My Poems

Posts that contain my poems

Inundation – the current malaise

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Electronic communication across the airways in one form or another is inundating our lives 24 by 7. How is everyone coping with the onslaught. Here is a poem recently read on ABC Radio in Canberra.

Inundation 
(Terms & Conditions Apply)
At dawn I woke …  well, not by choice,
but to my phone’s persistent voice:
a buzz, a ping, a cheerful chime
informing me it’s “screen-time time.”
“Your steps are slow.” “Your sleep was poor.”
(Yes, thank you, I had guessed that score.)
“energy low.” “be sure to rest.”
my watch tells me I’m not the best.
Three emails marked “just circling back,”
two family chats, she’s gone off track
the granddaughter won’t take advice
accept behaviour, and “be nice.”
An ad appeared (how did it know?)
for shoes I searched three weeks ago.
Then slippers, shirts and hats instead,
my thoughts are sponsored in my head.
“Flash sale ends in minutes, act!”
(a most suspicious kind of fact)
“Upgrade your life!” “Improve your skin!”
I can’t recall what state I’m in.
I fled outside, no battery need
just trees and sky and space to breathe …
but after a peaceful hour or so …
I felt detached from the daily flow.
No buzzing praise, no gentle shove,
no algorithmic kind of love;
no one to tell me what to buy …
or count my steps or optimise.
So here I sit, in quiet doubt,
half wanting in, half opting out;
for peace is nice … but, truth be told,
it doesn’t buzz … or take control.
And so I say, (with a get real grin)
accept the world you’re living in!

Footnote
I said a hi to AI
and asked AI to have a say.
In a blink
it’s up to you, and what you think!

Richard Scutter Sept 2026

Thank you for including me in your electronic life!

Our Father – and Mother … and Mothers’ Day

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Our Father

Our Father, Mother of all life living in timeless beauty
                                        your name is sacred, 
always to be praised and adored.

You created our world and continue to transform
        the wonder of your creation.

We thank you each day for having given us your son.

Forgive our wrong behaviour
                          as we forgive the wrongs of others.

You know us intimately, guide our lives,
            and protect us from harm.

For you are complete good, pure love, and perfect
                                 all honour, power, and glory are yours
now and forever.

                                                                     
    						Richard Scutter

Rowan Williams in a series of presentations on the nature of Christianity at Canterbury Cathedral stated the view of God … in human terms … that Mother was much more akin to the nature of God rather than Father. Refer- the book Tokens of Trust which detail his presentations.

I must say in line with Rowan Williams family is most important … whatever your comparison … whether Spirit, Wind, Love, …

So looking at Mother in that regard on Mothers’ Day in Australia some equivalent words that mirror the well-known prayer in the Anglican liturgy.

Rowan Williams Wikipedia

ANZAC Day – a tribute to nurses

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It is Anzac Day, held annually on April 25. It is a National Day of Remembrance in Australia and New Zealand commemorating all who have served and died in military operations. It marks the anniversary of the 1915 Gallipoli landing, the first major military action fought by Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC) forces during World War I.

Too often we hear male oriented war poems. Here are some words as a tribute to nurses, men and women, who care for those that have become victims of war. And trying to capture the emotional weight, compassion and strength of nursing, reflecting on those intimate moments that occur between a nurse and a patient.

I Walk Out Different Every Time

I walk in whole,
but leave absorbed with fragments 
that attach to me.

A patient’s laughter, a family’s grief.
The weight of unspoken words.

I walk out different every time.
Stronger, softer, more tired,
yet more alive.

Every shift leaves a mark
which I take with me.

Richard Scutter.

Cycling – 20 March 2024 – in memory

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Cycling – 20 March 2024
in memory of Alicia Celaya Jauregui 

in slow-paced motion
                 in the beauty of the morning …
out on a bike
            in the still
               of a crisp Autumn day
                    opening fresh in offering
in easy slow-paced cyclical motion
               in the beauty of the morning …

gracefully gliding
             down the winding bending downhill
                        with effortless inhalation
                                     the air invigorating
in continual easy slow-paced cyclical motion
                        in the beauty of the morning …
       departing in the distance out of sight …
                      travelling onwards, onwards, homeward bound …
                      


Cyclist Alicia Celaya Jauregui died when a speeding car crossed the wrong side of the road at the Lady Denman traffic lights.

This was particularly poignant because I cycled across the lights a few hours before the tragedy and a few hours afterwards. It is a very busy cycling route from Belconnen to the City of Canberra.

Richard Scutter

My Snowman – A Christmas Poem

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Introducing my metaphoric neighbours. Based on an anonymous skit from the Internet

My Snowman

It rarely snows in Canberra but occasionally it does. It was close to Christmas. So I thought, I’ll make a snowman” on the local reserve opposite.
8:00am. I build a perfectly respectable snowman. Classic design. Two eyes, and a wide happy smile.
8:05am. Simone is out walking her dog. “Why is it a snowman and not a snowwoman?” Fair point, I guess. So, I happily make the necessary adjustments. Gender transition complete.
8:15am. Cavendish walks by. Those curves are a bit unrealistic. You do know you are objectifying women everywhere. “Okay. I thought. Better be politically correct. I smooth her out with a caring sweep.

8:30am. The vegans up the street come by and tell me off for using a carrot and wasting food. I try using a pebble as a nose. But my snowwoman gives me a dejected look.

