4 Minutes

In 4 minutes I will attempt

To write words

Strung together with

Some meaning

My eyes are stuck to the screen


Written in an attempt to say

What I have postponed along the way

Returning to ritual

Feels good

Yet not unusual

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


The Dust Migration

How can dust exist in such plethora

Consuming humans in black filth

Penetrating apartments with stealth

What is the creator

The destroyer

Yet it plooms from every

Vehicle brimming black and burdened

From the backs of trucks

Tossed lightly into the air

To begin it journey

Destination unknown

Yet it flies just softly enough

Through the screens

Into our homes

Where it land

Collects friends

Possibly propagates

Until we have the motivation to cleanse

Purging our home from such creations

Out the shoot

And back into the circle

Of the dust migration

Subtle Plans

Planes circle overhead

Outside dust stained windows

Bustling people away and close

Making their way from coast

To coast

On the ground cars rage honking



People walking




We hold hands

Weaving through the crowds

With subtle plans

We think

We can

We hope

We plan

In New York

No second guess

No delay

Or deferred progress

But I sit wondering

Looking at the planes overhead

Shuffling the people around the world

New York to LA

In clear light

Late in March

On a sunny day



NYC by Night

After many pains, deliberations, and delays

We are finally ready to make our way

To NYC and the east coast

We packed our bags

But still left most

Of what we owned behind

Tight car little time

Here we go

I-80 and the turnpike

I pray it clear with no ice

And we hope to make New York city

By night

Wait and See

10 feet of snow coming

Fresh bread on the counter

Waiting for the snow to come

Can’t leave

Worst storm in years

Mother nature throwing it in high gear

Dusting trees and coating drives

Glad to be warm and alive

They say it could reach 50 below

Plus at least 4 feet of snow

Today alone

Tomorrow will bring frigid air from Canada

Going be hard to see what happens to us

But we are warm

Inside a home

So there is no reason to be alone

We watch the weather and stay warm

This is the Midwest

So we come prepared

Where there is ice and wind

We burn through without a care

But this snow is different

Not quite so innocent

We will wait and we will see

What this winter storm

Will turn out to be


Christmas Morning Commute

Cold air on sheltered skin

Slow sunrise and morning skies


Baking goods

Flour and eggs

Bells singing

House creaking

The more I grow

I realize

As we get comfortable

The world gets ready

For change


The Common Denominator

What makes it better

What makes it worse

These vital feelings

We may not coerce

Pushing them in

Pulling them out

Will do us no good

If we are living like we should

Shall I wonder under a rock

Beneath feet pounding

Or center myself on ground

With my heart pounding

I am here for you

And you for me

That is why

We cannot let it be

Growth can occur

From one solid root

Life will burst

Into something beautiful bold

Your hand I hold

As we cry

Waiting for the storm

To blow by

These are not easy times

But they make us real

Through the fire burning

Born is true steel

I will be here now

And will be here later

Love will pick you up

It’s the common denominator

Love will push

Love will pull

Love will bring us back

Fill our hearts full

We live through great moments

We survive the bad

But at the end of any day

The good fights been had

I wish to say this

So that all can understand

You are my lady

And I am your man

Moving Words

Moving words

In late night discussion

Sporadic thoughts

Where we are moving

To the deserts of the west

Canopy of south of the Midwest

Through highway curves

And underpasses

I am left feeling lost

Lost between New York

And LA

Not quite sure where

The words will take us


Lost in a cover of clouds

Covering my thoughts

So silent

And so loud

No feeling about the future

No recollection of the past

My love asks me with weary eyes

Is there any wrong

Or any right

To this question that we seek

Answers to tonight

Maybe Georgia

Or the Smokies in NC

That is where my heart will be

Perhaps in the desert with

Snakes and cactus

This conversation always seems to lose


Somewhere in the US we will be

Tomorrow and the day after

Perhaps even a year from now

These moving words have no

Real ability to move me

And I am sure we will revisit this

In these late night car seats

A Pick Me Up Tune

Discontent in the bar on a Saturday

Everyone seems to be okay

Except this one character

Late fifties sniffing for something young

Couple too many drinks he has



Into his wasted soul

And hardened heart

This man is doing nothing

But playing the creepy old man part

His breathe reeks of alcohol and beer

Harassing the poor musicians to play

A pick me up tune

So he can swoon the younger ladies


To my stomach as I see him rummage

Through these civilized people

He is garbage left in the summer sun

Ruining the night life of everyone

His hair slicked back in 80’s fashion

Blond with protruding teeth

Blue eyes that see

Nothing but flesh on the bones of young women

He is sickened me to no redemption

I am but inches away from bending

Flinching into a rage of spirit

So that everyone in this bar can hear it

He is a wasted soul washed up on the shore

For he is that

And nothing more