To be perfectly honest this was one of the more difficult poems to string together for the sheer fear of possibly jinxing it,
as there appears to be a pattern to every story involving a boy and me lately,
which begins with the same overrated butterflies in the stomach sensation followed by a poem,
sleepless nights, cigarettes, ***** and a tragic ending.
So having reached the poem stage my instincts and the part of my brain receptive to pain are already bracing themselves,
I can feel them clenching in my gut.  
As this three nights stand situation burns the lines between a *******, friendship with benefits and something to the extent of a budding romance,
my expectations are protesting against being so fiercely oppressed,
frankly they are getting out of control,
as the dislike of not wanting to be clingy, chivalry of not wanting to subdue to any labels nor the fear of yet another heartbreak itself,
are no longer sufficient to keep these rising hopes in place.
Ironically, when I think of you I think more of who I become when I'm with you, than actually you,
even though I do sincerely adore you. Very much.
I'm bemused by how comfortable I feel in my own skin,
naked and burnished, next to your warm, ivory touch.
Each time you trail your fingers down my body and take in a quick breath as if you were seeing me for the very first time,
I treasure the look in your eyes for later in the week when the going gets tough.
I idolize your rough, blistered, bleeding palms with all its calluses for they mirror my own much subtle bruises,
representing our shared interest, commitment, strength and transformation.
Your new found superpower to completely eradicate my necessity to socially smoke when socializing with you, speaks for itself really,
and we haven't even got to the laughter, the banter, the top notch sarcasm, the conversation, the warmest embrace,
breakfast ending in a ridiculously serious spectacle of coffee making,
which I thoroughly enjoy from the best seat in the kitchen wearing your shirt which fits me far more perfectly,
and the skip in my step as I head home.
So when the day comes for the revolution, of my expectations, overthrowing this rather tiresome governance of fear,
I just might pop the question, will you be my forever one night stand? ,
in the hope that you might just say yes...

She wore a smile like a scented candle. It was warm and comforting but… too easy to extinguish. This other girl existed on one end of a knotted piece of string suspended between 2 tin cans… It was hard to reach her, and when you did, her tongue seemed as knotted as the string.

But on days where these two can’t seem to stop smiling. When their bow tie tongues make phone calls sound like miracles… we say things like..

Don’t jinx it.


When underdogs bark like poodles but bite like alpha wolves. when the up-and-coming upstarts undercut higher overseers. At the risk of burning too quickly or too brightly, we say…

Don’t jinx it.


When the meek and the naive achieve more than we perceive.

When we dream on Christmas eve of what we may receive.

When we say things like ‘We’ve been through worse… she won't leave’.

we say…

Don’t jinx it.



The human condition demands so much caution and fear, we shed tears and rub our eyes till all we can see is the least of what we can be and we… live like slaves to the thing that stole our confidence away… ourselves. Somewhere down the line or self belief was found K.I.A so when we try something new, we’re already D.O.A.

So when we play pika-boo with our power, appear like a shower of rain in a desert when you’d already chosen dehydration as your only way out, we dare to tell ourselves, don’t jinx it.



Ladies and gents, boys and girls, you don’t have to rule the world. You don’t have to cure a disease or discover new species or banish hatred from the hearts of man or travel the and experience sights and scenes that only in your wildest dreams did you think you’d see. You don’t have to do a single thing!

But you can do anything.

When Martin Luther King said Let freedom ring, he didn’t fear jinxing a single thing.

And when the Beatles sang love is all you need they weren’t deceived by the forethought that their song wouldn’t be well received. They believed that they could plant the seed that would lead  this musical scene into places unseen.

They believed that all you need is love. That they had the stuff to turn lyrics into legends. They wrote songs so deeply entrenched into our musical history... you’d need a yellow submarine to find them all and… they didn’t care about what they jinxed along the way.

They held their hearts like David held his sling when Goliath told him he was too small, and so should we all, we should stand taller than our legs can and every man or woman who said you can’t you, you shouldn’t will fall! Fall silent like when the voices in your head are all in agreement and are screaming yes!



Confidence is a bag of marbles with a hole in it. You’ve got to think back to where you’ve been to find it again. But whether you’re happy with your marbles, still looking for those you’ve lost or if you lost them entirely… we can share. We’ll stir sweet smiles into your coffee, stitch compliments into your clothes and we’ll garnish every plate and bowl with the untold hope that you’ll believe in yourself.

