Month: Jun 2023

Poem 193 – A River Dreams

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The Lea meanders, ambles on her course,
and in her brooding sleep she meditates.
Above, along, aside, reflections rise,
a flock of dreams, take wing and, graceful, flies:

Cormorant, cuckoo, coot, moorhen,
great crested and cousin little grebe.

Black headed gull, common gull, common tern,
reed and sedge warbler, grey wagtail.

Egyptian goose, greylag goose, Canada goose,
grey heron and little egret.

Mallard, wigeon, goldeneye, goosander, gadwall,
silver wood, shoveler, teal and tufted ducks.

Hobby, buzzard, red kite, kestrel,
sparrowhawk, barn owl, little owl.

Great spotted and green woodpeckers,
allusive kingfisher, bashful bittern.

As a child I dreamt of reaching high
until the sunrise pulled me to and moored me.
Detached, released, unlike that earthbound son
her dreamborn flights of fantasy soar freely.

Yesterday I finished reading Robert MacFarlane’s magnificent prose poem Ness. This, and the lists found in other writings of his, inspired this, as of course do our many sightings as we have walked alongside our neighbour, the slumbering Lea. The photo is of an adult cormorant I managed to snap in 2019: a favourite bird, comical, haughty and surprisingly graceful.
(29.06.23)

© Ben Quant 2023

Poem 192 – An Artist? Me?

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I wonder if the street artist
who paints the lines along the road,
finishes with a signature,
a declaration: ‘This is mine!’

Or does the cashier get a credit
in recognition of the music
performed skillfully day by day
extemporaneously at their till?

And how about the office temp
who chisels out the perfect script
incisive words carefully cut
and sculpted on their laptop screen?

Or what about the manager
who orchestrates the staff,
conducts with policies and emails:
please take a bow for your performance!

There’s something in the way we’re made,
embedded deep within our soul,
that leads us to express ourselves:
the truth is everyone’s an artist.

A throw away joke over our church drop-in lunch about signing road markings got me thinking…
(23.06.23)

© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by Grooveland Designs on Unsplash

Poem 191 – The London 100

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The Day Before:
I gather in myself,
my words, my thoughts, perception,
a quiet preparation.

The Morning – 4:15am:
This is no time to rise!
I hope adrenaline
will see me through. I dress.

The Wait:
We merge. A lycra clad
invasion forms a swarm,
then pauses, shivers, tense.

The Ride:
Released, a whirring horde, we fly unstoppable.
A churning, hungry tide, we flow through streets as one
– today, for once, they’re ours. Devouring tarmac miles
we weave through concrete towers and flyovers
until
            it’s gone, replaced by green relief.
We smile. The peloton is calmed, discovers peace.
We find our rhythm, settle in and settle down,
a steady cadence. Miles countdown through Epping’s trees,
and Essex fields. Pass picturesque hamlets that predate
the bicycle. Cheers accompany our carefree conversation.
Traverse Great Dunmow, Felsted, Writtle, Ongar, Chigwell
before
            aggressive city walls rear over us once more.
The sun’s fierce rays pummel us, bouncing off the road.
Remorseless, it bullies us, no shade to calm it’s edge.
My head begins to throb, it’s rhythm dissonant,
conflicting with the cycle of my weary legs.

The Last Leg:
After the drag, we spin.
Momentum carries us
to Tower Bridge. It’s over.

The Finish Line:
Grin for the camera. Stop.
Disturbing halt. Dismount,
with giddy limbs confused.

The Release:
Uncleated shoes create
a new cadence. I shuffle.
Am medalled. Disconnect.

It’s taken a few weeks to put this together to try and capture the experience of riding the Ride London-Essex 100 last month. It was a hypnotic day, long but strangely timeless. I’m definitely up for doing something like it again, as long as I can find a way to stop my head overheating!
(16.06.23)

© Ben Quant 2023

Poem 190 – Outside These Walls

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Unmanicured, my garden dances,
a field of sunlike dandelions,
swaying to a salsa beat.
No doubt my neighbour thinks it’s wild.
It is. This is nature’s rhythm.
It’s raw, untamed, and improvised. Wild-life.
Inside, I ache. Fettered, I wish
to join them but it’s too late and so,
instead, I watch the sparrows flit
between their stalks in freedom songs.

I’m a lazy gardener, and so need little encouragement to join #NoMowMay, in fact I’ve strayed into #NoMowJune (sadly the alliteration isn’t as good…) It turns out that being lazy is good for our barren garden, now it’s full of life.
(07.06.23)

© Ben Quant 2023