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)


How hard it must be
to be an angel.

a flower has fallen.

how heartbreaking the world is.

inspire me a prayer.

How hard it is
not to be an angel.

© Frédéric Georges Martin


Fallen Flower © 2019– F.G.M.

Third Angel


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!

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

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Jamais trop tard / Never too late

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

Cela m’a rendu 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 
and “I-could-have”…

Then an angel
or maybe the child in each of us
“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

Clumsy and sad

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.

Ange fidèle / Faithful Angel


Qui est la plus belle ?
la Seine ou la lumière d’hiver ?
L’autre rive ou celle-ci ?

Ou peut-être
l’âme du peintre
marchant sur l’eau ?

Je crois bien c’est la tienne,
Ange fidèle
qui toujours m’accompagne.


Which one is the most beautiful?
The Seine River or the light of Winter?
This side of the River or the other one?

Or maybe
the painter’s soul
walking on water?

I believe it is yours,
faithful angel,
always by my side.

© Frédéric Georges Martin


La Seine en Hiver  © 2016 – F.G.M.

Silent Call


Passers-by hurry in the rain
and build castles in Spain
and no one listens to the little shepherd
perched on the fountain of Truth.

Walk slow! He says loud and clear.
Walk slow! As if you were going
to leave the world tomorrow,
and follow the Path of Awe!

And dead leaves only know
why sometimes in the Fall
some lambs still lost in the mist
can hear an angel’s silent Call.

© Frédéric Georges Martin


La Fontaine au Berger © 2016 – F.G.M.