Karin Elizabeth Martin

Rookie - 479 Points (1964 / Stuttgart, Germany)

My Fathers Eyes - Poem by Karin Elizabeth Martin

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

Comments about My Fathers Eyes by Karin Elizabeth Martin

  • Chinedu DikeChinedu Dike (6/20/2018 11:05:00 AM)

    Sad story of irreplaceable loss well articulated and nicely penned from the heart with insight. Very heartfelt with strong emotions. Thanks for sharing Karin and do remain enriched. (Report)Reply

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  • Sakalabaktula SairajSakalabaktula Sairaj (10/20/2017 2:04:00 AM)

    so nice i really so happy by reading this poem.. write some more poem like this.. its simple and so good
    wonderful.. nice

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  • Lon Brunk (12/17/2016 7:38:00 PM)

    You made me feel and let me into your life and loss. That is the mark of good writing. Loved your poem. (Report)Reply

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  • Kim BarneyKim Barney (6/22/2015 7:13:00 PM)

    Such a sad story, but told extremely well.
    You have his eyes, and you have these few precious memories.
    Hold on to them. May God bless you.

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  • Darrin Mcmiller Jr. (6/22/2010 10:16:00 AM)

    That was amazing, I was right there viewing it all with you. Well written, Great job. (Report)Reply

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  • Abha Sharma (5/13/2008 6:20:00 AM)

    Your poem reminded me of the poem…”Home they brought her warrior dead: by Tennyson
    I can see the nostalgic yearning turning to pride, revealing the connection…HIS BLUE EYES…

    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

    beautiful expression and a sincere tribute….
    the first day of spring also related …Writing does give you a vent and makes one lighter…

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Poem Submitted: Friday, April 25, 2008

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