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
fog horn—
no storm in sight
the widows still cry
silent night
the hoot of the owl
over and over
fish spawning –
i stare at the sounds
in the clear night air
–
Power breakdown –
suddenly, the sky regains
its brightness
autumn sun
nestle in the orange poinciana
black bird’s cackles
–
A glow worm
on The Black Sea’s shore-
the lighthouse
dog days dawn-
statuesque calico cat
at my door