To Anne Frank

To Anne Frank

by Martin Kornberg

Shadows of lilacs
prancing on the yellow walls
facing the sun our eyes tearing
we stand over the graves of the fallen
numbed by the silence.  The winds
shift over the plain, the lilacs quiver.
We hear the voice of an underground river
for some weeping are on their faces
pressing close to the ground
they can hear moaning.
The earth is moaning, but it is a peaceful sound,
it calms our souls--It calms our souls,
and we stop our weeping.

Fresh City's Breath

By Martin Kornberg


Fresh City's Breath

What are fresher country airs
that swell from the sea's kiss
doing here?  The sparkling sky
discomforts a passerby
        who was up all night
and the city is lying still
hushed by the newness of the day.

They begin to exit from their places
these phantoms upon familiar paths
On the street in mid-manhattan
hawkers awaken the passerby
and the dodging begins
and sorrowing figures push ahead
demonstrating new vigor
unknown before dawn.

Truckers vie with truckers
buses push past
and people busy themselves
with dreams of successes
as taxicabs throb.

published in Janus-SCTH:
A quarterly magazine of poetry edited by Rhoda de Long Jewell
Volume 5.  January 9174