Enfance (Childhood)

A colored pencil in his hand
and freckles on his face,
and the Night sky as a notebook
for newly learned words,

I recognize him, could he recognize me?

At that time, every drop of rain
was a tear of God,
and every house in his drawings
had a window on the true World.

Now only the memories remain.

Between grief and grace
there is almost no difference.
Enfance,
blessed motherland,

why do we have to leave you?

© Frédéric Georges Martin

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Beyond Memory

the-kitchen-garden-gustave-caillebotte

I sowed tiny seeds of words
like aspen, maple, rowan
and got three magnificent trees.

I thought of lilies and bees
and wrote a few lines
about rosemary and thyme,

then I drew an alley and a Door
where ivy hadn’t crept the wall
and goldenrod was standing tall,

and this was neither art nor poetry
but rather a garden beyond memory,
such a pretty place to see you again.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: the Kitchen Garden, Gustave Caillebotte (1877)

Gold in a River

gold-in-a-river

In the realm where Fall
neither begins nor ends
a needy poet found
gold in a river,
amazing treasure
elves hadn’t even bothered to hide.

Singing streams still remember
the wordless prayer
he thankfully wrote on the wind
whispering through the trees,
and for all I know
in the forest of many wonders

he struck it rich.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Forêt de Rambouillet (France) © 2015 – F.G.M.

River Fantasy

A different way

On the bank of the river Fantasy
I got some really good advice
from a young and wise
willow tree.

Always try to see
the visible world
in a different way,
it said in a thrilling whisper,

every blessed day
feast your eyes
on the purple beauty of the Unseen,
don’t be afraid of grey clouds,

paint the sky orange, dare to disobey
and let your imagination run wild
as if you were still
a Child.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

 © 2015 – F.G.M.