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?

The painting is a self-portrait by Myuran Sukumaran, a convicted drug mule awaiting execution in Indonesia.

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?

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.

Monday, January 5, 2015


Dissolved amongst my tears
Are buckets of ideas,
Trickling across my cancer marks,
Scalding scarred skin with spilling sparks.

But no one sees them glow -
They fail even to show -
Before they vanish into space,
Lost somewhere on my unseen face.