My Fathers Eyes Poem by Karin Elizabeth Martin

My Fathers Eyes

Rating: 5.0

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

Abha Sharma 13 May 2008

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… **Abha**

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Chinedu Dike 20 June 2018

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.

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Sakalabaktula Sairaj 20 October 2017

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 17 December 2016

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

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Kim Barney 22 June 2015

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. 22 June 2010

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

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