From a Single Thought

A huge hand grasps your chest

Breath is swiftly illusive

The searingly deep strangulation

Of sudden tension racing down your back

Your heart too big for your chest

Spiteful knives thrust in by spasms grip

Desperate contemplation to avoid more

Where lies the valley of calm?

Dropping still

Forcing air back in

Stuttering exhales of frustration

It is upon you again

From a single thought

Anxiety beseeches your company

by David Stein 4/14/2013

© 2013 by David Stein.  All rights reserved.

Devilroo

Searching for
    some peace of mind,
We set out to
    a tranquil site,
In a place
    called Wilson's Prom,
A sanctuary
    from social blight.

Camped out on
    32nd Ave.,
It seems some things
    you can't escape,
From the fees
    to breath fresh air,
To herds of children
    on the make.

One good campsite
    deserves another,
So set your tent up
    next to mine.
If your music
    is a bother,
Turning ours up
    will do just fine.

It's so nice
    to be in the wilds,
Toilets flushing
    just in sight,
Don't forget
    your favorite mattress,
Or you might not
    survive the night.

With our campsite
    now secured,
It's Time to quench
    that hard worked thirst.
Tossing open
    the well stocked cooler,
I pop the cork
    with dry lips pursed.

After toasting,
    I tilt my head
Gulping down
    the entire glass,
Then we notice
    the cooler's half empty
And an hour's
    barely past.

Suddenly,
    we realize
We have some
    uninvited guests
As they begin
    to gnaw away
At unclothed shanks
    of well groomed flesh.

So we attempt
    to fend them off,
Those nasty little
    vampirish pests,
By dancing
    an insect spray dance,
Called
    the Mosquito Bangladesh.

Now the grill
    has begun to sizzle
With an assortment
    of tasty beasts,
And the cooks
    are still marinating...
Themselves, quite well,
    for the feast.

As the remnants
    are disposed of
And the fire
    is put to rest,
The well-stocked cooler
    now nears empty
and the conversation's
    at its best.

The closing roar
    of the ocean
Does Signal us
    the waning hours,
As some well-dressed
    wombats pass us
on their way
    to the showers.

Realizing
    our lack of manners,
We invited them
    for a drink.
They didn't mind
    the cameras flashing,
But they said
    our music stinks.

So off they went
    in a flurry
Of the purest
    wombat speed,
Leaving us to
    our private demons
And a few more
    tankers of mead.

Well wrapped
    in bottled blankets,
We finally
    said adieu
To an evenings
    conversation
And the flushing
    of the loo.

Entrenched
    in zippered netting
To keep
    blood suckers at bay,
We settled
    into slumber
From our
    oh so trying day.

Like a bunch
    of just dead mummies
Lined up in
    a well spaced row,
Slowly sliding
    down the hillside
Until we're lying
    toe to toe.
   
We curl up tight
    in our bags
To keep out
    the evening's chill,
But the radiators
    we once called skin
Can't say they're
    the slightest bit thrilled.

An hour later,
    we're finally asleep,
And Mr. Bladder
    says hello.
I try to get
    out quietly,
But the one-way zipper
    just says no.

I fumble
    for a minute
Until everyone's
    awake,
Then I finally
    get it open
Pretending it was
    a piece of cake.

After taking care
    of business,
I settle
    back to bed,
But the forest's
    gnawing noises
Start running
    through my head.

Then something
    starts a sniffing
All around
    our tent,
Add a little
    scratching,
And my nerves reveal
    they're spent.
   
So I nudge
    the person next to me,
And not dreaming
    I'm assured,
That the something
    in the shadows
Is really six feet tall
    with fur.

It moves around
    to the front
And we begin
    to fear the worst,
With images
    of fangs and claws
And leaving
    in a Hearse.

Both of us
    are cringing
As it pulls
    the flap aside
And we realize
    our dilemma
With nowhere
    left to hide.

Two eyes appear
    in the dark,
And there's nothing
    else to do,
But hold our breath
    until it's gone,
That hideous
    Devilroo!

Thinking quick,
    I use my flash
To scare
    the beast away.
Not knowing
    that the mossie net,
Would reflect it
    in my face.
   
So now we're blind
    but laughing,
And everyone's
    awake,
We tell about
    the Devilroo,
And our friends
    call us a fake.

Not for a minute
    will they trust
The story
    we have told,
Because everyone knows
    the Devilroo
Doesn't come out
    when it's cold.

So when your outside
    braving the wilds,
And you see that
    hideous Devilroo,
Just close your eyes
    until it goes away
And your friends won't think
    you've lost a screw!


By David Stein
February 25, 1990
Based on  camping in Australia
© 1990,2013 by David Stein. All rights reserved.

The Seeker and the Soulmate

Lost between the rediscovered promise of true love
And past failures of co-dependence and self-doubt
A pack animal without a pack
No longer needing, but still wanting
Never knowing when we will meet
Yet having always known you
An undeniable search
For every answer I discover
I also find new questions
A journey shared with few
Yet most pursue
Persevering until I find you
In a perfect storm
Where perfection does not lie in finding the meaning of life
But in finding that life that begins with the realization of love
A place where souls meet
And dance in fiery circles
Like rediscovered artifacts
What is old is new
What is new is old
Where your arms are the buried treasure
An end within a beginning
When it no longer matters what I do
But that I am doing it with you


by David Stein 4/13/2013
Revised 6/11/2014
© 2013-2014 by David Stein.  All rights reserved.

3am

Couldn’t sleep

Nothing new

What more appropriate time to begin

3am has always been my companion

So here it starts

A journey into my heart and soul…

Here again

Watching the minutes go by

Mostly wasted on escape routes and diversions

Always alone

Because I haven’t met you

Or I’m still searching for me

The world around me lies silent

While the world within me is a raging storm

Washing my heart up on desolate beaches

Extinguishing my signal fire whenever a boat is within sight

Blinking dots mocking me

Morning gets closer while rest stays out of reach

Maybe if I find the right song to guide me

Or the right laugh to lighten my load

Turn it all off

Peace still at bay

Roll over again

Another drink of water

Another hour or two

Light sneaks through the blinds

The night has eluded my grasp again

Another day begins when the world is half done

3am - Part 2 

by David Stein 4/13/2013

© 2013 by David Stein.  All rights reserved.