Snow from right to left
NEW ENGLAND CHRISTMAS MEMORIES®
Original, sentimental, heartfelt holiday poetry by Donna J. Fennel, CIW/SD.
Quilled during this blustery 7th eve of January, 2004 ~ My former world here I explore.
Revised by a winking fireside especially for you on November 29, 2006.
Beyond innocence of indigo twilight’s horizon, I see ~
Snowflakes drifting ‘mongst serenity’s star-studded eve.
Watching them glide ere effortlessly, as I turn to leave ~
Familiar New England scenes, to fulfill my life’s destiny.
During wondrous winter season, fondest memories stray
O’er rolling hills and plains, sensuously soothing soul ~
As they seem to seek to make my harrowed heart whole ~
Before the thrilling threshold of every Christmastide holiday.
Alas, those familiar bailiwicks and Massachusetts scenes ~
Wandering from the Berkshires towards Cape Cod’s shore
Have again begun to linger ‘cross myriad of mind once more ~
As they infallibly filter into realm of doleful decadence of dream.
O, those yearly New Hampshire trips to Dot and Ronny’s farm ~
Where sleeping ‘pon feathered bed by fireside lent cozy charm.
Strolling with mom and sis in snow-kissed bliss, arm and arm ~
While we watched woodland wildlife frolic, pardoned from harm.
Deep sea fishing days with dad, off the rocky Gloucester coast ~
Who could prepare a feast fit for Poseidon, such a gracious host!
When I savor New England favors and flavors, what I cherish most
Is my Hollis Street home, where I abandoned my childhood ghost.
As a youngster, I would allow snowflakes to float onto frozen face ~
Like my crystalline Minutemen friends, bequeathing brand of icy tickle.
Where, upon my tongue they stung, immediately melting their trace ~
Of grace, while my sister Jacq and I would laugh, scamper and giggle.
Remember, no matter WHERE we live, winter season knows no age ~
For it is akin to the rhetorical realm that prances ‘pon this very page.
I shall fore’er treasure without measure New England I now remember ~
Especially merry days in December, as they linger like an eternal ember.
O, New England memories will fore’er remain my winter wonderland ~
From which NO man on Earth could abscond my dreams, pride or joy.
Mom’s beckoning Ben Franklin stove, or our arcane orchard groves ~
The snow angels that I planned and toboggan that I skillfully employed.
Mulled, mesmerizing memories transcending in time, like hourglass sand ~
And yet I can resurrect them at my command, when visions take a stand.
Fantasy flight in nebulae of night, instilling delight while I write with might ~
Brigadoon of New England scintillating scene permanently etched in dream.
Now at yawning hour’s wake, when I move towards land new and unknown ~
Bestowing me with cozy, coddling culture and panoramic vestiges ere new ~
While my New England memories, like icicles, become specters and gnomes
Playfully pelting into frozen ponds, which will inevitably abandon intense hue.
My New England, I dream that you could soothe my humble heart’s desire ~
Again, with omnipresent traditions harboring my cherished ancestral past.
For towards deepest abyss of mind amiss, these visions are dolefully cast ~
As I resurrect them here at last, to share ‘round gleaming Christmas fire.
I witness gray clouds cavalcading o’er somber hills of tempestuous time ~
While they soar and explore my myriad of mind, then basin e’er so low ~
As I now recollect and protect New England, coddling kiss of virgin snow
And my heart chirms and yearns to return to this land divine, lost in time.
I pause to envision incandescence of our flickering flagstone fireplace ~
While mine porch windows mimic pillows for premiere December frost.
I try to rekindle and weave spindle of New England memories now lost ~
Especially during Christmas, as I wipe whirlwind of tears from my face.
For my father died two days before bless’d birth of Mother Mary’s Babe ~
One so brave from whom my life has been paved, now resting in his grave.
Ah, mine emotions during this season are ambivalent, ere somber-saved ~
Not honestly knowing how to feel, praying that my soul will someday heal.
Now, when I gaze into December’s sky, scintillating star shine beckons ~
More primordial than Terra itself as time escapes man ere swiftly, I reckon.
I release a sigh hitherto escalating high, only Lord’s Kingdom can hear ~
As I miss New England evermore, especially during this time of the year.
While contemplating the constellations, I now seek out the brightest one ~
Leading the Magi to Bethlehem, to honor the birth of Mary’s bless’d Son.
O, where a person lives is irrelevant, for now matter how far one roams ~
ALL men can call upon their Holy Savior, to find their permanent home.
What is my final wish? To be able to breathe the brisk aphelion of air ~
Once more, of New England’s wintery wonder lair, merely half-express’d
By pulsating heartbeat passion harbored 'midst haunted, humble breast ~
As mine New England phantasm perpetually purveys, beckoning me there.
Alas, my New England experiences have taught me a litany of lessons ~
That mine soul shall serenely carry with me for the remainder of my life.
For now I have chosen cherished careers, as a webmistress and wife ~
And give grace to God for having bestowed me such bountiful blessings.
My humble homage to grand New England.
Crafted with love by Donna J. Fennel, CIW/SD.
While I stroll down a snow-sequestered New England lane ~
I recollect and protect mine ancestral memories arcane.
®2004-09 Donna J. Fennel, Owner of Donnadreamland. All rights reserved.®
Copying, photocopying, distribution or transmission of the above original work and Web content
is strictly prohibited without authorized permission in writing from the author, Donna J. Fennel.
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Author: Donna J. Fennel | Copyright ©2003-09 donnadreamland | All rights reserved.
Revised: March 7, 2008.
