Live Encounters Poetry & Writing Volume Three Nov-Dec 2026.
Springtime Sparrows, poems by Diane Fahey.
Springtime Sparrows
I hear, I spy, their spring energy at work –
in giddy aerial roves, in sprightly
mass picnics on lawns above the sea.
My blue-flowered tree hosts parties,
upbeat and sparky – once inside
they mix it up, dance/fly, twitter like mad.
Meanwhile, on budding boughs nearby,
two or three may alight, perch close
quiescently, free to stay or leave.
A mother culls seeds from my lawn,
her two newbies – more companions now
than chicks – a few steps away,
each delivery planted into a calmly
opened beak. They stand or follow,
silent under the waiting sky.
Later, a scene on a roof, played out
in seconds: three acts of congress,
ritually paced. He vanishes, she stays.
As if I were some kind of tree,
a young sparrow hops to my feet,
turns aside to worry at a dead beetle.
Already, its plumage of brown, buff, grey
is neatly plumped, primed for camouflage,
a miraculous costume for life.
And, endlessly, there’ll be songs and calls
that diamond-cut the air, invite, connect,
flit to the beyond and back in a heartbeat.
Magnolia Grandiflora, White Butterflies
At the Geelong Botanic Gardens
Not one of the giants
but tall, very,
with flowers up to its crown.
Some are full and whole,
some still aspirant,
some tinged with decay.
Many thrive and surrender
at the same time, petals
too widely parted
while yet luscious and glorious
in their creamy white
strength and candour.
The buds, flawless in outline,
plumped, enigmatic,
are their own art form,
leaning out from brown-backed
leaves glossed silken-silver
by this day’s sunlight.
Meanwhile, on errant quests
troupes and duets
of cabbage whites
travel at grass or flower bed
level, at human eye level,
some few ascended into
clearer air – allowing,
if they so wished,
a fluttering overview:
this oasis of storeyed
burgeoning, set with ruled
pathways, bowered crescents.
It’s almost summer, but
rain, so much rain,
has softly fallen –
perfect for the larkspurs, peonies,
and for these magnolia blooms
refreshing, congenial.
Each day, its own season.
One rapturous floral stand
is starting to have second thoughts
but these gardens, true to origins,
ever re-created, remain
an enfolding invitation
to peace, abundance;
a memorial Eden,
infinitely leaved.
Late in May
Signing off on Sanctuaries
Before winter’s own radiance,
whitely honed, rare,
its thrash of grey winds,
the setting in, if we’re lucky,
of serious rain,
this brief reprise of summer:
warm light that wants only
to hold you in care
as it spreads through the day
peaceably, equably.
Into that honeyed light
I relinquish this book,
a spellbound tribute to the birds.
(Is every word, every feather,
truly in place?)
After, I’ll inhabit a space
of refreshed communion
with the sightings and the songs
of birds who visit my garden –
sparrow, honeyeater, thrush –
some, by winter’s end,
building homes inside my trees
from twigs, grass and leaves, moss.
And I’ll welcome, as ever,
any lone, wild, endearing call
that may come in the night hours
of rainless silence or downpour
as I lie touched by the air
flowing in beneath my window –
another breath meeting mine.
© Diane Fahey
Diane Fahey is the author of sixteen poetry collections, most recently The Light Café, published by Liquid Amber Press in 2023, and Sanctuaries, published by Puncher & Wattmann in 2024. Her next book, Moonrise, is forthcoming from Puncher & Wattmann in early 2027. Diane has received various awards and fellowships for her poetry, including the ACT Government’s Judith Wright Prize, and has been shortlisted for six other major book awards. She holds a PhD in Creative Writing from UWS for her study, ‘Places and Spaces of the Writing Life.’ <dianefaheypoet.com>