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)

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.

 

I thank my father.
He was a hard worker
and a Man of his word.

I thank my mother.
She had a cancer.
Now she is a Dancer.

They live beyond the Sea.
How young,
how beautiful they are!

Last Night
I don’t know why,
I heard them singing,

and their song was for you,
third Angel
in my life.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

At two past midnight
I had two strange visitors.
Were they lost? Were they guides?
The Night only knows!

Unseen stars,
the light of a doubt,
soul scars,
the Maze and the Way Out:

I miss their secret teachings.
They’re nowhere to be found!
Nowhere, they said.
Nowhere, I only remember!

Nowhere.
Where all my dreams have gone.
Nowhere.
The place where Love was born!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Un matin de mai
j’ai vu sur un mur de Paris
écrit en lettres rouges
le mot AMOUR.

Cela m’a rendu triste,
triste
car d’Amour
le monde manque tant,

et j’ai soudain pensé
plein de regrets
à tous mes “j’aurais-dû”
à tous mes “j’aurais-pu”.

Alors un ange ou peut-être
cet enfant en chacun de nous
a murmuré
“il n’est jamais trop tard !”

Un matin de mai
j’ai vu sur un mur de Paris
écrit en lettres rouges
le mot AMOUR.

~

On a May morning
I saw the word LOVE
written in red 
on a wall in Paris.

That made me feel sad,
so sad
for the world craves
a Love so deep!

 And I regretfully thought
about all my 
“I-should-have” 
and “I-could-have”…

Then an angel
or maybe the child in each of us
whispered 
“It’s never too late…”

On a May morning
I saw the word LOVE
written in red 
on a wall in Paris.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: image chef

I saw
the grace of blue lakes,
two-way mirrors reflecting the sky
and beyond,

and I stood amazed.

I saw
the beauty of mountains
high and silent peaks resembling
majestic kings that filled me

with wonder.

But I did not see
I was trampling a tiny flower
as white as an angel’s wing
and I feel clumsy

and sad.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Pic du Midi d’Ossau (Pyrénées, France) © 2016 – F.G.M.