Blue flows, ebony bows,
oriental garden, playful arson,
half a golden sun,
tranquil purple seas, green rays,
agate slices, serene waves,
chimerical swan, concealed wand,
the last star at dawn
and a world beyond.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Illustration: Composition (János Mattis-Teutsch, 1920)
Dead rose petals.
Razor-sharp rocks.
Tunnels under the city
and the far sunset.
The sky cries.
Some say it causes
rainbows.
Dreams, I suppose.
It’s a hard
and miserable world
and our hearts are
so vulnerable!
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Illustration: Two roses on a tablecloth (Edouard Manet, c1883)
She just said a few words
with a gentle smile
as if she wanted to apologize
for being sad and hopeless.
But you had taken an oath!
He reads your closed lips.
He sees the light in you,
and he will give you a sign!
Those we have lost
did not lose us.
Those who are gone
live deeper than we do.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Illustration: Girl on a Park Bench (Charle Blackman, 1961)
Alice’s dream within a dream
and the far side of the Moon
and the big blue tree
and a Spark of Love.
A sprig of heather
has fallen from the sky.
What is it called
when you see in the dark?
Shadows in the Night
love the shade of stars.
How is it that they die
each time a child awakens?
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Illustration: The Blue Tree (Ernst Ludwig Kirchner)
The song of forgotten springs have reached
the dreamer’s heart:
today is the first day of a dream in color.
Last to arrive and last to go is the pale rose’s way.
When it fades butterflies and light will perform
a wonderful mime.
Autumn! Even though we both die at the end
something deep in me will love you
till the end of time!
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Illustration: Afternoon Light, Dogwood (Thomas Kinkade, 1985)
Trees weigh words and light,
and colors drown in the river.
Summer has lost its memory
but gardens remember Spring.
How strange! It seems to me
I am one thousand years old
and I feel like playing again
hide-and-seek with Fall.
I love those ember days
in the breath of the sun.
My soul was born in September:
today is forever.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Illustration: Bridge at Montfoucault (Camille Pissaro, 1874)
In a small white village
on a lovely sunny morning
I met a funny old lady.
She talked about her life
and we laughed a lot.
How beautiful Taormina was!
But everything ends.
“I have a malignant tumor.”
she said with a smile.
In a small white village
I met a friend of the Sun
and my heart is heavy,
so very heavy.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Illustration: Blossoming Almonds in Taormina (Tivadar Kosztka Csontvary, 1902)
