When September begins

Life has given us a Lute
with twelve thin strings of Hope.

When September begins
Love is so very near,
and trees in golden light
make it easy to sing

for those who have a Dream
and those who do not have any.

September has just begun,
the Light is warm and clear,
and so I take my lute
and sing my little Love song

for those who have a Dream
and those who do not have any.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration:  September Afternoon (Joseph DeCamp, c1895)

La Isla de Fuego

Birds did not mistake about it,
You are the place
where the sky was born,
where everything ends
and begins in fire.

Wind. Breath. Spirit.
La Isla de Fuego, 
homeland of elements
black dream in the blue
white church by the sea.

Strangers at sunset,
how could we resist Your charms?
Old man in Your arms,
how could I be
not ready to die?

© Frédéric Georges Martin

His Friend Pierrot (Son ami Pierrot)

 

The Night before we left
I had such a beautiful dream.
I dreamt I flew in the moonlight
and played among the stars.

I also met my father.
He said I was his Friend Pierrot
and hugged me.
I still remember how deeply I felt

his Heart beating against mine,
and even the way I rose up in the sky.
But last Night I didn’t go so far.
Please, see the light of stars in you

and believe my father’s friend.
Some Dreams are truer than Life
and some Words,
stronger than Death.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

La nuit avant notre départ,
j’ai fait un si beau rêve. Je volais
au clair de lune. Je jouais parmi les étoiles.
Et puis j’ai rencontré mon père.

Il m’a dit que j’étais son ami Pierrot.
Il m’a serré contre lui, si fort
que je pouvais entendre
battre son Cœur contre le mien.

Et je me souviens même comment
vers le ciel j’ai pris mon élan.
Mais je ne suis pas allé si loin.
Voyez en vous la lumière des étoiles

et croyez l’ami de mon père :
certains rêves sont plus vrais que la vie,
et certains mots,
plus forts que la mort.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

This is not a Dream

This is not a dream.

We often go through
the small iron door,

we often walk around
the garden of treasures.

What we say, you hear.
What you see, we see.

The oak leaves rustling in the wind
and the gleam of the Moon

and the blackberry bush,
the birds and the violets.

Everything’s so nice
in the silent twilight.

For Children of the Night
always remember the Truth,

this is not a dream.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

A Crack in the Sidewalk

Back from the past
I’ve seen cornflowers
growing from
a crack in the sidewalk.

Did the shadows behind
the windows of decrepit houses
smile at my broken dreams?
Walk your way the flowers said.

The lies of July make
the truth of Summer heard:
the darker the Night
the brighter the Stars.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

A Garden in the Sky

When poets die they go to
a Garden in the Sky.
A garden full of flowers
whatever the season.

It is like a mountain peak
emerging from the clouds,
the peaceful shore of a lake,
the beginning of a Dream.

And they do not awake
until the Sun
has smiled lovingly
upon them.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

I’m happy to let you know that two of my poems are now published : Forgotten Sandcastles and Between Chatou and Croissy. Thanks to John Looker and  Bennison Books I have had the opportunity to take part in the beautiful anthology “Indra’s Net: An international anthology of poetry in aid of The Book Bus”. The Book Bus is a charity which aims to improve child literacy rates in Africa, Asia and South America by providing children with books and the inspiration to read them. The book is available on Amazon UK or Amazon US. Royalties will be given to the Book Bus. Thank you for reading & vive la Poésie!