Like I believe you. Because I do believe in you… and I won't jinx it.

oh drat,
you are reading this,
my little kitty ditty,
jinxing my super duper secret plan,  
my walter mitty,
if no one reads this pretty
then the algo-rhythm
sure to pick me out of sympathy
to be the
poem-of-the-day!

so thanks for nothing, Jinxy McJinxFace!

do not give me away
with a finger or a heart,
lest the algo smells a rat
realizing that I am artificially intelligent too!

Ogdiddy Nash

It’s the little things that are scaring me. About my OCD, my depression, my anxiety, my PTSD, my eating disorder. I feel like if I write this down it will make sense. That she will read it (even though I know she won’t).

There are things that I got past, left behind, and haven’t thought about in a while. Things that are coming back to me, and they feel like an uninvited guest that is overstaying their welcome. Someone I used to spend a lot of time with. But now I have no desire to see her.

No matter how many oils I diffuse, how many mason jars I buy, how many times a day I do yoga, how many bottles of organic apple cider vinegar, coconut oil, and raw honey I buy

She isn’t leaving.

She won’t let me listen to playlists on shuffle, it’s to chaotic for her. It makes her anxious when she doesn’t know what song is going to come on next. She cleans her ears with Qtips three times a day. Three Qtips each time.  She has to knock on something made of wood or paper 3 times every time she thinks a jinxing thought. If more than 30 seconds passes without doing so, she starts to panic. She can’t fall asleep without her queue filled, her clothes laid out, her bag packed and triple checked, the door lock checked three times, and lotion applied to her hands and feet three times. It makes me nervous and I want to help her.

She’s always tired. She does everything from her bed. It takes her 3 hours to prepare for a thirty minute trip to the grocery store. Another hour to prepare for a shower. She doesn’t care about anything. She goes to class, gets in bed, goes to work, gets in bed. I hate her. She’s so ******* lazy. She stares at her scars, and wishes she had more. She wishes they were deeper. She isn’t going to do anything about it, I assure you, but she can’t get it off her mind. The dog scratched her leg last week, and she’s become obsessed with the new scar. It’s sickening. I want to, but I can’t help her.

She is always calculating and recalculating things in her mind, money and time and schedules down to a T. Always crunching numbers. Calculating how much each minute of a college semester costs, and adjusting for every new factor that comes to mind. She can’t take it when anything throws things off by a single minute or cent. She can’t deal with changes in plans, or cancellations. Even if nothing is wrong. She’ll start over thinking, thoughts rapidly increasing their pace as they violently force their way through her brain. She has to ring her hands or pinch her thighs just to catch her breath. It’s painful to see, and I can’t help her.

She used to have small flashbacks during the day, easy to cope with, more like a day dream. And it’s been four years since they’ve been a regular thing. But now they keep her up at night as she tries to fall asleep. She’s in another place. She can feel it on her skin, she can hear it in her ears, she can smell it around her. She keeps getting lost in this world, and I can’t get her out of it. I can see her trying to fight back, but it takes her forever to shake them. She comes out of it, dissociated with her head spinning, and she has to turn the light on and stair at objects and count tiles or walk around to make sense of things again.  I feel like I’m watching her doing all of this and I can’t help her.

I buy all of this food and cook all these healthy meals, and she throws it all away. She just binge eats yogurt, boiled eggs, fast food and cereal. And I always hear her throwing up after. It makes me sick. She keeps putting boxes of multi grain cheerios in the shopping cart, and then putting them back on the shelf. Every week. She used to eat exactly 1 cup of that a day for about a year, and nothing else (at least nothing else that she doesn’t throw up). Don’t get me wrong, it was an amazing diet for her, but I can’t stand the sight of them anymore. I can’t help her.



I just want to help her move on. Get out of this place. I don’t want to see her anymore. We’ve been friends since I was a kid. Her family is friends with my family. Some of my friends have friends like her, and some have no idea what I mean if I mention her. She doesn’t like to be around anyone, and no on likes to be around her. So I hide her. I can’t shake her. I can’t help her. I get her out of bed every day. I brush her teeth and help her to the shower. I get her out of the house most days. I help her write her emails, do her course work, make her coffee, and clean he room. But it’s too much. She’s a mess and I can’t help her.

I can't help her.

