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)
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
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.
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)
violet trees
light breeze
clear waters
treasure coffers
fading realities
rising memories
true words
free birds
my love
like a dove
in paradisum
© Frédéric Georges Martin
lighter than air
brighter than light
longer than time
higher than stars
stronger than love
here and hereafter
butterfly prose
sonorous rainbows
yours mine theirs
eternal echoes of our
heartbeats
© Frédéric Georges Martin
I’ve left the garden
where I used to find peace
and you.
But I’m not really sad.
Flowers bloom.
Butterflies will fly around,
and the Moon shines
and the Night wears
a coat of many colours.
Listen! Birds are calling
the God of Gardeners.
The stars are the same everywhere
and Trees have said a prayer:
tonight I will return to
the garden of treasures!
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Le jardin que j’aimais,
je jardin où je pouvais
te retrouver, je l’ai quitté.
Mais je ne suis pas vraiment triste.
La lune brille, les arbres prient,
et la nuit porte un manteau de couleurs.
Partout les étoiles sont les mêmes
et Dieu toujours nous aime.
Alors cette nuit je sais,
je sais que j’y retournerai.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
