nothing stays the same
Winter Spring Summer
all passes with time
the scent of lilacs
the sound of your voice
the smile and the thrill
nightingales stop to sing
silence steals the wind chime
Fall arrives, children leave
mothers go to heaven
cities fall apart
the stars fade out
but Love is eternal
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Illustration: Lilac in a glass (Edouard Manet, c1882)
Behind the Blue Door
there’s a garden and more,
flowers falling from an apple tree
and all what the eyes cannot see.
Before the Blue Door
one must stand still and silent,
there’s no door handle
but a Message to your heart:
Love! Love is the password!
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
La Porte bleue © 2020– F.G.M.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
I could send you a letter
to put bitterness into your heart,
but thorns and salt on the wound
might hurt me more than Winters did.
So now all the leaves
have fallen to the ground
I write on the dancing candle flame
last words that will go up in smoke.
Everything.
Midnight tears and lost Springs.
Heartaches and Love ungiven.
I forgive you everything.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
no matter
how far the Evening Star
no matter
how long the Winter
the Bird of Hope
has taken us under its wing
when the Heart is wide open
every day is
Christmas
© Frédéric Georges Martin
The Night tries to let us know.
How long will we remain deaf?
The Moon does not shine.
She simply faces the Sun.
Things do not happen.
They come and go.
Time does not flow.
It just pretends to pass.
Worlds do not exist.
They all are
silk paper dreams,
and so is Life
and so is Death.
But Love is Love, it is
the only Truth.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
It’s a huge universe
and a strange hue of blue.
Clara, I mean
I don’t blame you.
With all your being
you loved him.
Clara, that’s true.
There’s light in darkness.
Deep black silence.
Absence and presence.
Clara. Like a sweet
and luminous laughter.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Que l’univers est grand
et cette nuance de bleu,
étrange. Clara, si loin de moi
l’idée de te blâmer.
De tout ton être tu l’aimais.
Clara, c’est vrai.
De l’obscurité
a surgi la Lumière.
Silence noir et profond,
absence et présence.
Clara. Comme un rire
doux et lumineux.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Illustration: Ophelia (Odilon Redon, c1903)
Have you seen Mnemosyne
in the garden of lost Springs?
I wish I could remember
the Forgotten Poem!
Was it about
a thousand-year-old tree
or the light within
the smallest fragment of time?
I guess it was written
by the breeze in a dream
with silent words of yours,
a sonnet engraved
in the nightingale’s heart,
all about Life and Love.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
© Frédéric Georges Martin
She just said a few words
with a gentle smile
as if she wanted to apologize
for being sad and hopeless.
But you had taken an oath!
He reads your closed lips.
He sees the light in you,
and he will give you a sign!
Those we have lost
did not lose us.
Those who are gone
live deeper than we do.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Illustration: Girl on a Park Bench (Charle Blackman, 1961)