I used to think
That when you really want something
You end up jinxing it
And it doesn't work out

Now I've decided to believe
That the more you want something
The harder you have to work for it
And the greater chance you'll have at it

Poem5
Into the Wilderness

Into the wilderness we went. Edhweirft and Hwyrflung swirled above us, blowing and bustling through the treetops. Watching. Threatening. But maintaining a safe distance as the trees protected us

Scrunch
Crack
Squelch
Scrunch
Crack
Squelch
... we went, as the gloam drew in. Druuuuuin!! Closer. Druuuuuuuuiiiiinnnn!!!!! Closer. It hugs, this gloam. It sticks. It holds. It cloys the mind with its drab-drab-grab. The breath is tight. It fights, for more, for freedom, to live, it must escape, but the gloam holds it inside you. The breath panics. It is afraid. It needs to be free. It escapes the mouth with a fight, then slowly raises up, toward the canopy. But it cannot swoop, it cannot flow. The gloam drags with a friction that burns and the breath is consumed within its mass.

Edhweirft is rattling in the branches of the trees above. Waiting for the gloam. Watching its vile, twisting display unfold. He watches. He sees. He knows. He understands. But Edhweirft is the trixter, the player of games, the jinxing Ju, the rogue andiggler. He is the north wind. He has no substance. He is force. He is energy. He wishes you to know that he is. That he lives. He is alive. He is life. He splits the gloam in 2.... Phoooooooshswipthwack! The gloam separates. It severs. It dissolves. It breaks down its density into its fractal construct. And the fractal shatters and chaos ensues. Dancing apart. It's essence. It's life glue. Dissolving. Dissipating. Fizzling. Sizzling. Fzzzzzz sszzzzzzzzzz......      
And the elements of its structure revel in the end of the gloams monarchy. This is despotism. This is revolution. This is chaos. This is beauty. Microscoppai scatter everywich. Hither und thither. It's chance now to create a New. This one Microscop. He is strong. His force pulls. His charm. His beauty. His power. His magnetism. It draws them to his new rule. A new form. A new structure. A fresh life. A gloam without the gloom.
Edhweirft continues to stalk. He is here. He is there. He shakes the trees as he comes in as if to break their hold on the sky and shake it from their rafters. He picks you up. He throws you to the ground. Then he moves on to his next victim, laughing in his breathy tones. Preparing and clearing the way. The way for his sister.
Edhweirfts sister, Hwyrflung, brings the TipTap. She is electrickery. She swoops with a crack and a bite. She brings the change. She creates the new. But first she destroys. She slices. Then nothing. Aaaaaooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!! She howls in delight. In the distance a tree sniiicpraks and falls down dead. Life gone. No more. This wise old tree. This rememberer of dreams. And play. Holding you high in his arms, protecting you as you climbed. No more. Goodbye old friend.
FizzzzzzzzzxxxxchchchccfrrdrdrffffrAAAAAKK!!!!
Another.
C­loser this time
TachooooooooommmmmmmAaaakakakrashhhh
The crack and the howl almost joining. Like great lovers drawn together at the moment of their deepest impending intimacy.
They wait, these two for little more than a fraction but the anticipating makes time slow down. As Hwyrflung watches they play their game, their dance. Fizzing and building their passion inside her deep black mass. Crackle... The first touch. Atoms rub. Heat generates. A light turns on deep inside. A light that aches for more. That aches for its release. Crackle pop. A short burst. Then recedes.

The wait.

...

The pause

...

The anticipation too great

...

Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrggggghhhhhhhkkkkkrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaa­aasssssshhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!
They erupt together as one! Light and sound. The power of their passion uncontrollable. A pure release, seeking its way towards its nearest destination. The place in can rest. The place it can seek its ultimate fortune. Life ending, life beginning, life changing.

And Hwyrflung hangs, still watching, but the passion of these two, so strong as it was, has sapped her strength and she falls to tears. The TipTap is gone, this is the Schoom. Heavy, thick and fast, draining her essence. Feeding it to the ground. For Hwyflung is not destruction, she is change. Her Schoom takes her pain and feeds its nutrients. It feeds budlings and saps and all the little scitterscatter looking for thirst. Until there are no tears left to cry and the TipTap returns.

Edhweirft swoops in to save what is left of his sister. He scoops her in his arms and whips her to safety in the canopy.

Out comes the God of the sky. He chases Edhweirft and Hwyrflung away with his warmth and smiles at their mischievery. He sends his Prysm through the TipTap, scattering a beautiful light.

