Echoes of Christmas

Suspended on the air,
the tang of dead leaves,
breath of wood smoke,
tingle of frost
and echoes in twilight.

A full moon, pearly white
touches reflections
splintering the night,
tinged with bright
Christmas lights.

Twinkling headlights,
streetlight’s glow,
and intimate lamp-lit windows
remind us that now
it’s time to go home.

In the darkening gloam
where berries glisten,
as we walk, we listen
for sleigh bells’ echo
and sniff the air for snow.

Kim M. Russell, 10th December 2019

echoes-of-twilight
Image by David Russell

My response to dVerse Poets Pub Poetics: Echo… echo… echo

Merril is looking after the bar today and she wants us to echo, echo, echo.

The example poems she has shared are ‘Echo’ by Christina Rossetti, which is about memories echoing and includes repeated words that echo throughout the poem, and ‘Echo’ by John Poch, a villanelle that retells the myth of Echo and Narcissus and uses repetition to form a sort of echo.

Merril would like us to write something about echoes. We can write actual echo poetry—where you repeat the end word or syllable or echo sounds – or write a poem about some sort of actual echoes – or write about the myth of Echo – or combine any or all of these.

I chose to rework a poem I posted in December 2019.

38 thoughts on “Echoes of Christmas

  1. kaykuala

    as we walk, we listen
    for sleigh bells’ echo
    and sniff the air for snow.

    The anticipation for Christmas can be testing for those too impatient to wait for . It is quite normal though!

    Hank

    Hank

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Ah KIm….love the image and love the post. Those sleigh bells jingling…reminds me of a time when our children were probably 10 and 12 (they are now 43 and 45!) and we were in Iowa. We took them out into the country where an Iowa Heritage group offered an “Old Fashioned Iowa Christmas Eve.” We parked our car and went in a horse drawn large sled, blankets covering our lap, horse harnesses jingling, through the snow covered lane, by fields long shorn of corn…to a small farm house that had candles lit in the window. Only 6 people per evening and we were 4. Inside, there were basically two rooms….the “sitting room” and the kitchen room with a rustic table set. There were candles and a fire set…no electricity. There was an old small pump organ in the corner, and our daughter, who started organ lessons at age 7 and by the age of 10 was playing for church services, sat down and played. It was a most incredible evening…I haven’t thought of it in many years. Sadly, there are no photos…just warm memories brought to mind by your poem. Thank you!

    Liked by 1 person

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