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My poetry is in responce to actual events and/or personal experiences.


Sometimes they are humourous but often they relate to a political, ecological or humanitarian situation, or in this case I like the sense of timing between a  national  bowl cancer initiative  and the fedral elections.    

Poetry is another significant voice in my toolbox. 




Ordure to Canberra

A parcel was posted to me

A request for a sample from my bowels 

An unusual invitation to all men over 50

To participate in this

Extraordinary study on 

Jobs and Growth 


Bowel cancer research

In the middle of an election

My contribution a number two job

A small amount of Labor ensuing

My liberal bequest of excrement

Searching for an odious growth


I am grateful for their dalliance 

I am grateful for a negative result 

My Job was favorable in my labor 

And no growth was detected 

In my liberal five foot bowel

My ordure keeps me gifted 


There’s nothing more satisfying

Than sending shit to Canberra


On Election Day

At our town hall

A young, attractive blond woman

Hands a card to me

An invitation of sorts, I take it

“Sex party” she says with an alluring melodic voice

Delighted I said; but I will have to check my diary


© John Mutsaers




I was devastated by the results of our 14/10/2023 referendum and wrote this poem the next morning.

Rejection day

The sloganeer

The puppeteer

The mongers of fear.

The statement from the heart

A kind offer for a brand-new start

Discarded and viciously torn apart

We’re not racist, says the sloganeer 

Confirmed by the nodding puppeteer

Offering their hampers of lies and fear

Slogans composed in vile manipulations and trumped

Brutal foes with fists on their heartless chests thumped

Our optimistic open hands were unfairly gazumped

Clichés rehearsed in the septic  galleries of politics

Elders past and present locked in sacks of nasty tricks

Treachery succeeded when the booths shut at six

Australia made their choice, then went to bed

The puppet master rests her Papier-mâché head

Satisfied, they waited for the fear to spread

On the verge of tears,

John Mutsaers


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