And all is well.

We make our way through the wilderness and out, safely, to home.

When you find the one,
That turns you to a lover;
Your heart breaks in two,
When that one, loves another.

Broken, shattered,
Distraught within:
Loving so much,
Must have been sin.

Terrified at first;
Not jinxing it was my goal.
Although we never touched,
You took my heart and soul.

I give my best effort,
To win it all back…
But time has gone by,
And travel is what I lack.

But like I said,
Once before;
You stole my heart,
And shut the door.

Too late now,
For more internal strife.
You’re long gone by now,
In…and out of…my life

and let yours truly not forget emasculation
that prickly emotional immobilization
whereby these lovely bones
subject courtesy senescence
upon cremation reduced to obliteration.

Inching closer to mortality
linkedin with concomitant
subtle deterioration of body electric
finds yours truly (me)
speculating what happens
to corporeal essence
when sprawled out on death bed
able, eager, ready, and willing
to give up the ghost.

Resultant baby boomer saddled
with unbridled tumultuousness stirrup
(thus his need to pony up)
with delayed emotional, mental,
physical, and spiritual development
necessitating self advocacy
at present stage of mine existence,
especially where crisis brews,
concerning fruit flies
(Drosophila melanogaster)
called apartment unit b44 their home turf.

These pesky, itsy bitsy
teeny weeny, blimey insects
hold Guiness Book
of World Records
to bring about infestation
faster than you can say
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
within our living quarters.

An adult female fruit fly
can lay up to 2,000 eggs
on the surface of anything
moist and rotting.

Within 30 hours,
tiny maggots hatch and start
to eat decayed food.

Within 2 days, they attain adulthood
grown up and ready to mate, too.

While that transition
may seem quick,
a fruit fly only lives 8 to 15 days.

Run in with management
finds innate susceptibility
with anxiety skyrocketing,
cuz umpteen instances
called out about pestiferous critters
supposedly being out of compliance
when aforementioned issue
necessitated exterminator technician
(on quite a few occasions),
unbeknownst to us until
then warden Jackie Geiger
summoned us into the principal's office,
we got pleasantly informed
suddenly finds yours truly and the missus
in violation of rental contract.

Agitation swirls (think F/EF5 tornado)
viciously storming inside me psyche
analogous to whirling dervish
wreaking psychological havoc.

Resultant outcome with threat of eviction,
triggered a slew of physiological symptoms;  
I experience full blown panic attack,
whereby irritable bowel syndrome
kickstarted insync with palmar hyperhidrosis
psychologically run me ragged.

Linkedin and in tandem with current stress
(worse case scenario being homeless)
compounded by tsunami courtesy
severe mental health issues
stifled healthy growth of
body, mind, and spirit triage.

Internalized emotions wrought
quotidian psychological oppression
retrospective reflection courtesy
20/20 hindsight reveals absolute zero
positive natural development of
body, mind, and spirit
extreme cerebral agitation,
and social withdrawal compromised
(during metamorphosis to manhood)
kickstarting and jumpstarting prepubescence
quashing, sabotaging, upending, wrenching
maturation, education, and socialization

every year since being
born free and clear of obvious defects
minus alien aberration, Russian collusion...,
or basket of deplorable dysfunction
crooked Hillary accusation,
and submucous cleft palate
inducing severe nasality
fraught with arduous speaking difficulty
coping, fraternizing, integrating
within ordinary circumstances
alienated, defied, horrified,
mortified, scared, and (frankly) zapped

yours truly, albeit analogous
experiencing ferocious, hellacious, torturous...
suffering predicated on suppressing
and/or repressing moderate slights
inflicted upon withdrawn younger self,
who lacked adroit, deft, heft...
coping with typical situations
subsequently aggravating,
exacerbating, jinxing...
to cultivate, generate,
liberate locked potential
hypothesized, premised, yoked

infantile grievous inconsolable crying
unsolved behavioral mystery
venting only for my "mommy dearest,"
would utter (this from hearsay)
exhibiting extreme aversion
if other than thee birth mother
comforted, cradled, cocooned...,
an extremely reticent individual
buckling as strapping bullies
relentlessly belted jibed, taunted...
said teasing begat intimidation
(oft times mentioned in other poems)

