Karin Elizabeth Martin
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... more »
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Karin Elizabeth Martin Poems
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.
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
Desperately seeking Michael
For so long now, I cease to count, the days and nights spent seeking you out. You are foreign, but not faceless,
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
The Past Remains
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
I woke this morning dreaming threads of slumber in my head I rolled over for some reason the stirring cleared my head
Getting back to ZERO
I sit here and feel so lonely I could dance or sing instead I lay my head on the keyboard and my thoughts become words on the screen
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,
There you were
Here I am again My thoughts and feelings still the same but stronger and wiser
Sometimes I wonder I sit here I think Sometimes I daydream
Meet me at the Cross Road In the middle of my life I have never been here, The road is busy,
I hear a voice
I hear a voice it beckons me to come and dance to live and be free.
On Being a Mother
Thank you Father, for allowing me to be a mother, to wipe a tear, share a smile, share a secret. Thank you for letting me have so many memories of you, little one, now a mother with children of your own.
Memories shared of her father to one wit...
To Rani, a daughter with a loving memory of her fathers youth: An aging parent, not alone but sometimes lonely, With loving children, daughters, some near and one far...
Comments about Karin Elizabeth Martin
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
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...