Natural World

Poem 831 – A Seasonal Sonnet

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Cherry blossom blooms, confetti showers,
dancing in tearful hope of dawning light:
rejoice in this annual ritual uniting flowers
of winter and spring in matrimony bright!
The promise of good times ahead now dark
days fade. The stretching daylight joyfully cheers
the heady bride and groom as they embark
into their life as hopeful pioneers.
But on the street the rumours start to grow
of infidelity, illicit heat.
As temperatures rise and passions flow, the oath
once tightly held becomes a forgotten conceit.
The underlying cause of this concern?
Our tendency to mine, exploit and burn.

I was struck this morning by the beautiful blossom that currently lines our streets and then later by a storm of hailstones.
(25.03.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by dadalan real on Unsplash

Poem 826 – For the Innocent of Iran

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The days are light and spring is here.
Winter now seems a distant coup
and so I was confused when you
proclaimed with joy, Happy New Year.

Nowruz Mobarak, ‘happy new day!’
On hearing playful birds’ fresh tunes
and admiring the new born blooms,
the penny dropped, it’s more sense this way.

And so I wish you hope this instant.
Whichever start you mark, I pray
that amongst the shelling you may stay
faithful, and find there hope persistent.

It’s the Iranian New Year today, or so I learnt from my new Iranian friend at our Conversation Cafe. My prayers are with his family and the ordinary people of Iran, those caught up in a war inflicted upon them by those in power.
(20.03.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Chris Linnett on Unsplash

Poem 825 – The Silver Birch

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The slender arm that reaches to the sky
remains naked, its undressed bark is bare
and pale, a sleeve of velvet moss alone
adorns it. This will not last as summer comes
and soon a parasol of gentle leaves
will bud to shade it from the dazzling blaze.

Enjoyed a brief walk after lunch, suddenly Spring is upon us.
(19.03.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Danny De Vylder on Unsplash

Poem 817 – The Hobbies

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Two graceful ballerinas scything
through the muggy, post-storm air.
A dart of russet tights and arc
of speckled chest, they swoop in turn
through freckled clouds of flying insects,
delighting in the ease at dining.

We stand and for awhile that’s all,
this choreography and us,
until the air begins to clear.
Then they too dissipate, leaving
us earthbound, leaden, wondering if
we’ll ever see their like again.

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Andy Morffew licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license

I started reading J.A. Baker’s The Peregrine today. It brought to mind the one and only time my wife and I saw two hobbies flying over the River Lee. An amazing sight.
(11.03.26)

Poem 814 – Imminent

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A late winter’s walk, a wander through
the misty wood before the spring arrives.
Above, hidden within the white damp veil,
a riot erupts of raucous birds aroused
by the promise of pending season change ahead.
Their chatter chimes like church bells summoning
the buds to bloom, confetti blossom showers
that freshly fill the air with fragrant colour.

Our Sunday afternoon walk was marked by the thick sound of birdsong.
(08.03.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Doncoombez on Unsplash

Poem 804 – The River

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Tonight I write a line or two to keep
A habit flowing forwards. Like a stream,
Sometimes it finds itself a driving force,
But other days it ambles round slow bends
and detours, lost in dreams and dozy swells.
But either way the current calls it on,
An irresistible tug, a tide, demanding,
‘Cast your words into the aching blue.’

Writing a daily poem has become a deeply ingrained habit. I’d feel wrong if I didn’t.
(26.02.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by ANHELINA OSAULENKO on Unsplash

Poem 803 – The English Spring

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The English spring, there is no greater joy!
The rising of the sun from its long sleep,
As garden birds full-throated song deploy
And glorious colour from undercover peeks.
Bodies relax, no longer stiff from cold,
Emotions thaw, our smiles at last return,
And up above the new-born leaves unfold
As from their time-shares swallows now adjourn.
Immediately our backs are shorn of shirts,
The annual quest for tans begins apace.
We know the fickle sun will soon desert us
And new found skin tone quickly start to fade.
Today the skies are blue, tomorrow grey,
Look storm clouds are already on their way.

There’s nothing more predictable then the English spring! It’s been a lovely day today, but who believes that this will last….
(24.02.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Aniket Bhattacharya on Unsplash

Poem 800 – A Dash of Colour

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Abandoned, redundant woolen gloves lie prone
upon the hallway floor beyond the door.
A lone daffodil pokes its yellow face
above the muddy grass to meet the Sun.
This unexpected sight (the Sun or flower?) is
a hint of spring after the long, damp, drag
of February, whilst on the path earthen
stains are fading like guilty fingerprints.

Suddenly today, the seasons seem to be turning. No doubt this is but a brief interlude, but it suggests the end’s in sight.
(22.02.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Poem 786 – Mother Lee

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A chameleon, Mother Lee
changes colour with her mood.
Today she’s brown, a muddy flow
under the empty trees and rain.
She’s heavy, sluggish as if her handbrake’s
on. Tomorrow, she’ll be dark
with anger, a sullen scowling black
or maybe light and lively, green
with life, and hopeful expectation.

It never ceases to amaze me how the same stretch of river can look completely different on different days.
(08.02.26)

© Ben Quant 2026