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Best Poems Written by Kevin Fairbrother

Below are the all-time best Kevin Fairbrother poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Kevin Fairbrother Poem

The Cider Gum

The Cider Gum (Eucalyptus Gunnii)

By 

Kevin L Fairbrother

The full Moon ablaze in the night sky

Beams down on the dead and dying Cider Gums

Their ghostly silhouettes, so white and stark

Now just a reminder of the past

…

The Central Plateau, the High Country of Tasmania

Is or was home to these magnificent trees

Now there bleached skeletons tell the story

That the environment in which they flourished has changed

…

Grazed extensively by native and domestic animals

Used by the aboriginals, settlers and trappers

The Cider Gum leaf, was used to make cider

And the sweet scent used to freshen homes

…

Eucalypts Gunnii (Cider Gum) unique to Tasmania

Once so prevalent and used in a variety of ways

Now standing forlorn, dead and slowly dying

Their limbs and branches bleached white by the sun

…

Many attempts have been made to re-introduce the gums

But the changing environment and pressure from the wildlife

Has meant that the Cider Gum is facing a loosing battle

For the seasons have changed, not enough rainfall and hot summers

And the  snow no longer on the ground for weeks on end

…

Such a unique and magnificent shade tree, stepped in history

Will soon be a distant memory and extinct

Will be left to the old timers to tell about the Cider Gums

For I have doubts that mother nature can revitalize Eucalyptus Gunnii

Details | Kevin Fairbrother Poem

Scarred and Blackened

Scarred and Blackened

In Tasmania’s rugged but scenic South West
Lies an ancient land of pristine wilderness
Protected by a World Heritage Listing
An eco-system a thousand years nesting

A land of Aboriginal spiritual dreamtime
Where rare native flora survives, like Pencil Pine
And fauna abound on the Button Grass plains
With rugged mountain ranges never tamed

Hunter Gatherers burned to reduce the fuel load
The protectors now heading down the wrong road 
By letting the fuel build to immense dimensions
A massive fire just waiting to turn the land ashen

The spirit of storm clouds gathers up high
For the rangers this is pleasing to the eye 
But alas, this building spiral of cloud is dry
Just building thunder heads in the sky

The inner circle of the clouds one big mass
Intermingle, then with violence they clash
Spewing bolts of lightning to the ground
But not a drop of precious rain to be found

A searing bolt of lightning grounds
Amid the drought-stricken pencil pines
An explosion of sparks, then flames
A fire is born the lightening to blame

Spreading quickly with the brisk westerly winds
The fire races through the dry Button grass plains
A massive cloud of smoke drifts east
Alerting the protectors to this massive beast

The call goes out for fire fighters and water bombers
As the black smoke causes concern to near-by loggers
For the fire now a catastrophic inferno
Consuming the wilderness like no tomorrow

The water bombers and man-power useless
Against this cataclysm of wild fire that has unleashed
Thousands of acres of pristine wilderness
Now blackened and scared, a nothingness 

For weeks it burned, some 100,000 acres
Now tamed by remote area fire-fighters
But the scars from the fire yet to discover
A landscape that will take years to recover

Global warming, to blame many think
As this South-West area was always wet
Many years of below average rainfall
Perhaps Mother-Nature having her revenge

Details | Kevin Fairbrother Poem

Respect Mother Nature

RESPECT MOTHER NATURE
By Kevin L Fairbrother
Mother Nature has no boundaries, has no rules
We live within her bosom, for she demands respect
She alone has the power whether you live or die
No one can control her, though some have tried

Mother Nature the mother of this Natural world
A world that we can see, feel, touch and experience every day
Provides us with every- thing we need to live or die
With respect always we must treat her

Unknown where she comes from but she is here to stay
Has been with us from the day the world was born
For if we miss-treat her, prepare for an early grave
For she has the power to create hell on earth, for us all

Forget religion it has no truth, for the gods were not born on that first day
Mother Nature has given us a world where we have evolved to what we are today
For only she has the power that controls the world we live in
And she can undo what ever humans create and say

We all must treat Mother Nature with respect
Think about every-thing you do that may upset her
For Mother Nature created everything her way
To balance the flora and fauna, the atmosphere, the rivers and sea


Created and nurtured all the animals that live to this day
With delicate balance of the planets, the sun and air we breathe
That provides everything we need to live on this earth every day
Respect Mother Nature for otherwise she will make you pay

In death we part the natural world in which we lived
Be we buried or burnt we are still within the bosom of Mother Nature
For composed of carbon we will survive in a different way
So we should thank and respect Mother Nature everyday

Details | Kevin Fairbrother Poem

A Fisherman's Tale

A FISHERMANS TALE
By
Kevin L Fairbrother


Blowering Lake in the Snowy’s is the place to be
To catch a Yellowbelly or Silver Perch
Or if you are lucky a Murry Cod or a trout
They all live beneath the cold waters of the lake

I flog the water with spinning rod and lure
Changing frequently my choice of lure
I try to entice a fish to strike…but no luck
At this rate I would be lucky to catch a cold

