Friday, December 16, 2016


There's something deep in mankind's memory
Of life in the earliest phase of time
That makes the sound of raindrops on the roof
Lull us to the sweetest sleep paradigm.

At times I wake broken
By words never spoken,
Gestures that were token,
And wish I'd not woken.
I sleep through deepest dreams
Of escape, or so it seems,
For I'm captive to schemes
Of torment at extremes.
More than ever before
I walk lost on this shore,
Only certain of 'your',
Never 'my' any more.
Somewhere I lost the plot,
Perhaps I just forgot,
Crazed by the question 'what?',
Robbed of all, but not a lot.

What is it that mythology recalls?
Why are there monsters in folklores?
Were the firstborn of humanity
Food for freaks or dinosaurs?
But now we are devoured,
In glorious postmodernity,
By the lies our minds devise
In our blindness to eternity.

Sunday, November 27, 2016


“Once he reached for something golden, hanging from a tree,  and his hand came down empty.”  (Carole King, ‘Tapestry’)

This is the way it ends for the broken kind,
Missing in a maze of trimmed hedge cul-de-sacs,
A victim of a simplified minefield that is my mincemeat mind,
With the colours of my culture multiplied and maximised -
White on white but never quite optimised -
Every melanoma scar scaped like scabs on my scared skin,
But pristine compared to the wounds of the suicide within.

The Africans called me a Cambridge wash-up;
But I'd never ever been up there marching to the mighty drums;
The Asians said I looked like an old footballer,
A rugby type, thick-necked from too many scrums,
Yet striving to be amongst the thinkers,
While the locals saw me as one who belonged with the drinkers -
Soon to become a rejected son of Australia.
And so I steered the years of quest and failure,
'Til my hand came down empty, though I’d climbed the trees
To reach for the branch where the fleece fizzled in the breeze.

Now I'm just an ageing face in the audience,
Eyes bloodshot red and yellow with jaundice,
Straining to see beyond my reading spectacles, 
Each lens reflecting the specious spectacular,
Restricted to thoughts riddled with speculation,
A wasted brain that somehow became
A mere receptacle for others' brilliant exceptionals.

Saturday, November 12, 2016


David Morisset's new novel is now available at Amazon, CreateSpace, Smashwords and iBooks.

'The New Settlement' is a dystopian fantasy set in a fictional Middle Eastern theocracy during the last years of the twenty-first century. Seven decades have gone by since a nuclear war turned parts of Shemesh's homeland into radioactive netherworlds. The narrative highlights humanity's defencelessness against religious extremism, corrupt governments, and the murderous overreach of state-sponsored brutality. Amid the toxic shambles there is a longing for the better days of a possibly imaginary past usually referred to as the times of kings and queens.

The book (including the Kindle version) can be purchased at Amazon here and at Smashwords here.  For the iBooks version please use the iBooks app to search for books my David Morisset.  The CreateSpace edition is available here.  Details for other distributors will be available soon.

Thursday, November 10, 2016


I've never been scared
By shade at sunset
But shadows
Other than my silhouette
Can haunt me
Almost to the point of death
With their tailgater's grin
And heavy breath
And the black dog
They insist on walking
As I seek peace
Away from fools talking
To lenses panning
Like madmen stalking
A sad victim
Of chance and circumstance
Not yet invisible in time's expanse
Against blank backgrounds
All set well aglow
With a few faces nodding and gawking
Telling me lies
That I already know.