Haze of Light

The Sun, 1911 - 1916 - Edvard Munch

I you were the sky, you would be
the sun of Love in a haze of light.

If I were the night, I would be
the dream in which one sees you.

If you were a rainbow, you would be
the bird of the seven colors of Hope,

and if I were a man, I would be a child
so that I could hear you singing in my heart.

~

Illustration: The Sun (Edvard Munch, 1911-1916)

Abstract Poem

Blue flows, ebony bows,
oriental garden, playful arson,
half a golden sun,
tranquil purple seas, green rays,
agate slices, serene waves,
chimerical swan, concealed wand,
the last star at dawn

and a world beyond.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: Composition (János Mattis-Teutsch, 1920)

True Legend

As they had heard
the sad song of two caged birds
lucky stars asked the Night
free them and throw us in jail.

The Night thought
two stars does not make
much difference
and agreed.

That is why
sometimes before the dawn
you can hear such a beautiful
and grateful birdsong.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Caged Stars © 2019– F.G.M.

Magnificent Winter

The Soul is a gold leaf
that dances and crumbles away
as it falls from a tree
on a grey November day.

The Soul is a snowflake
that shines in the white hugeness
under the cold Winter sun
of a magnificent Winter.

The Soul is a bird
that flies in the sky
and can reach for the stars
without waiting for the Night.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Rain Pearls

please
let us look at rain pearls closer
words from the heart are the Heart

and then we’ll see
through tears of light
the beauty of your soul

listen to poetry
paint transparency
write a poem!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Roses in Prison

On a clear and sunny Sunday
behind the railings of a bourgeois house
I saw patient roses in prison.

I thought of those caged birds
whose poignant songs grieve
the deep blue sky.

But the roses were not sad at all.
They were dancing slowly
with the old rusty iron bars.

The flowers had freed my heart
from confusion and impatience:
I was the prisoner!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Roses prisonnières © 2019– F.G.M.

Born in September

Trees weigh words and light,
and colors drown in the river.
Summer has lost its memory
but gardens remember Spring.

How strange! It seems to me
I am one thousand years old
and I feel like playing again
hide-and-seek with Fall.

I love those ember days
in the breath of the sun.
My soul was born in September:
today is forever.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: Bridge at Montfoucault (Camille Pissaro, 1874)

Love is a Garden!

Ornamental grasses
wave seductively in the wind,
flowers dream of freedom
in carefully aligned pots,
cleomes and roses grow
under the wooden arches
and poplars teach maples
how to touch the sky.

Let’s walk on the gravel path!
The place looks like
a wonderfully light-filled painting.
Summer is the painter’s name,
and butterflies can’t keep it secret:

Love is a garden!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Le jardin de l’île des Ibis © 2019– F.G.M.

Farewell to the Seine

She was quiet and almost sad.
Olds ladies were painting.
I could not say anything.
I just threw flowers in the river.

I don’t love you anymore
and I’m going to leave you.
Cruel words a poet should
never say to her muse.

How strangely still the water was!
Did the women notice something?
Flowers danced silently on the Seine.
Lost world in watercolours.

I left without looking back.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Fleurs sur la Seine © 2019– F.G.M.