Along comes a regular fisherman, introduced himself as Wayne
Having any luck old mate he asks, not me mate I have no luck
No bloody fish here I says to Wayne, He says it’s not luck you need
It’s a worm on a hook and pure skill that will get you a fish

He sets up his rod and baits the hooks with wriggly worms from his garden
He casts the line out into the lake and proceeds to make a cup of tea
No sooner had he poured the tea when he had a strike, he set the hook
I’ve got a nice fish on you grab the net be ready to catch him


You lucky old bugger I says to Wayne, no luck involved just pure skill
A 2kg Yellowbelly as fat as mud he will go down well for tea
Not to be outdone I changed my lure and cast it into the lake
On my third cast I spotted the dark shape of a fish following

A strike I yelled as I set the hook and the fish- well he took off
I played him out till he started to tire, fetch the net old mate
This fish is a whopper; I played him out till he went belly up
Wayne rushed over and gently placed the net under the fish

Wow what a fish Wayne said the bugger is twice as big as mine
You were bloody lucky- I reckon I brought you good luck say’s Wayne
No bloody luck involved I say’s to Wayne, old mate
It’s just my good looks and pure skill

Details | Kevin Fairbrother Poem

Making Hay

Making Hay 

by

Kevin Fairbrother

…

Gradually winter fades, spring has begun

The ground will warm up, the grass will grow

The winter rains, the spring sunshine, now for summer

This will make the grass grow and grow

…

The hot days with storms and rain

The grass is getting longer every day

Time to prepare the mower and hay rake

And make sure the baler is in ship shape

…

Plenty of grease in all moving places

The knives sharpened, bolts replaced

Machinery is ready for the harvest

Come December and hot dry weather

…

The disc mower attached to the tractor

Whirs into action to mow down the grass

Cutting the grass close to the ground, lays it flat

In the 10 acre paddock on the river flat

…

The paddock all cut in neat flat rows

Will need lots of sunshine to dry it out

A couple of warm hot days be ready to turn

Once turned another day be ready to bale

…

The baler hooked up begins to thump

As the pick-up feeds in the dry grass

The needle whirs and threads the string

The first bale rolls off the machine

…

Hour after hour the baler spits out bales

Soon the paddock is filled with square bales

The men move in with the flat tray truck

Load the bales with sweat and strength

…

The bales carted and under cover

The hay making machines now quite

The men gather around for a beer and a feed

The hay making done for another year

Details | Kevin Fairbrother Poem

Angels of Mercy

Angles of Mercy
By
Kevin L Fairbrother

There is not to many of us that can say that the owe their existence on this earth to a Native in a Foreign country, in my case I can say that without the help of the Fuzzy Wuzzy  Angels of New Guinea, I would not be here to write this 
 

My Father served with the Australian Imperial Forces in the Middle East, New Guinea and Borneo, a sapper in the engineers his service with the AIF overseas was over a period of 4 years.
The time my father served in New Guinea fighting against the invading Japanese has great consequences for me as I was conceived not long after his return to Australia and back home to Tasmania.
My father along with thousands of diggers who served in New Guinea, suffered not only from the Japanese forces but from internal diseases that were rife at the time, the mosquito spread Malaria and Gengy fever and the climate of New Guinea and poor sanitation spread Dysentery throughout the camps.
A big push by Japanese forces pushed the diggers back into the hills and forests and as the numbers of sick and wounded were growing at a very fast rate, the Generals decided that they had to find a way to get the sick and injured back to Port Moresby. 

The only way down from the steep mountainess jungle was via an old supply trail used by the natives to sell their wares at Port Moresby, It became known as the Kokoda track and to this day many thousands of people trek this notorious track to relive the past and to familiar themselves with the torturous and dangerous trail of misery and death and to pay homage to the Fuzzy Wuzzy angels act of sheer strength and perseverance to carry and support the many sick and injured, the dead and dying to a place of safety at Port Moresby.

 Even as the column of misery descended down the track the Aussie diggers were fighting the Japs in a rear guard action, this hard fought battle turned the tide for the Japs were beaten back and even though many diggers were killed and injured it was a turning point in the war against the Japanese invaders.
Thousands of diggers reached the safety of Port Moresby and so many owe their lives to the Fuzzy Wuzzy angles, many were shipped home, and others recovered from sickness to fight the Japanese in Borneo. My father was one of these men who helped beat back the Japanese army and have an influence in the Japanese surrender.

I salute the courage and tenacity of the Fuzzy Wuzzy angels and thank them for bringing my father to safety and eventually home. Like many diggers of World War 2 they kept their feelings and stories of war to themselves, my Father never said much about his service in the war and what little I know has been told by others. 
I also salute the courage and fortitude of our diggers who kept Australia safe from invasion from the Japanese. 
My Father, (rest his soul in peace) went on to have a productive working life, rearing 9 children, 6 were born after the war including me and 6 of us still survive today. The six of us born after my father returned from the war owe the native Fuzzy Wuzzy of New Guinea a big thanks for without their courage’s deed of mercy we would not be here. 







