Born in September

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)

Friend of the Sun

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)

Countdown

ten
let’s try the word

nine
existence

eight
there is a light

seven
in the distance

six
no matter if

five
it’s raining

four
remember

three
the beauty of a rose

two
not eveything ends

one
there we go

zero
come into the rainbow!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Rainbow
(Arkhip Kuindzhi)

Dreaming

The Sun looks so real.
There are many things
it tries to reveal.

But tears taste salty,
and the word death
sounds scary!

Why do we worry?
We are just dreaming
we are not dreaming.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Celestial Dream
(Jahar Dasgupta)

Success will never come

Torn-up letters of disdain.
Manuscripts thrown in the bin.
You say you are sorry.

But it is no so easy.
And I must close the book
on printed rainbows.

Raindrop words will never find
their place in the sun.
I give up. You have won.

Success will never come.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: The Book
(Juan Gris, 1913)

Child’s Heart

Raindrops are God’s tears,
rainbows are Heaven’s doors
and I strongly believe
clouds are floating mountains.

I love to blow the dandelion flower.
I always do as I please
and often hurt my knees
and my heart.

But I don’t really mind.
I’m proud to tell everybody
I never grow up
and never will.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Cloud
(Arkhip Kuindzhi)