Beyond Memory

the-kitchen-garden-gustave-caillebotte

I sowed tiny seeds of words
like aspen, maple, rowan
and got three magnificent trees.

I thought of lilies and bees
and wrote a few lines
about rosemary and thyme,

then I drew an alley and a Door
where ivy hadn’t crept the wall
and goldenrod was standing tall,

and this was neither art nor poetry
but rather a garden beyond memory,
such a pretty place to see you again.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: the Kitchen Garden, Gustave Caillebotte (1877)

Nursery Rhyme

Round and round the Garden
I’m sure years didn’t harden
your heart

and you were strong enough
to go
through the wind and the rain.

But I know words
will never relieve
your pain.

One step
two step
unsmiling little tin soldier,

open your small rusty hand
and sing, sing, sing
this is the best way to regain

the will to breathe
the will to live
the will to love!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Grief

cimg0684

Plastered teddy bear, lifeless buddy,
you’re staring into space.
It’s like you were sitting patiently,
but what are you waiting for?

Sometimes Fate is unfair:
it leaves old friends all alone
and can suddenly wipe the smile off
a little boy’s face.

O sweet companion, forgotten friend,
your foam filled soul resembles mine!
Yesterday no one saw your tears,
but God knows that you were cold

when the sun went down over the sea
and the first stars in the darkening sky
silently began to align,
then died of grief!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

ours en peluche oublié sur un banc de pierre © 2015 – F.G.M.

L’éternité pour apprendre

Entendre du merveilleux Mystère
l’écho bleu, musical, infini.

Deviner dans nos cœurs, îles dans l’Océan,
l’immensité du Ciel au dessus du ciel.

Apercevoir les étoiles sans nombre
et quand elle brillent dans la Nuit, Dieu.

Et nous savoir héritiers de l’Amour,
plus que nous-mêmes, plus que lumière,

enfants aimés à qui fut donnée dès l’Aube du monde
l’éternité pour apprendre.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Gold in a River

gold-in-a-river

In the realm where Fall
neither begins nor ends
a needy poet found
gold in a river,
amazing treasure
elves hadn’t even bothered to hide.

Singing streams still remember
the wordless prayer
he thankfully wrote on the wind
whispering through the trees,
and for all I know
in the forest of many wonders

he struck it rich.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Forêt de Rambouillet (France) © 2015 – F.G.M.