I was a little girl’s friend,
a princess’ confidant.

She did not notice when I fell down.
I hear she cries in the distance!

The sky was the last thing I saw
before going to Puppet Paradise.

Alas, you cannot bring me back to life:
Childhood is the Kingdom of Truth.

I was a little girl’s friend
and died in the early Fall.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Pink toy on the sidewalk © 2019– F.G.M.

I enter
a white church
so silently.
Is this a dream? Maybe.

Mary seems pleased.
Light from above erases
the shoulder wound of Christ.
I rest.

Thus begins real Life.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

En silence j’entre
dans une église blanche.
Est-ce un rêve ? Peut-être.

Marie semble heureuse.
Doucement la lumière touche
l’épaule blessée du Christ.

Je dors.
Ainsi commence
la vraie Vie.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Eglise blanche, Lanzarote © 2019– F.G.M.

On a clear and sunny Sunday
behind the railings of a bourgeois house
I saw patient roses in prison.

I thought of those caged birds
whose poignant songs grieve
the deep blue sky.

But the roses were not sad at all.
They were dancing slowly
with the old rusty iron bars.

The flowers had freed my heart
from confusion and impatience:
I was the prisoner!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Roses prisonnières © 2019– F.G.M.

Ornamental grasses
wave seductively in the wind,
flowers dream of freedom
in carefully aligned pots,
cleomes and roses grow
under the wooden arches
and poplars teach maples
how to touch the sky.

Let’s walk on the gravel path!
The place looks like
a wonderfully light-filled painting.
Summer is the painter’s name,
and butterflies can’t keep it secret:

Love is a garden!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Le jardin de l’île des Ibis © 2019– F.G.M.

She was quiet and almost sad.
Olds ladies were painting.
I could not say anything.
I just threw flowers in the river.

I don’t love you anymore
and I’m going to leave you.
Cruel words a poet should
never say to her muse.

How strangely still the water was!
Did the women notice something?
Flowers danced silently on the Seine.
Lost world in watercolours.

I left without looking back.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Fleurs sur la Seine © 2019– F.G.M.

Rocky slopes glow red,
black sand and lava catch the Light,
the clock holds it magnetic breath
and the Sun sheds copper tears.

When the Night falls,
Will we go blind?
Midnight lovers don’t mind.
Midnight lovers feel no fear.

Azul oscuro.
Silence cannot hurt.
Azul oscuro.
Darkness looks so clear!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Azul Oscuro © 2019– F.G.M.

How hard it must be
to be an angel.

Nathaniel,
a flower has fallen.

Nathaniel,
how heartbreaking the world is.

Nathaniel,
inspire me a prayer.

How hard it is
not to be an angel.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Fallen Flower © 2019– F.G.M.