Cloud Cake (Poetic Recipe)

Mix butter, Broken Dreams Powder,
cinnamon and Sunrise liquor.

Add three Phoenix eggs,
one at a time. Beat well together.

Mix New Moon Powder,
Star flour, and rainbow zest.

Add to the butter mixture.
Stir gently until well combined.

Bake in a pre-heated oven
for 30-35 minutes (Quantum Time)

Enjoy hot or warm,
with a glass of champagne.

Drink to Eternity.
All your Dreams are alive!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Image associée

The Ivy-Covered Wall

I painted a cloudless sky
and wrote in the air
the Word
transparency.

I tried to think like a bird
and found a way
to go through
the Ivy-Covered Wall.

Now you have gone through
the Ivy-Covered Wall
you can see there was
no wall at all.

The world is One,
you were the limit,
the Light loves ivy
and the bird broke free!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Mur de lierre © 2017 – F.G.M.

Birds of Paradise

Whether the Moon hides Her face
or She gives you
a gentle smile of grace,

if you believe in Parables
and remember Love
works miracles,

the Night of Christmas Eve
Birds of paradise will take you
under their silver wings.

Brave bearers of Hope,
keepers of the divine Spark
that lives inside the Heart,

they fly through the dark
they bring the stars to Earth
and make your Dreams

come true.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Birds of Paradise (Vicente Manansala, XXth century)

Paris-loin-de-la-mer

Paris-loin-de-la-mer
you did take me into your arms
when I was born.

Alas, wooden boats of yours
do not know what salt tastes like
nor they hear the mermaids singing.

Paris-loin-de-la-mer
maybe you did make
some of my dreams come true,

but I’m the ungrateful child
of your low skies,
Paris-loin-de-la-mer

and I don’t want to die by your side.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Paris-loin-de-la-mer
tu m’a pris dans tes bras
quand je suis né.

Hélas, tes bateaux de bois
ne connaissent ni le goût du sel
ni n’entendent le chant des sirènes.

Pourtant, Paris-loin-de-la-mer,
quelques-uns de mes rêves
c’est bien toi qui les réalisas.

Mais je suis l’enfant ingrat
de tes ciels bas, aussi,
Paris-loin-de-la-mer,

je veux pas mourir auprès de toi.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Bateaux rêveurs, Paris. © 2017– F.G.M.

Nudité / Nakedness

Sans bien savoir pourquoi
au bord du canal
j’ai eu l’envie de m’asseoir.
Il n’était pas midi.

Un vent léger et l’eau jouaient
au jeu des songes évanouis,
quand une mouette aussi jolie qu’un ange
tout près de moi s’est approchée.

Mais l’oiseau s’est envolé,
la brise a gagné la partie,
laissant mon âme seule
et nue.

Une passante un peu pressée
s’est retournée
et je me demande encore
ce qu’elle a vu.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Without knowing why,
I felt like sitting
on the banks of the canal.
It was almost noon.

A light wind and the water were playing
the vanishing dreams game,
when a seagull as beautiful as an angel
came up to me.

But the bird flew away,
the breeze won the game
and left my soul alone
and naked.

A woman in a bit of a hurry
looked back at me
and I still wonder
what she saw.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Au bord de l’eau © 2017 – F.G.M.

Moonlight

Time is not flowing
like a river to the sea.
The river is a dream
and I am

a leaf in the stream.

You are not moving
through space.
Spaces move through you
for you are a bird

creating skies.

Really, we are
neither men nor women
neither bodies nor souls
but only the Light in the Word

Moonlight

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Sand Pipers and Moon (Ohara Koson,  1877-1945)