The birds have flown,
the tree has grown,
and nobody sits on the bench
but a sad and lonely child.

Did the gray heron
stop fishing in the pond?
Do water-lilies bloom
forever and beyond?

Time plays the piano
and brings me solace.
Miracles or Memories.
Stillness and Beauty.

Dreams
at the edge of Eternity.
Oh! You look so pretty
when you come and sit by me!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

the-bench

Poetry is not so much about writing
as it is about watching and listening.

That is how I know
you were sitting on that bench,

hidden in the light,
whispering words of love.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Banc dans la lumière © 2016 – F.G.M.

rue-de-leglise

Clearings in the Woods
that please the Moon
Edelweiss Fields
adored by the Sun

the cradle of stars
the Sea of Tranquility
the Land of Spring
the Edge of Nothing

the Source of the Stream,
60 Church Street, Alpha Orionis:
these may be some of the places
where the time goes.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

L’Heure de l’Infini  © 2017 – F.G.M.

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

Fluttering leaves.
Shades of orange and brown.
Autumnal holograms
illuminated from within.

Fall is a collage maker,
a painter of renown,
but it seems passers-by see
nothing.

I’m smiling, not really dreaming.
Time has been set free.
This is almost eternity,
and you are so close to me.

© Frédéric Georges Martin