Tuesday, March 19, 2024

LOCKDOWN

Down here at the bottom of a deep pit —
Hollowed out like a tunnel in a mine —
I see no light but I know my prison,
Where disloyal darkness admits no time.
The stones or metals once found here have gone —
Precious or base in crumbling ochre rocks.
I wait, abandoned, barred, disgraced, closed off —
No one will teach me how to breach the locks.
Noises — scrapes and scratches like guilt and shame —
Perhaps a vile creature or another judged soul —
Bring me reminders of loss and sorrow —
Contagious ageless plagues in this foul hole.
You say that I should think myself lucky,
And all bad things must pass before too long,
Snap out of it and be a man, you urge,
There are no fears when you have done no wrong.

Thursday, February 29, 2024

HUDDERSTONE WASH-UP

The paperback edition of David Morisset's newest novel can be purchased at Amazon and eBook versions are available at Kindle, Amazon, Apple Books, Smashwords, and other online retailers.

The novel is a coming-of-age story about Daniel Anstiss, who is is a battler from a meatworks town on the outskirts of Sydney, Australia’s oldest city. After setbacks during his early school years, he eventually excels at his tertiary studies and joins Australia’s diplomatic service. Despite his commitment to his vocation, it gradually becomes clear to Daniel that he is an outsider with little hope of navigating Canberra’s pathways of privilege and networks of influence on the basis of merit alone.

“Hudderstone Wash-Up” begins during the 1950s in a fibro cottage on a flood-prone dirt road next to a railway line on which steam trains transport doomed livestock to nearby slaughter yards. An eyewitness tracks Daniel Anstiss’s formative years and depicts his resolute drive towards academic success at the Australian National University in the early 1970s. Then, through ad hoc recollections, a colleague provides eccentric descriptions of the political upheavals and bureaucratic expediencies that threaten to derail Daniel’s foreign service career.

Tuesday, February 27, 2024

OUTER SPACE

Their city should surely be almost nought
Except for harbour shores stolen and bought
For the great and good and their acolytes —
Ornaments to vocations of cutpurse.
They dub it a star of the universe —
Its inner suburbs lucky satellites
Destined to orbits of adoration,
Blessed by blistered tarmac burned by parades
And asphalt alleys and squalid arcades,
Where wealth sneers at the rest of the nation.

Out on the fringes, where livestock trains steamed,
There’s light so fiery it seems it was dreamed
To be doused by summer’s stormy raindrops
Amidst croaking frogs’ joyful jamborees.
Here it is that winter brings frost and freeze
And pallid suns blush foggy blue hilltops.
There are trundling fields and forever yards,
Space for madcap games and children’s follies.
Gardens bloom and shops stock chips and lollies
On streets of strive lined with homes of diehards.

Tuesday, March 28, 2023

UNMELLOW YELLOW

The sky is getting greyer by the day and
In parts, towards the horizon, it is almost glaucous.
Experts on online media lament —
Chiang Mai’s air quality indicators are unhealthy,
Approaching hazardous zones.
But pollution appears to ignore local parks and
Gardens and unkempt vacant lots and,
Now the cool nights of December and January are gone,
It is almost like the instant advent
Of a temperate climate's Spring.
Tips of new growth are evident
On evergreen trees —
A resplendent cinnabar,
Reminiscent of the tops of eucalypts
In my own country.
Frangipanis are beginning to bloom and
The pristine whiteness of the petals
Makes such a stark contrast with the dark green leaves
That one’s eyes almost pass over
The sulphur splashed hearts of the corollas.
Thais refer to frangipanis as leelawadee
A name for resorts and restaurants and cafes.
It means something like
Beautiful in a delicate way.
The golden shower trees —
Thailand’s national flower —
Stand by streets I walk along.
Unmellow yellow petals and
Orpine green foliage
Remind me of Australia’s acacias,
Although, apart from the colours, there are few other parallels and
It is the impression gained at a distance
That brings wattle to my mind.
There are also stringy bushes with starry flowers
Gathering like vivid violet constellations
Layered over pastel replications that cascade
Like movies of mauve waterfalls.
I am told that they are known as Thailand's wisteria
Or, in the local language, as puang kraam,
Picturesquely translated as purple wreath.

