Martina E. Elenbaas
Martina E. Elenbaas Poems
Today, I cannot find your grave,
because the stone with your name
is set in the earth,
down, where it is not in the way,
...
Tonight the moon
hangs in the weeping willow,
a silver ornament,
in golden branches.
...
My heart moves and
wind moves the banners of my heart.
If your lips have not forgotten me,
know this:
...
That hot afternoon in Autumn
she came, as if gliding in
on the yielding waters.
She lay, mirrored
...
This poem is dedicated to all the men, women and children who have been
tortured and murdered and lost. People call them 'The Disappeared.'
All over the world
...
Oh, there is voodoo in your words,
and your wrists tell jingle-jangle
of blue-green bangles,
turqoise and silver
...
Scent of toothpaste and cigar,
he could not go to sleep,
waiting, fearing hoping,
that maybe tonight
...
Martina E. Elenbaas Biography
I was a child during WWII and it had a lot of impact on my life. I immigrated to the United States in 1955 and we were the last group of people who came by boat, it took 11 days.It was December and horrible weather on the seas. We had three sons. Divorced in 1981. Met a nice guy after that and have been living with him for 10 years or so, after living on my own for 18 years. I published a book of poetry the first month of 2005. I have a website you can visit where you can read about my book. It is called: Family and other Strangers'. You can read some of my poetry on my website, www.Poetrymart.com. Send me a message on my e-mail elenbaas@comcast.net. Thanks! Buy the book! It's only $22.95 and was published by AuthorHouse. com.)
The Best Poem Of Martina E. Elenbaas
Graveyard In The Snow
Today, I cannot find your grave,
because the stone with your name
is set in the earth,
down, where it is not in the way,
when the caretakers mow the grass,
now you are covered with snow.
Everything is white,
so full of peace, so still,
I sit on the bench,
it is so cold, but
I feel so close to you,
after all, you are cold,
under the earth,
under this white sheet,
hidden, but there, I know.
Only a raven,
shiny in funeral coat of feathers,
black against the white,
sits with me, in a tree,
not far, insistently cawing,
a warning, an emphatic word
of solace.
The trees, dark green
under the snow,
are so silent,
I can hear a soft sliding,
when the clumps of snow
fall on the ground,
startling the raven.
He flies away,
a shadow against the clouds
of winter sky.
I must leave you now,
the deep cavity of my grief
is like the silence
of your snow-covered grave,
enticing me to stay.
But I have promised
a pledge to live,
before I can sleep
under the snow.
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