Saturday, July 18, 2020

Stephen House - Two Poems

Stephen House is an award winning playwright, poet and actor. He has had many plays commissioned and produced. He’s won two Awgie Awards (Australian Writer’s Guild), an Adelaide Fringe Award, First Prize Rhonda Jancovich Poetry Award for Social Justice, The Goolwa Poetry Cup, First Prize SA Writers / Feast Short Story Prize & Second Prize Poetry at Sawmillers. He has been shortlisted / highly commended for Lane Cove Poetry Award, Overland’s Fair Australia Fiction Prize, Patrick White Playwright and Queensland Premier Drama Awards, the Tom Collins, Robyn Mathison, Eyre writers, Mindshare, Rhonda Jankovic Poetry Awards, Di Cranston Script Award, and a Greenroom best actor Award. He has received Australia Council Canada and Ireland literature residencies, and an Asia-link India literature residency. He has seen his plays and poems published, including by Currency Press, Australian Script Centre, Australian Poetry Journal, The Blue Nib Ireland and many websites internationally. His poetry collection “real and unreal” was selected for publication by ICOE Press Australia. He travels widely and continues to perform his acclaimed monologues, “Almost Face To Face” and “Appalling Behaviour”.

1. pot crocodile 

i’m pot crocodile. in my current form i’m a creepy mess;
bow tie, green boots, lilac ribbon around my tail to let them all know.
pot habit, cream-cake gorging snappy jaw, long brown teeth 
and foul breathe. scare away the body lice. make the crack dealers 
fly to the moon.

pot is plenty sliding downtown. 
duck into a familiar weed den. quick, big ounce on special.
he doesn’t take the coin; freebie for me. throws bags at me, 
on me. hydro, outdoor, afghani blonde, bombay black, the fucking lot.  

customers in caftans and pointy hats watching as i tug a bong or three;
scrape fading newspaper clippings and dusty awards from my long 
gone fame into a pile with ice rock scraps dragged out 
from the bedroom, while some fat dude screams celebrity murder. 

continue down main street, trumpeting loud. dope-face 
coffee drinking crocodile has-been whore 
on the move again. seriously watch me 
bitches; this grubby old reptile is back. 

into the café and not a whisper as i slide by and flick my tail;
then cheers of here he is again. they know and i know they know.
a transvestite in lilac, she shrieks. 
i tell her it’s a fucking ribbon, not a dress;
i wore a pink wedding dress yesterday and they all thought
i was cruising muscle trade, so wrong! they cruise me dear.
remind them that the lilac ribbon means more 
than useless gender play. fuck, they should know 
my gorgeous games by now.
chubby bears load me up with long blacks, pull open my jaws 
and pitch them in; feeding a sleazy reputation to die for. 
knowing about my sleeping swamp and what goes on all night.
i’m not hiding a thing cunts.
you are the art world snitching ellitists;
not me. i fucked off and did it my way. roar. meow. bark. cluck.
animal mockery. have a drag on this i scream at some falling players, 
who cringe in fear. wow fucking wee! 

sneak out with full tail sweep.
applause from the soap stars and their junkie followers; ditched out like me
and loving it. they know the score. smash door down with a high note shriek,
nudge the crooked cop who runs fast taking aim with his gun at a whining poet. 
peeps cross the path with faces in i-phones as i gallop back to my swamp. 
free-loader musician on my back for the ride, strumming away on my neck.
stay up there and you can fuck me later on. yes, i do bottom when i need too. 
bank teller actors and checkout chick rent-boy sissies look away; 
hope and fear that crocodile’s chant might suck them all in again.
show them that a slutty pot-head crocodile, sniffing poppers 
with a pretty new lizard who he hooked up with via a new gay phone app, 
in his den of whatever goes is not something to turn a snout up at.

dangerous stuff chaps!
keep away or he’ll drag you in to his muddy hell, the ballerina sings 
outside of my swamp, but pats my jaw with love. 
i nip her and she twirls as i slide into my watery jungle;

fuck, get a life sister.
stop. i need pot!
look. smiling alligator approaching with turquoise ribbon around his tail, 
pushing a trolley full of golden buds 

i’m reminded of fading dreams so i whistle him over for more.
he’s hot, and has an awesome cock and a bag of rock 

this could be perfect… cock and rock.
about time for something terrific; pot crocodile deserves the best.
i never hurt a fly. you all know that
and then the ballerina crawls over, and asks 
if she can join us. what? 
what did you say? oh, ok… ok.
of course sweety pants. i share my gear 

with anyone. well no;
actually, not anyone, but i will with you and him.
are you into threesomes?
nice tutu… by the way. fuck, i’ve got a headache. 
pack the bong.

2. of reality  

it is the collaboration manifestation of once or now experienced 
and recollection of former celebrated instance defined and chosen
way of being and needing together with self-forming colouring 
creating the familiar collective of all existing surrounding within
self-narrative structured spontaneously to accompany ongoing path 
through the entirety of self as individual constructed understanding
as dawn into dusk continue and changing revolves accompanying  
seasonal sliding by and offering view and feel with sound sensation 
while touching and kindness of eyes and smile by near ones loved 
and memories of forever encounters old and new stranger others  
be them as lover or passer in sliding journey as clusters grouped  
by related somehow to delight in and amused by or sex-attracted to 
and those who have been significantly of it solid in the now but no 
more than earth creatures of  planet surviving quietly offering glimpse 
of wildlife nature as it is and has been reminds we are only as air is 
and also hope of continuing but flower will wilt and tree yellow 
so backwoods kept untouched by human or machine still surviving 
in pockets of what is freedom  as sea lapping washes by wave storm 
froth and current flows as swimming floating or sinking one with
but also part of the cities stood in to travel to and towns once villages 
somehow on the build and sought driving to nowhere or hiking to be in 
and sleeping in dreamt room or shelter by offer for anywhere as nights 
of clubbing and the bars once everything to hold for dance and flirt 
and drink or drug and fucking like the world eternity youthful crave  
all being for mine only with it holding and family and pain watching
dying mother who she is coming to finality and love inside for son
or daughter or all adjoining who came about from long chapter 
in timing as them and us and how unknown is always still drifting in
away and how life is living and presence has unfolded emerged phase 
descends and decay highlight bliss of  reality for the yoga in breath
equals meditation on what is as is be it one called me or you as them 
wether span received has been shortened or long or happy or terrible 
it is cherished because it is much more of how it is for this has been it       

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