Category Archives: Writing

Bonfire on the Beach

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, fade away into wordlessness after a lifetime of crafting poetry. To honor her, I’m sharing some of her poems. To read more of her poems, keep coming back here.

She grew up in the desert Southwest, but she fell in love with the sea once she was able to travel more, briefly living next to the ocean with our stepdad, Jim, and returning to the seashore every chance she got. We will be traveling to the coast to celebrate her life later this summer.

Bonfire on the Beach

by Raynette Eitel

The sun sinks into the Pacific,
A red ball, rolling quickly across the sky
And plunging into the crimson sea,

Darkness begins to cover the beach,
Save for small bonfires blazing along the sand.
Families gather for this time of laughter and light.

Small children with marshmallows on a stick
Complete the ritual of happiness. Songs float
Across the smoky night and all is well.

In future years, when they smell wood burning,
They will recall happy campfires, the taste of
Scorched marshmallows and sweetness before sleep.

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Pieces of Peace

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, fade away into wordlessness after a lifetime of crafting poetry. To honor her, I’m sharing some of her poems. To read more of her poems, keep coming back here.

Mom grew up in the desert, and she had plenty of southwestern poetry that we enjoyed (which I will share!). However, another love of hers, which grew as she and her husband Jim spent time in tropical climates, was the sea. Far from tropical, though, was the beautiful area off the coast of Washington, a collection of islands called the San Juans. They tried to stay for a month each summer, to get away from the Las Vegas heat. She fell in love with the area.

Pieces of Peace
(on Orcas Island, Washington)
by Raynette Eitel

Here is tranquility in quiet seas
Surrounded by sentinels of silent pines.
Here a plane lands on still waters
Beside sailboats like a boy’s favorite toy.

And from the summit of Mt. Constitution
Comes a dazzling glimpse of a snow-cloaked Mt. Baker
And green islands circling Orcas like a necklace
As eagles soar beneath a smooth sky and indigo straits.

In July, night comes slowly as light lingers long and low
Over waters littered with glitter of newborn stars.
A soothing song settles over the land like a lullaby
While we settle into the peace, wrapping it about us.

Dawn will not be long in coming,
But it will tiptoe across the island’s eastern edge
Swathed in a soft pink robe
Trimmed with fog as white as ermine.

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Queen Mountain (Pikes Peak)

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, fade away into wordlessness after a lifetime of crafting poetry. To honor her, I’m sharing some of her poems. To read more of her poems, keep coming back here.

We grew up in Colorado Springs, at the foot of Pikes Peak. That lovely mountain dominates the city with its beautiful blue skirt, pink top, and snowy-white hair. A scar near the base, from an old gravel pit, hardly detracts from its beauty (but even as a little girl, I hated that someone had defaced it even a little). Every winter a team of climbers summit the mountain and, when we ring in the New Year down below, they set off fireworks from the Peak that, on a clear night, can be seen all the way to Kansas. The white blanket of snow reflects the glorious lights from the fireworks. You really should make a point of seeing it once.

I learned to ski on that mountain. Every day as I grew up, I ran to look out at the Peak from the window of our home and never ceased to marvel at it.

Queen Mountain (published in Colorado Springs Free Press, 1961)
by Raynette Eitel

She stands silently,
Smiling down upon us.
Sun and snow she tosses
Down and down forever,
Her gift of love—as though
She doesn’t hear our grumbles,
Grinding our teeth at nature.
Griping that it’s blowing,
Growling at the snowflakes.

She slumps shamefully,
Half her sparkling crown
She loses to machinery—
Scrape, scrape, screeching
Up her very self, it tears
And scratches a pathway
So nosy, noisy beings
Can strain and swear and
DAMN their heating autos, and
      DON their winter jackets, and
      DELVE into a snowbank.

She scoffs searingly.
At those who reach her summit,
Squinting down upon us—
The valley-her domain.
She cloaks her highway richly,
Wrapping ermine clouds securely,
Chuckling as cars chug downward—
The drivers, flatland farmers,
Fearful lest they fall.

She sighs sleepily—
Her crown a fire of fury
As King Midas comes to call.
And now no more invasions
Save us who love her beauty
Born of golden glory,
Mingled with dark pine trees,
Reaching for the sky.

She sleeps softly.
Covered, oh, so gently
With Heaven’s great white blanket
Unspoiled by any touch.
And to one more invasion,
She shows but cold indifference.
Bold men in annual pilgrimage
Can’t intrude upon her rest.

She stirs slightly—
Her crown in all its glory
With blazing jewels exploding,
Their colors flashing skyward,
And we stand staring upward,
Our hearts bowed down and prayerful
Praise Hosanna for this mountain!

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From Birds

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, fade away into wordlessness after a lifetime of crafting poetry.

To honor her, I’m sharing some of her poems.

To read more of her poems, keep coming back here.

From Birds
by Raynette Eitel

Each morning birds awakened her
With poems.


Through her dreams she heard
Soft cooing of doves,
Thrum of hummingbird wings,
And robins singing of spring.

Once a hawk swooped down,
His mighty beak
Too near her eyes,
His shriek terrible to bear.
She bolted upright in bed,
Heart pounding.

Sparrows twittered poems
In syncopation
With rhythmic sounds
Of mockingbirds,
Giving her snatches of verse
Stolen from another place.

But when she heard the meadowlark
Singing full voice,
Heralding dawn in full chorus,
She knew it was time to arise
And write it all down.

