Martin Cohen was born in the South Bronx somewhere on Simpson Street, went to a Yeshiva on East Broadway and Canal Street, and then lived in the South of Brooklyn, the South of Long Island, The Southern Tier of Upstate New York, The South of Manhattan, and finally South Jersey in Egg Harbor.
View all posts by martin gottlieb cohen
4 thoughts on “”
i am reminded of my childhood, martin.
a very good haiku, (however), for lack of a punctuation mark and a letter, the score could have been one hundred
icicle-
drippings from the eave
to the sill
some might hurriedly say, ” there’s an error in the first and second lines between a singular and a plural noun, not true.
a pure juxtapose, being exemplified.
the icicles are melting, and the drops of water are falling to the sill
if only i could place a number to “somewhere on simpson”
i am reminded of my childhood, martin.
a very good haiku, (however), for lack of a punctuation mark and a letter, the score could have been one hundred
icicle-
drippings from the eave
to the sill
some might hurriedly say, ” there’s an error in the first and second lines between a singular and a plural noun, not true.
a pure juxtapose, being exemplified.
the icicles are melting, and the drops of water are falling to the sill
if only i could place a number to “somewhere on simpson”
nicely done, martin
just checking for that house number, martin
A sign of spring:
in the front of the old house
the first puddle
caressing
nape of her neck
anger fades
–