OUT NOW

A revised edition of 'Butchers Parade' is now available at Amazon and CreateSpace.  An ebook version can be purchased through Smashwords.

This edition of includes some new material and minor corrections. Like the original version it adopts a perspective sometimes described as nostalgic realism. It unfolds like a series of black and white photographs depicting a patchwork past.

Set in the third quarter of the twentieth century, most of the stories of 'Butchers Parade' take place in Redgate, a meatworks town in Australia's southeast. The narratives are united by the presence of Horrie, a young meatworker, who spends his spare time playing rugby league and drinking at the local pub. Horrie is conscripted to fight in Vietnam and, when he returns to Redgate, he struggles with to shake off his distorted memories of war and finds himself caught up in a romance that seems hopeless.

The only way to find out why Australian commercial publishers don't want you to read 'Butchers Parade' is to buy it and read it.

The Amazon sales listing can be found here.

The CreateSpace sales listing can be found here.

The Smashwords sales listing can be found here.

COMING SOON

The latest collection of new poems by David Morisset is in the final stages of production with an independent publisher.
Commercial publishers do not regard poetry as worthy of their commitment.

The picture shows a mock-up of the cover design ... more details soon.

DEATH

Why do we welcome the onset of sleep

And yet recoil from the repose of death?

What is there in nightmares we covet

More than the balm of our last breath?

The times of day I always most enjoy

Are when I wander lost and aimless

Through the shorebreak’s foamy washes

And encounter only life’s nameless.

Is that not what demise should be -

Anonymous and free from expectation?

So surely it comes as just amends,

To salve our wounds and curb vexation.

เพื่อนเจ้าสาว

ในขณะที่เครื่องแต่งกายประเพณีทำให้คุณยอดเยี่ยมที่,
ตาของฉันเต็มไปด้วยความสถานที่ท่องเที่ยวของแปลกใจ.
น้ำตาในรูปแบบเช่นเดียวกับตาของความกลัวและความต้องการทางเพศร่วมกัน.
ผมกระซิบอย่าให้ผู้ใดโยนออกจากกัน.
ฉันต้องการที่จะลิ้มรสริมฝีปากของของความร้อนแดงเข้ม
และทำให้แก้มของฉันกับใบหน้าที่สวยงามของคุณ.
ในใจของฉันฉันจุบคอของคุณต้นคอคอและททรวงอก
ดังนั้นคุณอาจเชิญให้ฉันไปใช้พื้นที่ร่วมของคุณ.
เข้าด้วยกันและเราจะแน่นจะกลายเป็นหนึ่ง
ต้นกำเนิดของความหลากหลายและสีที่แตกต่างของเรา.
สวรรค์จะส่งครูผู้สอนในและเส้นบอกแนวของเรา,
มือของเราร่วมกันเป็นที่เราเข้าใจความลึกลับ.
สำหรับตอนนี้ฉันขอขอบคุณคุณในชุดเพื่อนเจ้าสาวของคุณ
และรอจนกว่าเราจะแบ่งปันความรักกุหลาบแดงของเรา.

BRIDESMAID

And as tradition’s costume makes you grand,

My eyes are filled with grit of wild wonder.

Tears form like buds of awe and lust combined.

I whisper let no man cast asunder.

I want to taste those lips of crimson heat

And put my cheek against your stunning face.

Then kiss your throat and ears and nape and breasts

So you might invite me to share your space.

Tumbled and tight we’ll make a two-backed beast

Of hues diverse and soft tones of history.

Heaven will send our teachers and our guides,

Your hands in mine as we conceive mystery.

For now I’ll just admire your maiden’s pose

And wait ‘til we share our love’s blood red rose.

TOURNIQUET

Sometimes I think of those times

Before my old body dried up

And I was still drenched with you.

I know back then I was wounded,

And most likely insane,

In the old sense of dreaded sickness.

My madness manifested itself

In abandon and scorn for hope.

That world seems distant now

Until I hear bats out of hell

And electricity lightly orchestrated.

Then I cringed at the deer hunter,

As the bloody pistols cracked,

And cricket became colourful.

The football was still tougher

Than drinkers at dance venues.

There was seldom a knockback

But there were certainly some –

Always the lovers I really wanted

To stitch up the gash you fashioned.

I wrote you that long languid letter -

Pleading appeals you never answered.

And so I kept on bleeding,

Even today I wear a tourniquet.

MERCY

What brings you to this loathsome place

Where black dogs bark and guilt abounds?

Weren’t you once led by skill and drive

In topmost surrounds?

I came here for my redemption

Yet I was miserably misled.

There’s no forgiveness for mistakes,

So my soul is dead.

The victims call for execution

Of we who bled losses unseen.

They howl for gore and restitution.

Why should I be mean?

But surely there’s much more to life

Than dwelling on an unjust past?

You’ve tales to tell and verse to craft -

Lines of hope to cast.

But don’t you know the pain and shame?

Only I see doubt in every face.

Even though I know tedious truths

I see no earned grace.

And few seek works from my weak heart,

Most think they reek of pose and mime.

And the sages of our dazzling age

Reject me every time.

Then there’s no hope my wan lost friend.

I will weep to see your body sleep.

Your ashes I’ll give to kinder hands -

To feed the oceans deep.