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I Have Grown Old

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

To honor her, I’m sharing some of her poems.

To read more of her poems, keep coming back here.

I Have Grown Old
by Raynette Eitel, 1999

I have grown old, my love.
Words I stored like sliced apples
To dry on the roof
Are waiting to be
Folded into a sweet autumn pie
Or stirred into a smooth sauce
Sweetened with the savor of my life.

I have grown old, my love.
My arthritic fingers write slowly
Keeping up with wrinkled thoughts
From the cloth of a lifetime.


Stories I heard as a child,
Songs sung as I fought sleep,
Sayings that salted my grandmother’s speech,
Laughter, tears, and bitter anger
Simmered through the years into the syrup of my days.

My poems will be stirred until the
Essence is exactly right,
I will give you the first taste.

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Bury Me with Chocolates

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

To honor her, I’d like to share some of her poems. She wrote for all of her adult life, sometimes published in local journals, occasionally gathering a few into small books she’d hand out to friends. Every year she wrote a Christmas poem, printed it in cards, and mailed it to friends and family in ever-growing lists. They would tell us that they looked forward to receiving her Christmas cards every year.

“Bury Me with Chocolates” is one of our family’s favorites. For this poem she won an award from a San Francisco dance troupe, and they choreographed a dance to accompany it. Receiving that award, and watching the dance from a specially reserved seat, was one of the highlights of her life.

Bury Me with Chocolates
Raynette Eitel

Bury me with chocolates,
The kind I love so well.
Send dark and bitter candy wreaths
With leaves of caramel.

Chocolate chip tears upon my cheeks,
White chocolate pillows filled with creams
To soothe me in my final sleep
And sweeten all my heavenly dreams.

Place one lone lovely chocolate rose
With petals curling in my hand.
Heap gold foil coins in random piles
Egyptian-like, and oh so grand.

Please do not toast me with champagne,
A rich hot chocolate will do,
Laced with a touch of cinnamon
And then perhaps marshmallows too.

But if you plan a conflagration
To send me warmly to my rest,
Do not forget I’ve always loved
A sticky, hot fudge sundae best.

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Watch your language when you write

angrymobSeveral years ago I was invited to address a group of Christian leaders in Canada, about church writing groups and the need for Christians to write in a compelling manner in whatever marketplace writers may find themselves. My aim was to teach about worldview and about including God’s word in reaching a secular audience. (Before you read further, in my defense I will say that I had previously given this same talk to several different Christian audiences.)

I began to make a point about how your harsh words and insensitive writing will polarize an audience before even reaching your main point. Using a letter to the editor I had found, I began reading it aloud so they could hear a harsh, insensitive writer spouting venom about homosexuals. My second step was to dig into the letter together with my audience so that we could find a more appropriate way to make a point.

I’ll admit to the irony of what happened next.

Before I could finish reading the offensive letter out loud, a quarter of my audience had stood, turned their backs, and exited the room.

What could I have done differently? I warned them, up front, that this would be something we could–we should–all learn to do better. Perhaps I should have brought up my main points earlier on, so they could see that I myself intended no insult. Before planning my talk, I should have asked some questions of the conference organizers, in the hope of learning more about the attendees.

It has always been my policy to remember first what Paul instructed to his readers–and what I was going to teach my audience–to do:  “Conduct yourselves with wisdom toward outsiders, making the most of the opportunity. Let your speech always be with grace, as though seasoned with salt, so that you will know how you should respond to each person” (NASB Colossians 4:5-6). In this case, my message failed to reach many people in my audience because I didn’t understand how to “respond to each person.” 

Consider, though, that you can’t always anticipate how each audience member will react. Better to hold on to the truth than to water down your message.

Think about who your audience is: who reads your discourse or sits in your audience? Think about them and write so that they can understand.

This means you need to evaluate–or maybe anticipate–your audience before you write. Now, if you are a Rhetoric student, your audience is not so vast:

  • Your teacher
  • Your parents, who will proofread
  • Your classmates

Or maybe you have a larger audience:

  • Readers of your blog or other social media
  • Readers of your letter to an editor
  • Your youth group
  • Classmates, teachers, administrators, and parents at your school–perhaps in a graduation assembly or thesis defense

Perhaps you have a passionate response to something in the news, or you want to join a demonstration and make your voice heard. Who will be that audience?

Most importantly, you want to craft a speech or discourse in the best light so that your audience will be moved to take action. And alongside of that, you must keep in mind WHO your audience is, and be sure to write so that they understand what you’ve said.

In the situation above, what could I have done differently? Before I read aloud that offensive letter to the editor, I DID tell them what they were going to hear and that I wanted to work with them on less strident language. What can I conclude from their hasty departure? Either they didn’t hear my introduction, or they just couldn’t stomach what I was reading out loud. It’s hard to know now. Something about the subject caused them to shut down and walk off.

This is bound to happen sometimes. If we’re speaking the truth in love, at times it won’t matter that you have the best intentions. Truth offends. Often, though, we need to:

  1. Observe who we are trying to reach,
  2. Review what we’re going to say, and
  3. Commit our words and our presentation to the Lord, asking him for wisdom.

In his instructions to the faithful in Colossae, Paul writes a beautiful passage on how to speak with others both inside and outside of the church:

Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. (ESV Colossians 3:12-17, emphasis added)
Be that salt and light to your audience, whoever they are. Speak the truth in love. Have compassion for the lost. Put on love.

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Filed under Apologetics, Biblical Worldview, Rhetoric, Uncategorized, Writing