Natural World

Poem 307 – Sunrise (Revisited)

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All was dark in the moment beforehand
As if only we were abroad
But somewhere a whisper awakens
Bidding workers to attend to their chores

Stoke up the furnace ’til it’s ready
Then prize open its door just a crack
So a halo of pink might outline roofs
Now released, there’s no holding back

Its torrent boils over the floodgates
Pours into the skies in a flash
A writhing of rust and vermillion
Persimmon and cadmium clash

It’s urgency rages in anger
Like a blazing volcano erupts
It’s fierce stallions charge onwards relentless
Against night’s forces resisting its thrust

The darkness regrouping intensifies
Its blackness seems blacker than the grave
But nothing can hold back dawn’s progress
Triumphant its glories cascade!

As fast as the battle was opened
Dawn’s turmoil is over and done
Morning’s light is finally upon us
Its peace has been violently won

I enjoyed revisiting one of first poems the other day, and so decided to do it again today with ‘Poem 5 – Sunrise‘ from 12.10.21, again reworking its rhythm and trying some rhyme.
(29.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by kazuend on Unsplash

Poem 306 – By the Fitting Rooms

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Seeking solace in numbers, they flock together,
Perched on the edge of clefts and aisles and chairs,
Whilst down below their mates peck through the clothes.

Though close, they never acknowledge each other’s presence,
Except perhaps a brief shared nod between them,
In recognition of their mutual plight.

And as each female emerges to the flock,
They twitter, preening hair, and staking claims,
Puffing their chests and hoping that she’s theirs.

There’s always great people watching to be had in shopping centres…
(28.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Denver Saldanha on Unsplash

Poem 298 – Newton’s Squirrel

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A cat has taken up residence in our garden.
They didn’t ask, they simply chose their spot
and stayed without a please or by your leave.
Each day they laid there as still as the ground below,
until yesterday, when they saw a squirrel.
Transformed, they moved by quantum mechanics from here
to there seemingly in one instantaneous
blurry blip, Schrödinger’s cat on ‘speed’.
Luckily, for every action there’s an equal and opposite
reaction, and Newton squirreled the squirrel away.

I think we’ve been adopted. I don’t know if it’s a stray or domestic cat that’s simply taken a liking to our garden, but it’s certainly staked it’s claim.
(20.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Jaël Vallée on Unsplash

Poem 294 – I’ve Never Known Your Voice

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The view across the lake,
from the crest of Cader Idris.
The eyes of my life’s love as
she glances in my direction.

Feeling B.B. King’s vibrato
and Gary Moore’s sustain.
The emotional release of
an encore’s delighted applause.

The rich aroma released
from freshly ground coffee beans.
The taste of blue cheese. It shouldn’t
work but somehow it does.

Snuggling up on the sofa
and finding another’s world.
Talking to a gathered crowd
and holding them in your hands.

Discovering flamingo
mouths are upside down
so they can eat with their heads
between their distant feet.

Black and white images
formed within the womb.
The sight of freshborn signets
their feathers still damp with shell.

I’ve never known your voice,
not heard you talk out loud,
and yet, it strikes me that,
you’ve never really stopped.

Someone mentioned to me the other day that they’d heard God speak, and this got me thinking. I’ve never had that privilege, and yet…
(16.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo NotFromUtrecht, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Poem 291 – Transfigured

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The early morning sun rises at we do,
shivers then casts its rays upon our windows,
revealing in their panes the evidence
of life that has pressed itself against their glass.
These traces sparkle under its caress,
lit up in brilliant white to make us blush.
A delicate weave with downward threads outlined
like the curving paths of stars in timelapse captured.
A smear from Reynard’s tail when jumping the fence.
Paw marks made by a mad squirrel seeing
a rival in his face reflected there.
The outline of a feathered angel captured
transfigured in a momentary pose.
These illuminated memories shine
but briefly; all too soon the spell has passed.

I should be embarrassed by state of our windows, but when the autumn sun shines on them, something beautiful is revealed. (UPDATE: A few have asked me who the Reynard is that appears in a few of my poems. He’s a trickster fox from stories starting in mediaeval times. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reynard_the_Fox)
(13.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Richie Bettencourt on Unsplash

Poem 290 – First Bite

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Freshly plucked, I wipe the apple
upon my jumper (it’s first outing
this year). It’s sharpness suits the air.

Chomping upon its core (I always
eat apples whole), I find myself
wondering about Snow White and witches.

A single bite is all it took
to curse our heroine with death-
like sleep that lasts ’til Charming comes.

Should I worry that like Adam
I’ve brought upon us Autumn’s sleep,
a sleep that lasts ’til Spring’s first kiss?

After taking assembly today, a local head offered me an apple from a tree growing on their grounds. It was green and tart but lovely!
(12.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

Poem 286 – Last Night I Did Not Sleep

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Last night the skies were ripped to shreds,
Torn open again and again and again,
Revealing unveiled fires ablaze.

Last night the skies were violently battered,
As if they were doors in a surprise dawn raid,
Full of warning shouts that shocked and deafened.

Last night the skies were permeated,
Hydrated with a thousand tears.
Overcome, they let them go.

This morning?
All is still…

Last night we were treated to an elemental display of power.
(08.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 281 – Transition

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The heat naively tarries, believing it
can linger beyond its allotted time,
but despite its valiant efforts
the cold commences its creep.
Gradually sleeping longer, the light
withdraws into the welcoming darkness,
whilst up above the colours start
to drain, gently dribbling downwards.
And so we slide into summer’s slumber
as autumn awakes and starts to ascend.

Suddenly there’s a sense of transition in the air, even though I’m still in shorts. Autumns on its way.
(03.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Poem 280 – The Guvnor

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Out of the corner of my eye
I see him scurry across the fence;
a bully who has artfully eased
his predecessors off the patch.

His movement’s confident and cocky,
the urban swagger of one who knows
he’s reached the top of his ‘profession’.
He is the top cat, guvnor, kingpin.

Over his shoulder hangs no weapon
but a bushy tail, his bling,
or status symbol signifying
that he is not too be messed with.

One moment he’s there and then he’s not.
I turn to look but he has vanished,
disarmingly slipped out of my sight.
I scan my surroundings nervously.

It’s not just him that’s disappeared,
it is his stash, ill-gotten gains,
the product of extortion, never
to be seen again till next year.

Somewhere he’s counting out his nuts
stacking then in their ordered piles,
a display intended to underline
that he’s in charge and no one else.

I was sitting this evening wondering what to write about today when I spotted our neighborhood squirrel on the fence…
(02.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Lucia Sorrentino on Unsplash