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

Alice’s dream within a dream
and the far side of the Moon
and the big blue tree
and a Spark of Love.

A sprig of heather
has fallen from the sky.
What is it called
when you see in the dark?

Shadows in the Night
love the shade of stars.
How is it that they die
each time a child awakens?

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: The Blue Tree (Ernst Ludwig Kirchner)

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)

I would like to write a poem
my mind said.
I have no inspiration
my heart whispered.
Shut up!
my soul shouted.

Birds are singing
the blue Songs of Spring
Skies are bigger
and bigger
Skies are closer
and closer.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Je voudrais écrire un poème
dit mon esprit.
Je n’ai pas d’inspiration
soupira mon cœur.
Silence !
cria mon âme.

Voici que les oiseaux chantent
les chants bleus du Printemps
les cieux
sont de plus en plus grands
les cieux
sont de plus en plus proches.

© Frédéric Georges Martin