destined

a tall thin man 
dressed in a tatty floral frock 
shuffles along these streets each day
i pace down them too

on trodden grime 
we separately seek our own reasons 
for these solitary rambles to anywhere else 
but our current this in now

weeks of passing each other 
without word spoken
no nod or flick of friendly smile 
no wink or silly boyish smirk
just numb private loping

and it unhinges me 
pulling me deeper 
into my pulsating core 
of constantly wondering 
what and why

yesterday 
as our paths collided 
on a muddled corner of maybe fate
i glimpsed a reservoir of tears in his milky eyes
i’m sure he heard the plea for answers  
screaming out of mine

today 
i can’t face him
entwined in his inane crawling 
or tread those confusing roads to naught 

i can’t move from where i hide 
wallowing in the realisation of existence

and i’m disturbed by him and his input 
to my distorted analysis

for i know as i gulp at a gritty breath
we are both destined 
to experience what we do
ongoing 
until our end



death-songs

slaughter equals 
what the fuck
is going on

without compassion

i’m no sage 
just ardent vego 
in this 

killing mess

i cry when i see sheep 
in a truck 
stare hard 

loathe reality

catching fish 
is like a murder game 
of swimming beauty 

lost forever

cooking flesh 
smells 
like replaying 

death-songs

no argument 
for sake of hard words
flesh takers don’t listen

won’t notice

so we tolerate
their catching and killing
and breeding more 

living meat

for in their accepted
butchery 
we are the freaks

never them


unless and though

there’s nothing wrong with having a mouse on your head
unless an eagle sees it and swoops down to grab it

a run of relationship breakups isn’t so bad
though if they’ve taken your money it’s terribly upsetting

getting lost in a storm can be quite exciting
unless it’s below zero and you’re trapped in the snow

being totally broke is not the end of the world
though it’s extremely grim if you’re starving to death

camping alone in the jungle is a fabulous adventure 
unless being stalked by a hungry tiger

not remembering who you are is no big deal
though it becomes complicated when filling out forms 

never having a poem published means very little 
unless you’ve spent your life trying to get poetry published 

old age is natural and is just how life is
though it’s quite disappointing if you have never felt joy

as dying sits before us we attempt to avoid it
unless you’ve been waiting for the end of the journey

unless and though 
can be used in countless ways
though it’s best to experiment with how  
unless devoted to what’s correct

Stephen House has won many awards and nominations as a poet, playwright and actor, including two Australian Writer’s Guild Awgie Awards, and a Greenroom Best Actor nomination. He has had 20 plays produced, many commissioned. He’s received international literature residencies from The Australia Council and Asialink. His chapbook “real and unreal” was published by ICOE Press. His next book is out soon. His poetry is published often, and he performs his acclaimed monologues widely.