OLD AND POOR

Nobody cares what I think any more,

And I can no longer finance truth’s price,

For I am old and what’s more I am poor.

Today it’s only lies we don’t deplore.

Statistics come from throws of loaded dice.

But no one cares what I think any more.

Politicians spin and distort the score,

Mocking the likes of me with false advice,

For I am old and what’s more I am poor.

Media peddlers parade virtues galore.

Unlike me, they never deign to think twice,

But no one cares what I think any more.

Old friends, secure on a protected shore,

Shun me and see my doubts as imprecise,

For I am old and what’s more I am poor.

Youths cite evidence as if it was law.

Theories become certainties in a trice.

But no one cares what I think any more,

For I am old and what’s more I am poor.

SOME BAD NEWS FROM DAVID MORISSET

Hitherto, some of my books have been available for purchase as ebooks via a range of online book stores through the Draft2Digital publishing platform.  As of today, those books will no longer be listed for sale using the Draft2Digital facility.

However, please note that most of my books are still available for purchase through Amazon (paperbacks) and Kindle (ebooks).

The books no longer available through Draft2Digital affiliates were originally published via Smashwords.  Draft2Digital acquired Smashwords and started charging writers a maintenance fee to keep their publishing accounts open.  This new fee must be paid on top of the significant share of sales revenue that automatically accrues to Draft2Digital.  I cannot afford to pay the maintenance fee and, accordingly, I have rendered my Draft2Digital account non-active.  This is a blow and it has come at a difficult time.

VICTIMS

Today the air was flawless and the rain held off,

So I could see the mountains and the monsoon sky,

And the humidity made me sweat as I walked

And my old bones creaked and my mouth was dry.

So I remembered some other mountains of my life —

Those snow-capped peaks and razor sharp ridges,

And the cold air that cut through me like a knife

When I was primed to revolt and burn my bridges.

I am sitting in a kitchen and it is winter outside,

Snow is falling and it slaps against the window

Before it slides into nothing and no more,

And a song is playing on a transistor radio.

The singer is in love and he wants his love to know

How love might be if they are ever free to be alone;

And so I long for you and I yearn to be where you are

On the other side of a city that I have scarcely known.

That was fifty years ago and you are gone, long dead.

You were a victim of the demons who reign even now,

And I was a victim of you and the spell you cast on me

And yet the fault was all mine and I broke my vow.

EVERY PURPOSE

David Morisset's novel — Every Purpose — is available for purchase as an eBook or as a paperback at Kindle and Amazon.  The back cover blurb reads as follows:

Many people believe that humanity’s very existence is an outcome of chance and, yet, ancient wisdom literature insists that our lives have meaning and there is a time for every purpose. David Morisset’s novel tells the life story of Duncan Gashford, an Australian baby boomer. The narrative mimics some of the characteristics of a biography but it adopts as its chapter sequence the times of a famous passage in the book of Ecclesiastes — birth, death, love, hate, war, peace, laughter, weeping, and the rest. Duncan is transformed by the cumulative impacts of his times and by his reactions to people and events. His metamorphosis sees a hard-working family man become someone else entirely.

ETERNITY

I’m going back

To a place I’ve never been

In the countryside

Where the trees are evergreen.

I won’t live there

But it’s where I’ll always be,

Watching sunsets

And hearing the sounds of the sea.

It doesn’t know me,

Yet it sees my real worth.

There is nothing there,

Just a moment of rebirth.

THE SONG OF THE MAGPIES

Today I heard the song of the magpies

And the sun flared like brilliant firelight.

The sky was as blue as fair maidens’ eyes.

A zephyr, delicate like butterflies,

Kissed my face and fled like a cheeky sprite.

Today I heard the song of the magpies.

The grass was as green as gods might devise

And recently mowed to a sporting height.

The sky was as blue as fair maidens’ eyes.

Shops on the hill stocked tourists’ merchandise

And youngsters sipped sweetened coffee on site.

Today I heard the song of the magpies.

Cars jostled and beeped — compact and kingsize —

Silver metal shone like an armoured knight.

The sky was as blue as fair maidens’ eyes.

The birds warbled with piping and faint cries,

Their plumage was stark — tailored black and white.

Today I heard the song of the magpies.

The sky was as blue as fair maidens’ eyes.

ODYSSEUS

I am a man not allowed to be proud

And I am sure I do not want to be;

I am at my ease apart from the crowd

And at rest in private humility.

There is much that I do not understand

Because I am from a now vanished time.

I was not made for this enlightened land

Where hypocrisy is the perfect crime.

I hear only the loudest vile voices

And their chants say that I am always wrong

In my convictions and in my choices,

Though they shout verses of a Siren’s song.

Like Ithaca’s king when tied to the mast,

I will surmount what tempts my naked ears

And I will stay who I am to the last

Of what remains of my precarious years.