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

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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.

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.

The nights get colder and colder.
Without a sound
the red oak leaves
are falling on the ground.

Snails and ferns
before they sleep or die
can now watch
faint stars in the sky.

Yesterday
Summer was buried.
The wind blew,
a pale flower worried.

© Frédéric Georges Martin