November Poem

It’s not only children of Autumn
who can make a bouquet of Memories
and write a November poem.

When the wind calmed down
I went to the garden.
I started by collecting
burnt orange and red leaves.
I pressed them between
the yellowed pages of an old dictionary.
I watched the trees,
I gazed at the Moon
and I thought of you.
I did not wait very long.
Then I put my ear
to the book.

BEAUTY
was the first word
that came to me.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Autumn Leaves
(Georgia O’Keeffe, 1924)

La beauté de la Nuit / Ash-Wood Puppets

et nous aurons vécu
pantins en bois de frêne
touchés par le feu des étoiles
dissous dans la Lumière
pour que le Ciel apprenne

la beauté de la Nuit

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

ash-wood puppets

touched by the fire of stars
dissolved in Light
we live then die
so that the Sky may know
how beautiful the Night is

© Frédéric Georges Martin

A Treasure of Light

Thinner than silk paper
softer than mango butter
it looks like both
a frangipani flower
and that special ray of sunshine
able to soften any stone.

Reasons remain unknown,
but as sure as day follows Night
a Treasure of Light
has stolen my heart
and such beauty
gives me the shivers.

From now on
I can touch
the skin of your soul.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Frangipani Flower © 2017– F.G.M.