ANGELS OF MERCY
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
Who were these men of such courage and fortitude?
Whose hair curled and matted reached for the sky
Well, muscled and full of resolve to complete the mission
To get the sick and injured Aussie Diggers home to safety

Never thinking about their own well-being or safety
The Fuzzy Wuzzy angles as they became known
Carried and supported the Diggers down the mountain
Never flinching nor feeling that they would fail the mission

Endless rain, a sea of mud, so steep hard to stand up
Raging rivers, swollen streams, impenetrable jungle
Constant darkness from the thick forest canopy
The Fuzzy Wuzzy persevered with strength and courage

On stretches, on their backs using their bodies as support
These angels carried an endless tide of sick and injured
Down the notorious Kokoda track of misery and death
Contemplating to never give up on their mission of mercy

With Japanese mortars and bullets befalling the column
As the Diggers fought a rear guard action to stem the Japs
The Fuzzy Wuzzy continued their mission down the mountain
For their job was to get as many Diggers as possible to safety

Eventually they reached the safety of Port Moresby
Largely due to the push by the Diggers to push back the Japs
The Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels were given a hero’s welcome
And to this day a revered and honored for their mission of mercy

Details | Kevin Fairbrother Poem

Big Potato For Limerick Contest

Big Potato..for limerick contest
By
Kevin L Fairbrother

Old Joe the potato grower
Was beside himself in sorrow
For down at his boots
Was a hole so darn deep
His potato’s now resided in China

Details | Kevin Fairbrother Poem

A Place We Call Home

A place we call Home 

By 

Kevin L Fairbrother 

The cold westerly winds rolls down the hills and across the plains 
The frost on the ground as thick as a man’s hand 
The air drawn in chills the body to the bone 
This is the Central Plateau, the place we call home 

… 

Living here you need to be strong and resilient 
Prepared to take what- ever Mother Nature brings 
Wake to a snow blanket or biting winds and freezing rain 
Or just maybe experience a hot sunny day 

… 

Life is hard for the high country people 
Work to be done what-ever the weather 
Wood to cut to keep the home fires burning 
Feeding out or mustering or maybe a hunt 
Keeps meat on the table and the dogs with a full gut 

… 

We choose to live and work in the high country 
For the place is special, gives us a natural high 
No place for the hustle and bustle of towns and cities 
This place so peaceful, serine and quite 

… 

A visit to the high country an experience you will never forget 
The extremes of weather, the rolling plains and the craggy mountains 
The glistening waters of the streams, the rivers and lakes 
The majestic Cider Gum, the snow gums and mountain heath 

… 

For the Central Plateau is like nowhere else on earth 
For the dream time of old, the pristine wilderness 
The night sky glistening and sparkling so very close 
I love the high country, the place I call home

Details | Kevin Fairbrother Poem

Upon the Shelf

Upon the Shelf
by
Kevin L Fairbrother


I spied it sitting on the shelf
A pretty shape and so smooth
It set my pulses racing
And my eyes bulged in my head
…

I picked it up with gentle touch
And caressed the smooth skin
My fingers explored the bottom
Then ran up to the head
…

I put my face against the skin
Was bowled over by the aroma
So I kissed it on the head
Then bit it on the shoulder
…

The juices flowed I sucked them up
And peeled the skin from the flesh
Caressed the body so round and smooth
Which made more juices flow
…

The flesh so sweet.. oh so sweet
I was drunk with ecstasy
All gone now.. just lingering sweet taste
Which makes me want to
Pick another Orange off the shelf

Inspired just now whilst eating an orange

Details | Kevin Fairbrother Poem

A Gummy Fisherman

A GUMMY FISHERMAN
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
The sheltered bay disguised what was to come
Around the headland we hit it head on
Four to five meter waves and breaking on top
And a wind that was building making lots of spray

A man takes many risks for a crayfish on his plate
For the pots needed to be pulled from the deep reef
Then baited with a fresh lot of stinking fish bait
Hoping to lure the wily crayfish into the pot

With the sea boiling the boat cut through the waves
Sending water and spray every which way
The fisherman holding on to keep their feet on deck
As the motors strain to keep a forward motion

The fishermen search for the buoys in the white water
As the rolling sea tosses them about like a cork in a bottle
The buoys know sighted make ready to haul the pots up
Hoping that they contain a few crayfish for their effort

There is no color in the first three pots, they are baited
Then tossed back into the rough and deep water
The last pot pulled and on the deck contains one small cray
Not a keeper, what a bummer, throw him back to grow bigger

With head down low kneeling on the deck
The rotten bait smells so ghastly get up my nose
Dry reaching, pale and feeling quite sick
I heave it up and let it flow over the side

Boy oh boy did I let the sickness flow
Breakfast, dinner and tea all in one go
I heaved it up my false teeth went with it
Over the side and into the boiling sea

Feeling miserable and quite ill, we headed back
To the bay and much calmer water
I thought about my teeth now in the water
Maybe a Gummy shark ate them up?

So now I fish the bay with a toothless mouth
And I target the Gummy Shark, hoping in vain
That one day whilst fishing, I will be lucky 
And catch the Gummy that has a toothy smile