One Prose Poem by Stephen House

 

in a whisper

 

the silver moon; stark hollow internal wakefulness. heaven rocketing into hell. middle point between both. life and death. truth and illusion. universal consciousness.

i put my notebook down, move out to the pigeon lined balcony, and look down to the vibrating maze below. temple bells ring and the familiar city street smells waft up and over me; bring me back to here.

the market calls and shouts of children give a living human hum to my guest-house home.

i hear the arab dressing inside after washing in the bathroom off my room. he comes out to the balcony and lights a cigarette, and we look at each other and smile.

no need for words or next time plans. it’s just another man and another day… for both of us.

and he who joined me at some stage of my flying night under the silver moon, and went on a shared adventure with me, pulls on his baseball cap, makes a quick phone call in arabic, takes a sip of my coffee and winks. we high five, shake hands, and he leaves.

i stand at the door and watch him disappear down the narrow stairs, put my notebook in my back pocket, shut my door, wander downstairs, and sit on the outside step in the morning sun with a guy from the third floor.

he asks me to read him something… anything.

i recite my new poem in a whisper.

he cries. i’m not sure why. 

Stephen House has won many awards and nominations as a poet, playwright and actor, including two Awgie Awards from The Australian Writer’s Guild, Rhonda Jancovic Poetry Award for Social Justice, and The Goolwa Poetry Cup, and nominations including, a Greenroom Best Actor Award, Tom Collins Poetry Prize, Patrick White Playwright Award and Queensland Premier’s Drama Award. He’s received several international literature residencies from The Australia Council for the Arts and an Asia-link India residency. His chapbooks “real and unreal” and “The Ajoona Guest House” are published by ICOE Press. His next book drops soon. He performs his acclaimed monologues widely.