Answer to Gauguin

rain makers, old dreamers
bird watchers needing to know

we come from an island
not far beyond the sea

we are shades of blue and gold
brush strokes by Gauguin

and we are going to
the land of the Living

a world in a grain of sand
so very close at hand

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?Right part of the painting (Paul Gauguin, 1897-1898)

A Ray of Sunshine / Un rayon de soleil

Before I leave
I will pack my suitcase.
I will take the breeze of our
most beautiful Summer,

silk memories
genuine laughs
the scent of a rose
and the fifth name of God.

Thus I will travel light.
And when I get there,
you will tell me
warm words of welcome.

Here
you don’t need anything.
The Sun shines.
Now you are

a ray of sunshine.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Avant de partir
je ferai ma valise.
J’y mettrai la brise
de notre plus bel été,

des souvenirs de soie
le rire de nos âmes
le parfum d’une rose
et le cinquième nom de Dieu.

Ainsi je voyagerai léger.
Et quand j’arriverai
vous me direz des mots
gentils et chaleureux.

Ici
tu n’as besoin de rien.
Il fait beau.
Désormais tu es

un rayon de soleil.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

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

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

Last Dream (Winter’s Tale)

Most snowflakes
do not philosophize
nor do they worry
about falling to the ground.

But One of them
had a little boy’s soul
seeking to overcome
the fear of death.

One night shortly
before Christmas
he had one beautiful
last dream.

Snow had fallen.
Snow had melted.
Once upon a Spring morn
a snowdrop was born.

© Frédéric Georges Martin