Off the Cusp

Rock and roll

Get ready to go

Living on the farm

Just east of

South Bend, IN

The nights we pull

Playing bass going low

Making coffee with the morning

Singing songs

All heard and warming

92 degrees

No sight of water or seas

Here in Indiana

Summers warming up

On the farm

Living just off the cusp


Goodbye to a Great

Goodbye to a great

Such beauty and grace

With one stroke of the hand made

Painting pictures of words

On a blank page

Homage and prayers

Thoughts and emotions

Go out to Maya Angelou

As she swims her way

Into the eternal ocean

All poets or writers aspire

To live life full

Full of inspiration



To walk in footsteps that have gone before

Do homage to her craft

From one poem or a simple draft

We lost an eternal light in our short lives

But we are thankful for what she had

What she shared

She made us better

She cared

Inspiration she has set on fire

The more you create

The more you desire

I hope to be 1/10th of the person she was

I send a message out to sea

To Maya her love and example

Set us all a bit more



Reminiscent and Familiar

Coffee and smoked salmon

Lingers in my mouth

I reach for the ignition of my car

Live lived with the simple pleasures

The caffeine


Keep me alive


For trips near and far

Reminiscent and familiar

I have learned each city

By the letters that spell the name

Some far off distant

Others very much the same

The dash must be 108

Indiana summer feels so hot today

The leather scorching to touch

I grab my seat belt

Roasted in the reflecting sun

I quickly pull my hand back

Take a deep breathe

Very close to home

Yet ever far away

As the sweat drips down my face

This Memorial Day

Transience the Commonplace

Transience the commonplace

It is the norm

In Brooklyn streets

Where people swarm

On Saturday night

Sunday evenings

We take part in these traditions




As we make our way from place to place

Make our way out of Brooklyn

The next day

We will be back in Autumn soon

Under the NYC moon

Transient nights

Transient days

Transient travelers fill up

Fall out

And fill up again

We find ourselves amidst the flow

Going where the concrete goes

Back and forth

In between

We will miss the NYC scene


Little Words

Pack up the luggage

Keep a straight face

Back on the road

A musicians pace

Don’t take anything too close

Keep a little distance from the heart

Getting all involved

Will only make this hard

Little words with great meaning

We have to keep on keeping

NYC away we go

Be back when autumn rolls

For another winter lays ahead

Summers gone in the Midwest

We make our way from Brooklyn

To South Bend and back again

Tours ahead

Songs to sing and play

We look forward to being back in Brooklyn

On a beautiful autumn day

Burning Winds

The Santa Ana winds have picked up

On the east coast we have the

West in mind

Fires burning bright

Brightest in a long time

Broken spirits and hopes

Go out with our thoughts

Protecting homes

Thinking on LA in NY

A terrible fire season ahead

The winds picking up in every direction

It is our thoughts and prayers

We are a sendin’


Constant Race

The constant race

Of the human race

Coming face to face

With realities

Of what will Be

What will not be

Committed to a community

Of people breathing and sleeping

Communicating all sensations

Of creations



Sharing with each other

The ideas of lovers

People hate

Other continue to love

We work well

On a Wednesday swell

Of the city

On the ground

In the NYC Town

Intermitten the Skies

The clock hands read the time

I search for subtleties and easy rhyme

Ideas created, lost, and forgotten

Are on my mind

Streets filled with afternoon light

Thoughts flow intermittent the skies

Rhetorical questions

Repetitious in their nature

Some thought will find me

Grab me

Then forgotten it has become

It is in my lazy procedure

I wrap my mind around signs

Posts, lamps, and lights

However I try to find

The original thought of mine

With no luck I proceed

To write new poems

Of unsung ideas

And forgotten seeds



I always seem to forget great ideas before I write them down. I seem to think that I can commit them to my failing memory – content with my attempts, then move on. Only to find out the next day, that those thoughts and inspirations have all but vanished. Leaving me at my desk looking for inspiration, so on some days my inspiration is the ideas lost among the other things in my life. Cheers and have a great day. ~N



The Empire Sun

Under the Empire sun

The city resets in the evening

Continual receiving

Thick lines run blurred into the night


The world centers herself

Around the NYC shelves

From Jackson Heights

To the Bushwick and Greenpoint


We held hands

As we felts our way

Through a city heralding a



The sun


We blink our eyes

Rub them dry

To see the Empire sun

Settle over the western sky


Over the east river

We await


For yet another day