cloudless blue skies.
His snowy beard melts in the warm, humid air
So he strips off as much of his clothes as he’d dare.

Should you see the old elf undoing his buckle,
In spite of yourself, you would just have to chuckle.
He dismisses his deer with a nod of his head
And speaks not a word but goes straight to his bed.

He lies in the sun, rubs his hands on his belly,
(That sunscreen is nearly as sticky as jelly!)
No visions of sugarplums beneath his red cap
As he basks in the warmth of a tropical nap,
But you may hear him mutter ere he goes to his rest,
“A merry Christmas is great, but this part is the BEST!”

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 Craziest Christmas
by Raynette Eitel

The cat has climbed the Christmas tree
And swatted tinsel to the floor.
The puppy chewed the packages
And now we can’t tell who they’re for.

The baby spied the bread-dough creche
And ate a shepherd and a sheep.
The oldest child with ten sure thumbs
Has one less heirloom now to keep.

And if this isn’t bad enough,
I’ve heard the rumor sure as fate—
The busy downtown Santa Claus
Is surly, sick, and losing weight.

So Peace on Earth! Joyeux Noel!
And may your Christmas be like mine.
For only on the darkest night
Do smallest stars begin to shine.

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.

Christmas Sea Songs
by Raynette Eitel

The Christmas sea
Is calm and bright tonight.
Fragrance of frankincense and myrrh
Mingle with salt air.
Light arcs across the water like
One bright star showing the way.
I could walk that silver bridge to
A distant fishing boat
Rocking like a cradle.

A clear midnight sky bends down
To stroke the sea,
Moonlight bringing gifts of gold.
Sky and sea
Are one in solemn stillness,
Silently awaiting angel songs
And morning stars proclaiming
A Holy Birth.

Three royal palms
With jeweled fronds of light
Guard the silent beach.
A large silver shell
Trailing foam like ribbons
Holds the sound of the sea;
Or might it be
The quiet thrum of angel wings
Above a newborn child?

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.

Christmas Past
by Raynette Eitel
Written after the death of our dad, her husband Paul Forister, in 1977.

The Ghost of Christmas Past
Lives in the flames which dance
A merry December frolic
Beneath old stockings hung with care.

I am caught in the spell of phantom friends
Singing Silent Night just above the crackle,
Arms beckoning me into the hallowed glow
Of all that I have loved.

Just for this season will I sit and stare
And dare to play awhile with fire.
Then warmed, I turn my back
And walk into the cold New Year.

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.

Carolers Wrap the Season
by Raynette Eitel

In cold snow-dreams tied with fa-la-la ribbons,
And in nostalgia, prickly with holly,
Damp with tears, sharp with memories of
Melodies thick with the cinnamon scent of Christmas,
A holy hush hovers between the songs.

It is an empty space filled with Bethlehem
As a silver star slips along the sky
Showing the way surely, silently
To all who would search.

Once again, the music pulses its proclamation
“Gloria in Excelsis Deo!”
Pouring arpeggios like candies bursting from a piñata
Leaving the listeners on their knees
Scrambling for a morsel,
And breathless with ecstasy.

The carolers turn to leave
Calling out “Merry Christmas!”
And though they are gone, their music remains.
It is a package, pulsing like a candle in the darkness.
Those listening are not sure for a moment
Whether Bethlehem is near or far.

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.

Calypso Christmas
by Raynette Eitel, 1989

Some places Christmas comes in like a calypso,
Steel bands playing a Merry Christmas across white sands,
Bongos beating a message for dancing,
Always the dancing barefoot, frenzied,
Skin glistening beneath a hot sun.

Some places Christmas trims trees in fruit,
Juicy balls of orange and tangerine,
Bunches of bananas bending low
Coconuts hanging way above reach,
Swaying as the calypso on the beach plays on.

Some places Christmas comes in with perfumed air
From swags of bougainvillea as
The Christmas calypso drifts into open windows.
People lean far out to catch the rhythm,
Laughing a joyful laugh, tapping a happy beat,
Sending little showers of petals fluttering
Like red butterflies in the breeze.

Before morning, a warm blue sea erases footprints
From the silent sand; and yet
A steel band sound lingers on the surf,
And that Christmas calypso beat lasts all year long.

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.

As a Little Child
by Raynette Eitel

A little child with Christmas eyes,
Peppermint lips, and sticky hands
Stood paper-doll still,
Everything within her body straining
To hear the sounds of hoofbeats on the roof
And a mighty “Ho-Ho-Ho” echoing across the night.

Only the ancient certainty of childhood
Could account for those dancing feet stilled
Or expectant eyes looking everywhere
For signs of his coming.

I, long-since deafened and blinded by years,
Watch warily as Wonder and Awe and Love
Are born again in this child.

My breathing stops,
My own ears strain to catch a sound.
And oh, the wonder of knowing once again
The deafening whisper of angel wings and
The healing glimpse of one bright star.