Author: BenDQ

Poem 511 – The Living River

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Is this river alive?
I think so. She flows
along our valley birthing
life where e’er she goes:
the hazy clouds of flies
that flock this time of year,
the clacking coots upon
comical towering nests,
the dragonflies that briefly dart
by deer that stalk its edges.
Small fish flick within her
currents, whilst willows lean
admiring her fine looks.
Some days she dresses down
in sombre darkened brown,
in winter black and white,
but today the sun is out,
it’s time for brighter colours.
She is our giving mother
nurturing our valley
with her languid love
and flowing tender tears,
and whilst she does she sings
her lapping melody.
This river is alive,
of that there is no doubt.

I’ve been listening to the BBC’s adaptation of Robert MacFarlane’s ‘Is A River Alive?’ Living next to the River Lee (or Lea), I find it easy to grasp what he means.
(10.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 509 – Travelling Backwards

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Today I’m travelling backwards
Facing the wrong way around
Reversing to Cambridge by train

The present flees before me
Doppler effect in years
Returning to my home

Revisiting forgotten passions
Middle age flies by
Resurfacing our childhood

Trips to Cambridge always make me nostalgic. Aging does that too.
(08.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 508 – All Out To Sea

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Too early and perhaps too young, she stands
alone and yet surrounded, hands outstretched.
All my attempts to make a difference fail;
my smiles are insufficient and my games
cannot cut through her tears. Only her carer’s
arms can placate her fears and anchor her.

Once, as a child I lost my way, turned right instead
of left. Before I knew it, I found myself
out by the flat horizonless fenland fields.
Realising what had happened, I backtracked,
quickly returning down the road I’d taken.
The waves of doubt lingered ’till I got home.

An adult now, I sometimes find myself
cast off and at the mercy of the deep.
I’m not the first to sail these waters, nor shall
I be the last. This does not stop the waves.
Aware of rocks, I scan the sea for signs
of you, knowing no peace until I’m home.

Inspired by a child at Toddlers today, who was inconsolable unless she was in her carer’s arms.
(07.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ryunosuke Kikuno on Unsplash

Poem 506 – Trading Colours

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I’m glad it did not rain on their parade,
and these old men and women could keep dry,
but somehow it seemed appropriate that the scenes
turned black and white under the gloomy clouds.

Although flags were flying and plastic hats
were worn adorned in red, white and blue,
this isn’t a day for celebration, rather
a day for quiet sombre recollection.

‘We must never forget’, a veteran said,
but as he did, the breaking news told us
of growing conscription in the Middle East
ahead of expanded operations in Gaza…

In the Ukraine the drones still buzz about,
Sudan’s still torn to bits by civil war,
and tariff tit-for-tats are lobbed like bombs.
I fear this is no time for flapping flags.

Maybe, it’s time to swap out national pride
for seeking peace. A holy man once said,
‘Love your enemies.’ If only we had
the imagination that this task requires.

Today marks the 80th Anniversary of VE Day.
(05.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Mark Leishman on Unsplash

Poem 503 – Windows of the Soul

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He sits, intently fixing me
with ancient eyes that see and know.
They hold me not directly but
obliquely. Nevertheless, they have
the measure of me, weighing me up,
appraising character and work.
I wonder what he sees in there.
I also gaze into his soul
and find within familiar landscape,
a long lost brother clad in orange.

One of the highlights of our visit to Port Lympne Safari Park was the orangutans. Watching and being watched by someone so close to being a human was highly moving.
(02.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 502 – Alive

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I hear the breathing of this house,
it’s silent yet it’s full of noise.
The creaking of its ribs as lungs
flex in and out. A clock, its pulse,
as blood pumps through its corridors.
The freezer’s drone denotes its thought.
The walls it wraps around me, an
embrace, to hold me tight and safe.
Later, I’ll hear creaking springs,
as it relaxes next to me
and dreams.

I realised late this morning, that I’d been home in silence since first thing, except it wasn’t silent, and I wasn’t truly alone.
(01.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025