"We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first time." (T S Eliot)
"A dark and chanted verse is what I am." (
Forough Farrokhzad)

Friday, January 30, 2015


Billions of years
To get to these deaths,
And trillions of tears.
How many last breaths
Before mercy appears
And executioners rest?

No one will fire the gun
That brings the bloody end.
But they all  become one -
They can't be sane again .

The figureheads rule cruel,
As the voters' will demands,
Until their time comes 'round
And shackles are on their hands.

The son died so we could live.
The prophet says God will forgive.
Do their followers forget?
What has become of grace?
Can no one pay out a debt?
Where's justice in time and space?

Billions of years
To get to these deaths,
And trillions of tears.
How many last breaths
Before it’s God whom we fear
And the merciful are blessed?

Sunday, January 25, 2015


Wounded soldiers wonder when wars will end,
And yet the dead never give peace a thought.
Their blood blooms in fields where blasted hearts blend
While noble hopes turn false where truths once fought.

Now more children of God make their crusade
To claim and win forever a grand cause;
But why must slogan makers be obeyed -
Their mouths sucking sacred texts like hell's whores?

Thursday, January 22, 2015


The following paragraphs are taken from early drafts of one of David Morisset's current projects - a novella set in a dystopian but recognisable future.

Sohrab was riding the New Beihai monorail alone.  Despite the unusual absence of Mai he was relaxed.  Absent-mindedly he watched the buildings flash by without taking much notice of their mundane modernity.  At each stop a handful of passengers swapped places, the newcomers rushing to seats and those alighting finding their way to the platform.  It was a cloudy late afternoon and some residential buildings were already lit up by returning occupants.
An adult figure sat next to Sohrab.  It was a man dressed in a dark grey, military-style uniform topped with a V-necked woolen pullover.  His hair was cut so short that his head was little more than rough bristles.  He placed his arm around Sohrab’s shoulders in an unambiguously sexual embrace.  Then his free hand found Sohrab’s thigh, high towards his groin.  Sohrab felt the man’s spiky crown brush hard against his cheek.  Then his wet lips were on Sohrab’s neck.  It seemed to Sohrab that his unwanted companion was trying to suck his laryngeal prominence.
It was at that intimate point that Sohrab pushed his fellow passenger away.  To his horror, Sohrab recognised him.  It was a teenage Hushang, smiling as if he had discovered great treasure.
For a reason he was not able to articulate in his muddled mind, Sohrab was terrified.  Escape was the only solution.  He alighted at the next stop.  As he turned back he saw Hushang standing behind the monorail’s sliding glass doors.  Hushang’s triumphant smile had turned into wild laughter.
Looking ahead, Sohrab saw Mai.  She stood on the platform next to Keshvad, whom Sohrab had met only once before.  Both were dressed in winter attire including baggy beige trench coats, buttoned up as if rain was expected almost immediately.  Only then was Sohrab aware that his own outfit was almost identical to the one worn by Hushang, although, unlike Hushang, he wore no necktie.
“Tell me, are you well?”  Keshvad offered his hand by way of greeting.  “You don’t seem well.”
“Come.  We can complete the journey on the subway.”  Mai took charge.  The two men followed her down a shiny escalator to a platform where a line of sleek rail cars awaited.  “Someone who loves you very much will be joining us at the next station, Sohrab.  Your mother is waiting there.”
Mai and Keshvad sat opposite Sohrab.  As soon as the train stopped another trench-coated figure joined them and took the seat next to Sohrab.  Expecting his mother, Taraneh, he turned to greet her with a hug.  But it was a grinning Hushang who had sidled up to him.
Sohrab woke with a scream that issued more like a roar.  He sat upright trying to see through the jet-black air around him.  There was a strong smell of stale tobacco.  The sound of a woman’s voice cut through the darkness before it yielded him even the dimmest vision.
“Oh my god!  Why do I always get the weird ones?  That’s your third nightmare tonight, Pancho.  But, mate, whatever’s messin’ you up in your dreams ain’t nothin' compared to what I’ll have 'em do to you if you don’t lift your game.  I hardly came at all last time, mate, and I’m ready for another proper seein’ to.  Get over here and get it up.”
Sohrab could just make out the reclining figure of a heavily tattooed, somewhat overweight, naked woman.  Her legs were open and her ample breasts flopped heavily towards her flabby waist.  She was drawing on a stinking cigarette that momentarily shed enough light to confirm Sohrab’s shaky grasp of reality.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015


Jesus is our Lord,
His Spirit is our light,
His Father limits
Our foolishness.

There are no other gods.
There is science -
We must nurture it.
There is history -
We must learn from it.
And there are arts and love.

Sunday, January 11, 2015


This latest collection of poems by David Morisset follows his journey through joy and depression, faith and hopelessness, and love and loneliness. Along the way he is immersed in lavish landscapes and encounters the best and worst of people.

The book is available at Amazon and an ebook version can be purchased at Smashwords.

An ebook edition is also available through iBooks.


My solitude
Is a dull-edged sword
That saws my heart
To torment my soul.
I ache and throb
Deep inside my chest
As if the scab was new
And yet it is my oldest.
At other times
Seclusion makes me strong
And almost fearless
Until I overstep -
But that never lasts long.
A man alone
Can be a man of stone -
Or so I roar.
And, as I explore
The poems I've moaned,
The bluntest blade is honed.