Long Wattles Poems

Strategically placed when raised 
Upwards
By your masterful and well 
Practiced hand.
To mingle with ever changing 
Skylines 
That frown down with arrogant 
Scowls
Upon the indigenous populous of 
This just and tolerant island.
To study and pontificate upon...

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The fading colours in a trembling leaf,
Perhaps a portent of the coming cold,
When the heavy hand of an icy winter
Will press hard upon gully, flat and fold.

The rose’s vicious stems will be laid bare
Making way...

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The weather was just how I liked it
Looking like it would stay dry
The breeze had the sharp tinge of winter
Beneath a low overcast sky

The thick blackthorn hedgerow behind me
Bordered the tangled beech wood
In front was...

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“Arms Full of Linnet Wings”

In the garden 
that afternoon 
she planted seeds
in their ripe minds
their eyes looking
up to hers their 
irises dazzling 
in the late afternoon
sunshine wide open
as if waiting hungrily 
for more food 
she...

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After years of growing native shrubs and putting them in pots,
my backyards full of hakea’s and gums, placed in separate lots,
but some wattles have outgrown their home and really don’t look flash;
I think I’ll have...

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SILVER SPUR'S SECRET 
 
Those roaring days, oh Silver Spur, 
When mining brought your birth; 
Among the hills you came to life, 
Men flocked to seek your worth. 
From far and wide the fam'lies came,...

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When I had to take a special car back to Liverpool
Through the speedily running windows, on the rolling hills
The Yellow Acacia continued to flash before my eyes
Like the joyful lights beating beside the road in...

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SNOWY’S STILL WATERS
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
The rolling hills surround the lake
It’s still-waters glisten in the simmering heat
With nary a wave breaking on the shore
As echos of life now and past resound

The gentle sloping hills reach to...

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A twisting whirly musters
hard baked leaves and bark.
There’s another red sunset,
just before it’s dark.
The wilting wattles weep,
and plea ‘I can’t live on!’
The strong keep fighting drought.
The weak, soon dead and gone.

Wheat fields and their bounty,
wither...

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Serpents slither here. Scorpions hide beneath our bed spreads.
Spiders, bugs, sticks, ants, and centipedes occupy our beds.

We have coasts. But what use of these? They burn with sultry heat.
Pirates sail to our harbours with their...

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What is beauty if I cannot write it
On the pages of my book,
What nature in it’s endless glory
If I can but stand and look?

If fragments of a broken sunset
Glimmer in a purple sky,
And etched against...

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They are in need of me today
of all days
so the table can be set with unbent forks
and their silent
roosters--ye soft wattles play on.
White linen veils
the ancient splintered picnicktop
for small hands
as chipped mallets tick-tock clumsily
between bowed...

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SLEEP AND ARISTOTLE.

How to get a good night's sleep--
Instead of enumerating sheep,
Recline beautifully with Aristotle,
Don't decline, hit that bottle,
What does rhyme with Aristotle?
I ponder passing parades of axolotls,
Maybe Australia's golden wattles,
Driving by, foot on throttle,
Yes,...

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Weebles wobble
   but they do fall down.

Once without windup whimsy weebles wobble writhing in wistful wiggly wattles,
they bubble, bobble, boggle, bottle and boondoggle coddles and dawdles;
a colossal ensemble debacle joggles and toggles the...

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