Month: Apr 2025

Poem 501 – Upon the Cusp

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The husk rests dry and dead
within the dark cold ground,
and sleeps the winter through
until the warm spring’s tug.

The right conditions call
it forth; a conversation,
a word, a revelation,
that stirs and wakes potential.

A downward delving for
the deepest nutrient
and reaching for the light,
the outshoots of new growth.

And from Good Friday’s husk
comes Easter’s child, who reaches
up with outstretched hands
and tottering first steps.

A conversation earlier today reminded me of my first steps to faith.
(30.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dibakar Roy on Unsplash

Poem 500 – Sleeping with Lions

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Last night I slept with lions.
The final sound I heard?
That deep hoarse throaty roar
that said this place is mine
and you are only guests
as long as I permit it.
Sleep well but don’t forget…

We stayed in a glamping pod at Port Lympne Zoo last night as part of a two day trip to there and Howletts. Absolutely fantastic.
(29.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 499 – Beware of Gorillas Throwing Sticks

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Beware of gorillas throwing sticks
Take care of toucans tossing stones
Be cautious capybaras playing tricks
And flippin’ flamingos flinging bones

Look out the lemurs are lobbing logs
The anteater’s taking aim at you
Mind out for missiles fired by dogs
It’s all gone ballistic at the zoo!

Visited Port Lympne Zoo today and stumbled across this sign. A poem had to follow.
(28.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 497 – Man vs. Plant

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The snaking bramble wraps itself around
the bush, the branches and my arms.
Its tail around my back, it lurches
catching me unawares, and bites.
I spin, it bites again. I twist
and turn, it bites once more. It’s always
faster, darting out of reach.
But I will not be beaten! No!
I persevere and tug and tug,
each pull a victory in perseverance.
Eventually I slump exhausted.
My body bears a thousand wounds,
but all around the bramble lies,
its broken body in submission,
the battle won…
…but not the war.

An afternoon of gardening. I have the scars to prove it.
(26.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Stefan Kostić on Unsplash

Poem 496 – Morning Invasion

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The rising sun invades through sycamore branches,
its spotlight picking out a lonely snail,
bedecked in stark contrasting coloured spirals.
The Sun’s dazzling white enlivens grenades
of glass dropped onto the lawn’s lengthening stalks.
Spider zip wires, momentarily made visible,
transverse, fragile yet strong, will shortly vanish.
A gang of boisterous sparrows playing tag
fill me with delight as they shout and switch.
Soon they’ll wake the flowers, who somehow slumber
oblivious to this squadron’s raucous games.
This fleeting action is invigorating.
I drink it deeply, let it permeate,
and pray it will sustain me through the day.

A snapshot through the window this morning as I ate my breakfast. Reading Robert MacFarlane’s introduction to Nan Shepherd’s ‘The Living Mountain’, I’ve been encouraged to look deeper at my surrounds.
(25.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Önder Andinç on Unsplash

Poem 495 – Seeking Faith

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Tonight, a room of strangers
Set out on an adventure
Not knowing where they’d end up
But setting out regardless

Guided by their questions
And listening to each other
They found a path together
Searching for some answers

Having different perspectives
They expected different opinions
But overlapping views
Lead to a richer treasure

Tonight was our first Alpha session, always an exciting exploration of faith. https://alpha.org.uk/
(24.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Felix Rostig on Unsplash

Poem 494 – Fifty Two Years

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On April the twenty third I feel I ought,
To write a sonnet honouring the Bard.
In Fifteen Sixty Four our Will was born,
Living ’til Sixteen Sixteen when he died.
Between these only fifty two short years,
In which to write his dazzling magnus opus,
His folio of world renowned great verse,
Still uttered by the Thames in his wooden O.
Creator of so many memorable lines,
And author of now oft used turns of phrase,
The master of the magical use of rhyme,
With which he artfully captured our human ways.
So why’s today named after some brave knight
And not this bright composer of such delight!

A sonnet on St. George’s Day.
(23.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 492 – Munchausen’s Chimney

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A maze of scattered debris
lies around the base of
our unused fireplace.

Did a bird, nesting
upon its stack, dislodge
dry branches from last year?

Or Father Christmas have
an Easter practice run
to keep his ancient hands in?

Or did a howling ghost
whirl down the stack
to find the room was bare?

Or did some passing giant
chuck it down the chute
when on an early stroll?

Or is the flue a portal
down which this ash could tumble
from a parallel dimension?

Or maybe Krakatoa
blew its top once more
and scored this hole in one!

We found a load of wreckage around our fireplace this morning. How it got there I don’t know for sure, but I have my suspicions…
(21.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Image of Baron Munchausen by August von Wille, Public Domain