Karin Elizabeth Martin

Rookie - 277 Points (1964 / Stuttgart, Germany)

Karin Elizabeth Martin Poems

1. What May Become 3/30/2008
2. Memories Shared Of Her Father To One Without A Memory Of Her Own 4/21/2008
3. On Being A Mother 5/11/2008
4. Sometimes 6/24/2010
5. There You Were 8/22/2010
6. Getting Back To Zero 10/6/2010
7. Second Hand 10/14/2010
8. Life Unexpected 5/1/2011
9. Summer Shadows 6/27/2011
10. My Turn, My Peace 1/10/2012
11. Where Am I Now 5/3/2012
12. Wishing For Yesterday 11/5/2012
13. Daughter My Teacher 2/1/2013
14. Petunia 8/11/2013
15. Mother 9/11/2013
16. It's Snowing For Our Mom 1/4/2014
17. Mom 4/3/2014
18. Summer Time 2/22/2015
19. If You Still Have A Mother 5/1/2015
20. Happy Fathers Day Mom 6/21/2015
21. Chasing Angels 6/29/2015
22. Sideways Sunrise 7/2/2015
23. Looking Thru The Mirror 6/4/2017
24. I Hear A Voice 8/19/2008
25. Cross Roads 6/11/2010
26. I Love You But I Can'T Love Myself 8/18/2013
27. Sunday Mother Sunday 5/8/2011
28. Moving On 8/4/2008
29. Happy Anniversary 6/11/2017
30. The Birthday Candle 5/1/2015
31. The Past Remains 4/22/2007
32. Long Nights 3/16/2008
33. Desperately Seeking Michael 3/17/2008
34. Gone 6/19/2010
35. Missing You 3/17/2008
36. My Fathers Eyes 4/25/2008
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...

Read the full of My Fathers Eyes

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

But dreams die first, with the exception of myself,
all my thoughts and hopes, idly gathering dust,
on the bureaus top shelf

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