Friday, March 24, 2023

STUBBORNLY SUBURBAN

As I walk,
The scenery is stubbornly suburban.
The sublime chedis of timeworn temples and
The ancient walls and
The historic moat of
The old city are almost fifteen kilometres
Away to the south.
Around here,
There are modern two-storey houses —
Some in gated estates — and
Occasional apartment blocks —
Mostly on the main streets.
There are pockets of older housing but
Few structures approach the grandeur of
The majestic teak dwellings that one associates with
Traditional Thai architecture.
It is an area that attracts teachers and
Students of the nearby university.
Like the rest of Mueang Chiang Mai,
Restaurants and bars pop up in regular clumps,
Even in the most unlikely places where
Parking is inadequate and
Almost always claimed first
By greasy motor bikes and
Glossy streamlined scooters.
The scale of these businesses is typically small and
The modest fare varies.
Emerald green advertisements for Chang beer
Outnumber the crimson posters
Singing the praises of Leo and
There is little promotional evidence of
The availability of Singha and Heineken
Despite the presence of their bottles and cans
In glacial glass-fronted refrigerators.
Mini-supermarkets vie for the best positions on
The busiest corners and,
Close to the university,
Bank branches and specialty shops
Line the busy road that eventually runs
North to Tilokarat's town of Phrao.
Some of the minor roads are dangerously narrow and
They wind through sunken paddy fields and
Vacant land that is no longer cultivated and
Probably awaits the arrival of truckloads of migrant labourers and
Thai engineers with their construction machinery.
Footpaths are apparently an extravagance and,
Where they exist,
They suffer from lack of maintenance or
They are blocked by the ever-present motor scooters.
There are also several food markets —
That most Thai of amenities — and
More novel innovations like automated laundrettes and
Cafes with their baseball-capped baristas.
Service stations and
Repair shops abound,
Catering for the scooters, motor bikes and
Cars, of which pick-ups and
Sports utility vehicles predominate,
Most of them made or assembled in Thai factories
Despite their Japanese labels.

Wednesday, March 22, 2023

SLASH AND BURN

It is early March and
The dry season has several weeks left to run and
The fires of slash and burn farmers are still burning and
So the skies above Chiang Mai are stained pearl grey.
Also, the mild weather of December and
January is a distant memory and
The tropical heat is becoming oppressive again even though
The sun seems to struggle to penetrate the hazy air.
Despite the heat and smoke,
When the mercury falls into the low thirties
During the final daylight hour before sunset,
I stick to my (almost) daily routine
Of walking two kilometres or
Sometimes slightly more.
As I walk I can see the blurry sun
Floating like a fat marigold balloon
That is somehow resisting
The gravitational pull of the mountains in the west
While sooty particles in the thick air
Irritate my throat and my nostrils and
The heat makes me sweat
Enough to make me believe
That the exercise is doing me good.

Monday, February 6, 2023

OVER THERE

The last time it happened
I was drinking Swan Lager
Slouched on a modular lounge
In an archaic colonial house
And through the louvres
I could hear the sea breeze
Brushing bougainvillea petals
And nudging sun-curled leaves
On fruit-laden tropical trees
While waves washed the shore
And the passing parade
Of Africans spoke in sounds
That made me afraid
And I felt strange and foreign.
Tonight I sip cheap scotch
And I am horizontal
On an old man’s recliner
In a modern dwelling
Not far from rice paddies
And there are golden shower flowers
Lining the lanes winding
Towards markets and temples
And beyond wide open windows
The neighbours converse
As if in infinite song
Up and down Asia’s tonal scales
While blanched lemongrass
And scorched chillies season the air
Below the smoky crown
Of a still starless hot sky
That masks mountains nearby
And I am an alien and an outsider.