Karin Elizabeth Martin

Karin Elizabeth Martin Poems

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 ...

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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