scrawny kid (me) cowed, fawned, irked,
nonetheless I remained passive against
blistering, hectoring, teasing,
which apothegm turning other cheek
avoided getting smashed pumpkin face
courtesy subservient stance
devotional acquiescence help me dog pose
prayer temporarily answered
harboring entire being
ten thousand feet beneath
avast sea of dejection
time and again repeated

alas crass harassment
absorbed into nucleus of every cell
anchored barnacle encrusted tenuous pride
in short shrift
brewing, abjection, dejection, humiliation...
"NOT FAKE" misery
inducing suicidal ideation
(and actual attempt
courtesy anorexia nervosa)
spurring serious delineation
allowing, enabling, proffering
permanent salvation uber vacation
to give lyft among livingsocial
years later overlaid
earthshaking starry eyed son
fault finding fundamentally
misbehavior gifted from
those I called mother and father.

I don't think I've have ever lived a more perfect October night.
                                          

I hope I'm not jinxing it.
Nothing has happened yet
I'm actually kind of bored.
All I've done is scoop cat ****
And take the trash to the curb.
I hope the wind carries the ashes off my porch.

Once again tis time to pony up and trot out (neigh - without horsing around) an unforgettable day encompassing a series of unfortunate events (so take that Lemony Snicket! - yeah go ahead and picket!).

Wicked bad day poem
originally crafted, designed, engineered...
then alternately titled
for no particular rhyme nor reason:
unwitting courtesy extended
to Doctor Donald (Duck) Dossey  
who coined paraskevidekatriaphobia.

Superstitious severely tested across fineline
doggedly gingerly jinxing luck of mine
August thirteenth nineteen hundred and ninety nine
forever etched in the annals of my personal infamy
as one still sending hair raising shivers down my spine
which following unpleasant details occurred on a street
that branched off kind of like a fork tine
adjacent to one named Woodbine.

Prior to the following awful events
that unfolded aforementioned day
somewhat solemn and gray
I did not consider myself unduly superstitious
nor prone to bouts of triskaidekaphobia/
paraskevidekatriaphobia  no how no way.

Yet that particular Friday
the thirteenth baptized me
in the ****** waters of superstition unequivocally
whence upon waking said particular morning
the search for funereal garb found me
burrowing into a small closet  
while bending on one knee,
and nonchalantly rummaging

for suitable article of clothing to wear
(per the wake/
sitting shiva of William Zison
the octogenarian father in law)
an unbeknownst ill fate
lurked just seconds away
ready to cap cha an innocent prey
as any unseen observer
and/or pet would agree.

Hands rifled and rustled
thru various and sundry
miscellaneous items in one or another box
mostly clothing and other apparel
draped in coat hangers
plus a precariously perched

heavy tin of yarn heavy as rocks
began to teeter from top ledge,
than made a slow inexorable descent
in direct path of thy crown
containing valued mental stocks.

The topmost part of thine skull
felt impact of sharp metallic rim
that left an indentation in soft part of scalp –
more’n an abrasive skim
and bent circular shape

of contrivance filled to the hilt
one law of physics pertaining
to falling object (taught to me)
acquires greater mass
accelerating with velocity and vim.

Upon reflexively yet tentatively
touching raw sore spot
fingertips revealed presence of warm liquid
soon coagulating into a pulpy gordian knot
from sharp lipped impact registering nausea
and vertigo quite a lot
hence sewing crafts managed to stitch
a tattooed laceration forming a ****** clot.

Body writhed with physical torment
as if being only partially alive
whereby waves of blacking
or passing out found me swooning
ready to take a swan dive
nonetheless from Schwenksville
to Penn Valley, I did
(by divine grace) safely drive
whence family members and relatives
once destination reached, the motley crue
began organized car pool arrangements
per heading off to the cemetery,

which caravan formation  
similar to a human bee hive,
yours truly declined to go
communicating persistent distress from mishap
I bowed wowed out, stayed home
and kept company with a dog
(purportedly man’s best friend)
(said pet belonging to a friend
of eldest sister in law),
whose open palmed overtures
of mine did not jive.

An impulse found fingers reaching out
to stroke this unfamiliar animal
supposedly man’s best friend
only to find sharp teeth from canine jaw
clamped down ******* hand
which second ****** injury,
my mother affixed a butterfly bandage
to expedite the injury to mend,
I did immediately tend
while bolts of white hot pain
shot thru lower extremity of palm
radiated upward through forearm
into shoulder did wend.