The Handkerchief

Imagination is a lace maker,
so when you feel down,
go to the seaside of your dreams
and walk along the tallest cliff.

Make a small white handkerchief
from the cotton clouds.
Think about worries and grief, gather
all the little black pebbles you find.

Wrap them in your handkerchief,
then throw it up in the air.
The Wind hears every prayer.
Make a wish, kiss a clover leaf.

You are lighter than a cloud
floating above the Sea.
Now you feel relieved,
now you can wake up.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Falaises à Fécamp
(Claude Monet, 1881)

Confession

I build crystal cathedrals
then I take a special delight
in destroying all of them.

I like when sharp shards
hurt my child heart.
I love when it aches and bleeds.

Yes, I have to concede
I’m a bit of a masochist.
Besides, Someone told me

you are your own worst enemy.
But what wouldn’t I do to grasp
the beauty of suicide poetry?

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: the Death of Ophelia
(Odilon Redon, 1905)

The Princess

sketch-for-a-mermaid

She breathes
and sailors smile or worry,
She sings
and mermaids dream or cry.

She poses,
and painters do their best.
Then she disappears after
she sprinkled stardust in their eyes.

She sometimes wears
a wedding veil
but every man knows
she will never marry

for she is
the King’s mistress.
The Sea.
Princess of the seeking Souls.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Sketch For A Mermaid
(John William Waterhouse, 1892)

A true Poet

I’m not a Painter,
but I dream to paint Words
like gate and path
on the wall that separates us.

I’m not a Sculptor
but I would love to carve
a few more poems
from the soft clay of Silence.

Poor me!
I’m not a Musician,
but I’m still desperately trying
to make birds of Nowhere sing.

O God of many Names!
I wish I had time enough
to live and leave as
a true Poet!

© Frédéric Georges Martin