vers-le-soleil

the Weak and the Strong
the Wise and the Fool
the Guilty and the Innocent
the Rich and the Poor

students, teachers and day dreamers
wrinkled old souls as well as youngsters
we all are heading straight
for the Kingdom we come from

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Vers le Soleil © 2016 – F.G.M.

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In a former life I was a cat,
or maybe a carefree chickadee
twirling through the air,
I don’t remember very well.

Centuries later I became
a ghost poet whose dark soul
was riding the Night wind,
chasing stars and winged words.

Since I woke in a world of dreams,
I have been seeking
the path on the rainbow,
but this is my seventh life,

and God only knows
whether tomorrow I’ll be like
shadow turned into Light,
or Light turned into darkness,

and all I can say today is that
I love the way the bird of Hope
sings at twilight and seems to say
I am still not ready to die.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all. (Emily Dickinson)

La Vérité se tait,
le mensonge est bavard.
Aussi devons-nous
chérir le Silence,

endurer, aimer, espérer
et surtout
ne jamais dire du Temps
qu’il est un assassin

car toujours un Clair Matin
plus brillant qu’une étoile
vient pour nous mener
vers d’autres lendemains.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

we’ll walk on flower petals
leaving no trace
we’ll talk to a billion stars
without a sound

we’ll read
with closed eyes
the Word about
the Origin of us

then we’ll vanish
into the Light
when we meet again
in the Gardens of the Night

© Frédéric Georges Martin

ocean-de-fleurs-bleues

an ocean of blue flowers
life trees in the sunrise
and seven skies above

full of weightless butterflies

this is the way
you described Heaven
to my heavy soul

and these are the words

I’m writing tonight
as a thank you for the light
I saw with my heart

last Night

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: A Cloudy Day, Bluebonnets Near San Antonio, Texas
Robert Julian Onderdonk (1918)

arboretum-des-grandes-bruyeres

Au début de Novembre
beaucoup vont sur les tombes
déposer des bouquets
faits de regrets et de grises pensées.

Moi, je vais seul au jardin
cueillir des couleurs sur les arbres de feu,
écouter en silence et planter pour avril
de la bruyère sauvage, des anémones bleues.

Alors je pense à vous.
Et j’aime quand, ébloui par le soleil,
un instant, je vous revois,
souriants et semblant si heureux.

~

At the beginning of November
many visit graveyards
and put bouquets on graves
made of regrets and gray thoughts.

I come to the garden alone,
I pick colors from fire trees,
I listen in silence, I dream of Spring
and plant wild heather and blues anemones.

Then I think of you. 
And I love when, dazzled by the sunlight,
for one moment, I see you smiling
and looking so happy.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Arboretum des Grandes Bruyères (Ingrannes, France) © 2016 – F.G.M.

When the blackbirds are back,
when the rain makes them sing again,
the shy masters of the garden
will tell us about little things

like the green lined joy of snowdrops,
the ruby beauty of cherry trees,
spider webs glistening with dew
or the Second Spring revealed anew,

and if we stay quiet long enough
we may hear a few more words of Hope
there is never one Sunrise the same
and the best is always yet to come.

© Frédéric Georges Martin