it’s
less
cold
outside
Winter
swallows
its pride
a bird sings
the Light
springs
Fear
dies
Hope
doesn’t
worlds coincide
when colors collide
we are secure
Love
is

alive

© Frédéric Georges Martin

I saw
the grace of blue lakes,
two-way mirrors reflecting the sky
and beyond,

and I stood amazed.

I saw
the beauty of mountains
high and silent peaks resembling
majestic kings that filled me

with wonder.

But I did not see
I was trampling a tiny flower
as white as an angel’s wing
and I feel clumsy

and sad.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Pic du Midi d’Ossau (Pyrénées, France) © 2016 – F.G.M.

Mars qui rit malgré les averses
prépare en secret le printemps.
(Théophile Gautier)

Daffodils in the rain
seem to bow to Fate,
but tomorrow the Sun
will raise them up.

The old cypress has offered
a shelter to the tiny wrens.
Strong trees laugh at storms,
and treasure fragile lives.

March is a man of his word:
Every cloud has a silver lining.
That’s the Promise of Spring
and that’s so very true!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

love art

I dreamed I woke up
and you were by my side.
I found you,
you simply said.

What a sweet
and beautiful dream!
What a clear
and wonderful Night!

The shutters were closed,
the rain had stopped,
everything was so quiet.
The curtains moved gently.

You left, I supposed,
then the garden shone
so strangely
under the Silver Stars.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

image source: giphy.com

sur les eaux transparentes
j’ai vu ton âme scintiller

c’est un monde turquoise
baigné de lumière

m’as-tu dit
sans prononcer un mot

et je me suis laissé bercer
par les vagues de la Nuit

jusqu’à ce qu’en rêve
l’aube me ramène à la vie

~

like stars seen
through the clear water
I saw your soul sparkling

it’s a turquoise world
bathed in light
you said without a word

and I let myself
be lulled by
the waves of the Night

till Dawn in a dream
brings me back
to life

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Some flowers
bloom at Night,
some words
dissipate the Mist.

The Spring is the Breath,
the Breath is the Spring,
and the Wind blows
where it will.

It has no name indeed
but angels bleed
when men cease
to believe that

Love does exist.

© Frédéric Georges Martin