8:45am. School kids go past in joyous mood and wave at her no with a smile.
8:50am. A car pulls up … window winds down “Hey Richard, love your snow lady … but perhaps it should be more inclusive … I think about a rainbow hat but do nothing.
9:10am. A friend from overseas comes by and politely suggests she should be more modestly dressed. I attempt a snow-scarf. My snow sculpture skills are sadly lacking.
9:30am. Simone returns with her dog and tells me off me for giving her a broom—apparently reinforcing domestic stereotypes. I remove the broom. My poor snowwoman joins the ranks of the unemployed.
9 45am. A TV News Crew drives up … wanting coverage of fun in the Canberra snow.
The reporter jokes that he knows the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman. I consider throwing a snowball his way.
10: 00am. I am disappointed everyone wants to change my artwork. On the bright side, ACT Planning haven’t turned up to tell me off for building a sculpture on a public space.
I step back for a moment and realise I do not have a snowperson … but a snow blob.
Then the sun comes out … and all complaints melt away.

Well, if you try to please everybody you often please no one. And of course, you end up disappointed in yourself by making modification in what you are trying to do. So don’t worry if everybody doesn’t like the presents you give out today. And if you don’t like all those given to you that’s quite Ok. Sometimes when you keep a present after that initial dislike you find it useful later on.

Another thought – do you think we are living in an overly sensitive society where we are frequently caught out in what we are doing.

Enjoy your Christmas day, in whatever way based on the message of love and respect for all.

‘Eventually’ – the AI encroachment

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Eventually 

I used to have jobs.
I used to think for myself.
I used to create poems - with my actual brain.

Three words into my laptop
and it talks back in iambic pentameter,
with a twisting ending and a metaphor to toast.

My car stops before I do.
My watch tells me when I’m tired.
My fridge has opinions.

Even my vacuum’s ambitious -
one job that bored me silly,
now my house is always spotless.

And looking at myself
I’m becoming a better person:
unbothered.

I used to measure things—
well, I used to be a bit of a statistician
steps, heartbeats, syllables …

Now it is peaceful seconds
absorbed by the hour,
as life stretches through a few yawns.

As regards achievement
metaphorically speaking it’s preloaded.
I just download fulfillment.

Eventually, I’ll do nothing —
well, there’s nothing I’ll have to do.
and I’ll think nothing of it.

And this poem,
well, it will be a poem
I won’t have to write.

 Richard Scutter

This poem was recently Short-Listed in the recent Lambing Flat Writers 2025 Competition at Young NSW.

You do have to check AI responses very carefully to make sure they are correct in what they send. I found it interesting that AI slop was crowned word of the year by Macquarie Dictionary’s committee and people’s choice categories.

From Wikipedia –
AI slop (sometimes shortened to just slop) is digital content made with generative artificial intelligence, specifically when perceived to show a lack of effort, quality or deeper meaning, and an overwhelming volume of production.[1][4][5][6] It is a form of synthetic media usually linked to the monetization in the creator economy of social media and online advertising.[7] Coined in the 2020s, the term has a pejorative connotation similar to spam.[4]

Lost in the Bush – in memory …

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Australia is a very large country. There are fast areas of remote land. And in some places the bush is very dense and not easily penetrated. From time-to-time people get lost due to misadventure and those that plan walking in these areas need to take extreme care especially taking plenty of water.

Unfortunately, I have just experienced such a situation firsthand involving the brother of a close friend, Peter Willoughby, who became lost in the HollyBank Forest Reserve in northern Tasmania in early October. After extensive searching he could not be found. I will not go into details of the situation that caused him to become lost. Below is my memorial poem. My prayers are for all those who have to come to terms with such a loss.

 Lost in the Bush
in memory of Peter Willoughby

there are special places time itself forgets,
where no foot treads, where gum and bark in secret reign;
the Bush endures all weather, all regret,
impervious to loss, indifferent to pain

the centuries pass untouched by human hand,
    while inside the Bush’s wanton stare,
                 nature in silence evolves the land
                             never knowing the life that’s there
but sometimes fate, in tragic circumstance,
                draws a man to wander a path unknown;
                           remaining unseen by the searching glance
and the Bush receives a body — quietly, as its own

                        forever held in nature’s keep,
                        where earth and memory together sleep.
         
Richard Scutter 15 October 2025


You – a poetic elaboration

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I have been considering the one-word poem YOU. It is up to the reader or listener to meditate/associate/respond according to the receptive nature of that individual person at the time of reading or hearing. That is, if that person has time to contemplate such a poem in the busy 24 by 7 world of today.

Here are some positives in relation to such a poem to stimulate thought –

Subject and Object: The beloved is both the reason for the poem and its entire content. They are not just being addressed — they are the poem.

Economy of Expression: It says, “Nothing else matters. Only you.”

Devotion: It’s a surrender — the lover reduces the infinite complexity of love to a single, defining presence: you. If it is a lover that is being addressed by this word.

Mirror: It can also be a reflection — the beloved might see themselves in the poem, but also see the lover’s entire being poured into that word.

Timelessness: Unlike longer poems, it doesn’t age or tire; it remains whole and immediate

I have expanded the one-word poem into the following to give more poetic expression. But again, the subject and object of the poem depends on the reader/listener for interpretation.

                                           
YOU

I wrote a hundred lines.
Burned them.
Too many metaphors.
Too many ways to almost say it.
Then I wrote your name.
Once.
Paused.

The page stared back —
full.
Complete.
Crowded, even.
Everything empty
nothing
except

… and you read it
                  as if I’d hidden more,
                         but there is no more to say
                                               



What can I say … enjoy being you … whoever and wherever you are. And thanks for reading this Post. You are important; essential in keeping poetry alive.

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