Karin Elizabeth Martin

Karin Elizabeth Martin Poems

I remember very little, of when I was young,
I recall even less, of a special someone, who I am told,
was so proud of me and so boastful, 'I had his eyes'...
I was born, on a first Spring day, I was his 4th, but he could not stay.
...

Hello old friend, old lover, old memories
I think of you quite often, sometimes when I dream,
I remember how you taught me what you knew of love and means.
I spent my early teenage years, and gave my heart to you, yes dear
...

3.

I woke this morning dreaming
threads of slumber in my head
I rolled over for some reason
the stirring cleared my head
...

I came upon, a long lost thing,
forlorn as it was, it had beauty to me,
withered and bruised, it lay among,
the shredded remains, of an old love song
...

It is so dark, so cold, so still,
I walk along, all else is still
I come here often, never in the day
to watch and keep
...

For so long now, I cease to count,
the days and nights spent
seeking you out.
You are foreign, but not faceless,
...

I thought I knew it all
When I was just a kid
I listened with prejudice
Agreed with nods
...

Once there was a girl
She did sure rule the world
While growing up she wandered far
She thought she new her destiny
...

Smell the air, breath the brisk chill
Mornings are memories of school
Waiting for buses
Maybe taking off the jacket
...

Good morning early birds
Singing in the darkness
I cannot see you but I can hear your songs
Bringing back thoughts and memories
...

I love you, since the 1st day I saw you,
even before when I envisioned who you be...
Even if you are angry, I love you so much,
I love you enough, to try to empathize with your feelings...
...

It has been a long time,
since I began this story,
This life has been, a sordid glory
As I have aged. I've learned a few,
...

I awake from a barely mussed bed,
visions of activities dance thru my head,
I tread down the stair, so lightly I creep
I remember some days
...

It is cool, it is dusk

The air is still but alive with the night
...

I thought alot of days gone past
of things you've said,
of things you've asked,
I thought about how long it's been
...

Where have I gone
did I get here on my own
was i led, guided, cast...
I recognize everything around me
...

Am I crazy, am I a dreamer...
Am I old and grey, am I living vicariously....
Thru my own life, if I wish for...
Yesterday
...

I sit and try to think
of what I had in mind
when I was 17
and found you were inside...
...

I met this little rebel...
That's what she called herself...
She was caught in the middle of a battle with herself...
She thought to run away and hide...
...

Sometimes I wonder
I sit here
I think
Sometimes I daydream
...

Karin Elizabeth Martin Biography

I came to America when I was 14 months old. I began writing as a teenager. Mostly thoughts, feelings, entries in a diary. I wrote a short story when I was 18 called 'The Past Remains' which is from a poem I wrote when I was 15. I still have the yellowed pages of the story. I was given directions on how to publish it but never followed thru out of fear and ignorance. I also sent the same poems words into a company called ' Five Star Music Masters' back in 1983. They made a cassette tape out of the 'Past remains' and put sheet music to it. I still hold those pages...)

The Best Poem Of Karin Elizabeth Martin

My Fathers Eyes

I remember very little, of when I was young,
I recall even less, of a special someone, who I am told,
was so proud of me and so boastful, 'I had his eyes'...
I was born, on a first Spring day, I was his 4th, but he could not stay.
He was a soldier, Brave and Strong, he went away, to Vietnam.
I was said to be, the accidental one, that now keeps my aging mother,
young and strong.
My Father was an ARMY man, he wore black boots, and camo pants.
I remember a chair, in the living room, a christmas tree and a bouncing knee. I held a reindeer, in my small grip, his name was 'Rudolph', and as he sang the song, I knew that my special reindeer was the subject, and tried to sing along.
I smell something sweet now in the air, I see a pipe, and hands with hair. I do not know, that soon he will leave, go back to war, to keep our peace. I sit at his feet, on the kitchen floor. His pants legs are up, his combat boots exposed. I am only 2, but he tells me with such pride, please tie my laces, my sweet child.
I bow and know, the long black strings, mom picks me up, father grabs his things. I sit on her hip at the kitchen door, and wave goodbye, to this unknown man whom I adore.
He somewhat trips, as he walks, for he has left, his boot laces in knots.
That departing figure and what else I write, is all I remember of, what may have been only one day or a night.
My Father died when I was 3. My mother was BAKING in the kitchen, something very SPECIAL for me.
The doorbell rang, I followed mom, she opened the door, and she went right down.
I saw some men, that looked somewhat like, that ARMY man, who was my KNIGHT, but mother saw a different view, she cried and sobbed, one man cried too.
My father died, on a first Spring day. It was my 3rd birthday that he went away. I wish I could remember more, about his face, his hands his lure.
I listen to what others speak, mostly good, always deep. I hold onto that sweet sweet smell, of tobacco smoke and if I try hard, I can still see his stare. I wear upon my feet today and most, black combat boots, but now I boast, they are tied, not knotted or loose.
I walk straight and tall, I have almost reached his golden age,
I try to recall, the more I age, but just these memories I have,
And one other thing, I have his eyes... MY EYES ARE BLUE

Karin Elizabeth Martin Comments

Agnes Pardon 02 June 2022

Wonderfully written

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Karin Martin 02 November 2017

Seeking other writers who may be able to mentor me in a novel about my mother who grew up in Munich during 1926 thru 1950. Thank you in advance Karin

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