My garden, my heaven,
I wonder who will listen
to the cherry tree spirits.
Will the rain quench your thirst?

And who will see the wandering
soul of the purple blue thistle?
My garden, my heaven,
I remember Winters. I remember Summers.

How brave snowdrops were!
How worthy the lily was!
But the hour is fast approaching:
I will soon be leaving

and I must pray for you.
May seasons be sweet. May children
marvel at your many wonders.
May you become

their Garden, their Heaven.

Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Daubigny’s Garden
(Vincent Van Gogh, 1890)

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Castles in Spain look close to collapse,
and Damocles laughs behind my back:
in a dream an angel of darkness
has shown me his sword and my grave.

I’ve a lot to answer for,
but I’m not afraid anymore.
Spring, Light, Peace:
such little words can save.

Cancer. Dancer. Answer.
The Stars. The Wind. The Sea.
Not asking for anything.
This is my best prayer:

I surrender.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

When we reach the age of reason
every one of us is given
a piggy bank.

It is a treasure box, a porcelain Heart
destined to be broken
on our last Day.

I wish I could fill up mine
with jingling words like
caring and sharingspring and beginning

and not with coins of bitterness,
for Love is the true richness
the only wealth that really matters!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Silent Prayer

no wrath
no blame
no hate no fight
just a flickering candle flame
a silent prayer with open hands
words of light and flowers of peace left
at the serene place where
murdered Innocents
rest

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

© 2015 – F.G.M.