Natural World

Poem 452 – Man vs. Garden

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Today I’ve been pruning a bush.
That is an understatement.

I’ve been chopping up remains
of vast swathes of branches culled
from overgrown hedges and bushes
and dumping them in our bin.

It’s been a battle, one man
with secateurs versus
Mother Nature gone wild.
Mother Nature is winning.

Eventually, Mother Nature
always finds a way,
but meanwhile, here I am,
trying to tame her excess.

Each piece recalls the past,
each snip a season gone,
and as the wheelie bin is
filled with trimmings, time flies.

Today I’ve been being pruned,
my sense of self stripped back,
perspective re-established,
the brambles will be back.

With winter gradually receding, I’ve been trying in vain to maintain garden order…
(12.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 448 – Hertfordshire Chain Walk Pt. 2

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Nine mile loop on foot
Through woods, fields and viaducts.
Above model planes
And red kites glide the thermals.
Back just as the Sun goes down.

After lunch we decided to go back and do the second loop of the Hertfordshire Chain Walk, knowing that we would be getting to the car as the sun went down. No time to hang around!
(08.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 446 – Rising

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The sun rises, and with it rise our spirits,
its warmth begins to thaw our dormant souls.
Woken from their winter hibernation,
emerging smiles begin to bud then flower.
Above the bird song swells in volume and richness,
and here below our voices respond in kind.
Funny how all it takes to wash away
the blues are blue skies, blazing with glorious gold.

This week, Spring has sprung.
(06.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 444 – Old Gods

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Psalm 19:1 NIV
The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.

Raising my smartphone to the skies I search
the heavens for their ancient inhabitants;
modern tech becoming a prayer calling
the old gods to be modern occupants.

Small Mercury, messenger to the gods,
flits faintly between the horizon’s distant flames,
hiding from sweet Venus’ advances
as she shines upon young lovers’ nocturnal games.

Above, King Jupiter reigns from his heavenly throne
causing me to crick my neck not bend my knee.
Finally, hawkish Mars asserts his strength
his face flushing in his angry fury.

This revelation thrills me as I learn
the identities of these distant glowing bulbs,
I revel in the glory of these prizes
as they’re poured from creation’s laden treasure vaults.

I was introduced to the Stellarium app recently. I took it out for a whirl at 6.30 this evening to discover I could see four planets in the sky with the naked eye. Amazing.
(04.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by isaac sloman on Unsplash

Poem 442 – Life Cycles

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Past.
The tree drank deeply of the earth’s dark soil,
its roots absorbing water from secret distant pools.
Stretching its wooden limbs it reached out branches,
all striving for the shining sun’s bright rays.
From sapling to its full grown majesty
it slowly grew, unfurling limbs then leaves.

Present.
This table’s dead; no sap or life flow here.
Its extendable leaves now lie in twisted pieces;
they’re warped by age and wear and wrenched by boots.
Redundant, I throw the separated branches
into the boot to drive it to the dump,
hurling them into the designated coffin.

Future.
The future is as yet uncarved, unknown.
Will it be pulped, transformed to card or paper?
Or maybe mulched, returning nutrients
back to the earth to nourish future roots?
Out of its greatness, greatness may return;
as earth to earth, from death comes life again.

From and afternoon spent taking old and broken furniture to the local ‘dump’ (recycling centre), sprang thoughts about the cycle of life.
(02.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jan Huber on Unsplash

Poem 424 – Silent Echo

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Stepping outside, the valley dampens sound.
Beyond the cry of geese the air is still
and heavy on the lake, subdued, breath held.

The trees are layered green with moss and fern.
A deer stalks by. I sense the world is his
not mine, we are the interlopers here.

And in this distant moment the earth rewinds
in recollection of its ancient past, remembering
Eden before we walked upon its lawns.

Talking a break within a busy church conference today, we took a walk in Ashburnham’s grounds and stepped briefly into another world.
(12.02.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 414 – The Conversation of the Birds

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The conversation of the birds echoes
beneath the ancient woodland canopy.
We turn our searching eyes upwards to check on
the source of these trill tongues, but alas, they flee.
A hint of movement flits amongst the leaves,
a trace of colour or suggestive shape:
the twitching of the leaves caught in the breeze
or shadow of the bird as it escapes?
We close our eyes and stand as still as we
are able to and try to disappear,
perhaps our feathered friends will sense our plea,
and stepping forwards, finally lose their fear.
In time the individuals will emerge,
if you attend to the conversation of the birds.

Birdwatching in the woods can be a frustrating affair, so often they remain out of sight, but careful listening can lead to individuals appearing from the chorus.
(02.02.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Tom Bradley on Unsplash

(Edit: swapped the last two lines around, much better for this simple switch! 03.03.23)

Poem 413 – Hertfordshire Chain Walk Pt. 3

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In wonder, we walk these woodland worlds,
That groan beneath green garlands of moss.
This verdant dressing, vivid and vibrant,
Drapes the boughs and cloaks their branches.
Tacking across our track, a trickling
Stream carves stripes into our path,
Whilst, circling up above, black corvids
Caw at red kites above the castle.
Is this a place where faeries frolic,
Fearless in their velvet kingdom?

Today we walked the third chain of the Hertfordshire Chain Walk (we’re going back to do the second another day). At times the landscape was quite magical.
(01.02.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 411 – A Moment In The Sun

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Like a languid river, the golden fox lay
outstretched and bronzed under the winter sun.
Sheltered by the fence, she took the time
to rest from foraging for food. Carefree,
she seemed to be unaware of me watching her,
only the occasional twitching of her black-
tipped ears indicated otherwise.
In this lazy moment her life appeared
idyllic. I reached round for my camera,
to see if I could capture a piece for myself,
but as I did she softly slipped away.

I spent my lunch today watching a fox enjoy a half moment of peace and quiet, secure under the sun’s rays in our garden.
(30.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dušan veverkolog on Unsplash

Poem 406 – Reaching for Heaven

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Picked out in Eden’s perfect white, you strain,
with necks outstretched, and reach for heaven’s doors.
Caught in between two worlds, your life is laboured
but here, serene in flight, as in the water;
gliding through the blue, God’s arrow shot,
an elegance outlined by morning’s sun.
Oh, that I could grasp a feather and fly
within this sky-born halo, but alas,
I fear my earth-bound fingers would find no purchase,
but slip right through to mourn what we have lost.

This morning a perfect V-formation of swans flew past our window, washed brilliant white by the sun. I pointed this out to my wife who said she knew what today’s poem would be about…
(25.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Mathijs de Koning on Unsplash