With flick of fanned out tail, the Kite flies deftly,
With dancer’s grace, descends through applauding sky,
Performs a pirouette, majestic dive,
Then swoops and thus commits audacious theft.
Through avian guile she artfully steals my breath
And gripping firm, takes flight, and rises high.
Leaving my standing ovation behind, she flies
Into the distance, fading. I’m bereft.
Sometimes I wish that I possessed her freedom.
Perhaps I do! I have no wings but in
Their place imagination’s feathers thrust
Me upwards seeking visions of what could be.
Their range is more than hers has ever been,
Could dreaming meet this reaching wanderlust?
Red kites have recently established themselves in our neighbourhood. One regularly frequents the air above our garden. Watching it’s effortless flight inspired this sonnet, although it’s taken most of the week to knock it into some sort of shape.
(28.01.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
Image: Tim Felce (Airwolfhound), CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Natural World
Poem 163 – Morning Migration
Somewhere a switch is flicked, a catch released.
Eager luminescent salmon shoot
nocturnal traps, migrate the lofty spray,
a duvet stretched, inviting pillow plump.
Chasing behind, our newborn day.
A glorious pink sunrise picked out the teased out clouds this morning. Could have captured it with my phone, instead used words.
(19.01.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
Poem 161 – After the Rain
Water…
Unruly
Miscreant
Trespasser
Trickles
Oozes
Seeps
Bursts
Untamable
Circumvents
Boggy
Puddles
Stream
Pervasive
Persistent
Chaotic
Downwards
Gurgling
Sweeps
A Sunday afternoon stroll around the New River, Top Field and Baas Hill Common. Although the sky was blue and the sun was out, the waterlogged paths definitely required boots.
(15.01.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by Robert Zunikoff on Unsplash: https://unsplash.com/photos/ko7Tp_LyAt4
Poem 160 – Four Faced
A pool of many personalities.
Its winter water takes a earthy shade
Of darkened substance, solid, birds can wade
Upon its surface, under weary trees.
Last month it shivered, sharp, began to freeze
And whilst the shrieking scarf-wrapped children played,
Across it’s face an ice-white mask was laid,
Its morgue-like stillness made us ill at ease.
But soon the hope of life will bud and spring,
The water turn, aping the light’ning skies,
And nests constructed, frisky foul will play.
Look, summer migrants come on tired wings!
Descend, this paradise their temporary prize,
For now, its Janus face, a place to stay.
Today, as is often our practice, we went for a stroll around Lea Valley’s lakes. These water filled pits are constantly fluid, their faces changing with the season. Today they were dark and moody, matching their muddy banks. Another sonnet.
(14.01.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
Poem 153 – Blank Canvas
This is a liminal place,
Where sky and earth do meet,
And merge in bright harmony.
Autumn’s colours spent,
Erased, left brilliant white,
Perhaps, a new beginning?
A chance to make our mark,
Afresh. Along with spiders,
Who have already traced,
The outline of each edge
In brittle silk, picked out
And sparkling, crystalline.
Yesterday we woke to find Lea Valley submerged in snow. Beautiful and mysterious. On our afternoon walk, at each turn I expected to find Mr Tumnus, but alas he never showed, only the muntjac deer and robins. We did not return, however, disappointed.
(13.12.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 152 – Sharp December
The paper air is sharp
Airways are invaded
Eyes begin to water
Cold smears across my face
Malicious needles prick
In bitter unison
My feet go numb and die
A death by a thousand cuts
This morning’s North wind brought a bitter bite alongside Jack Frost’s winter beauty.
(08.12.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 147 – November Walk
Four pm. November walk along
The Lea, the light is fading fast and all
Is dim. Like children’s plasticine the colours
Merge, the palate turns to shades of brown.
The sky blends with the gently lapping waters.
By naked trees who’ve shed, their colours bleed.
The air is mute, its voice is muffled, dull,
Only the Christmas lights dare interject.
From bankside windows, hope defiant flickers.
To end a period of Covid isolation, I took a walk along the River Lea this afternoon. I’ll never get bored of how the same stretch of water changes throughout the year. I didn’t think to take a photo, this one is from the same time last year, towards the river.
(30.11.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 146 – In Our Forefathers’ Steps
The first to step these steps stepped forward cautiously
Warily they trod not knowing what they might find
But those who followed drew faith from those who crossed before
Their hesitant tracks became a guide to confidence
And soon a path carved deep was etched into the land
Markers were placed identifying its location
Presently stones were laid to make the tread secure
And along the avenue buildings began to spring
The bustle grew, the noise of thoroughfare, as traffic
Started to flow along the freshly tarmacked road
Past houses, shops, and families at play and war
Suburban sprawl, sprawled out, the belt loosened as when
Our Sunday lunch digested we kick back replete
And sit silently wondering how we came to be
There in the first place, ignorant of those cautious pioneers
Over the last year I’ve discover the fantastic writing of Robert MacFarlane. His poetic prose musing on the nature of walking, the landscape and language has captivated me – if you’ve not discovered him yet go now and go find him! His book, ‘The Old Ways’, was the first I found, which led me to this verse.
(30.11.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 144 – Our Sweet Universe
Our Galaxy’s a Bounty to behold
The Milky Way like Magic in the Black
From Mars to where the Stars Burst bright all night
And Celebrations ring for Heroes bold
Who Flying Saucers into Orbit take
To find a Feast of planetary Gold
A quick poem for my Dad’s poetry group who wanted something fun about planets.
(09.11.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 143 – Dolphin Hunt
This broiling seascape rolls, its darkened peaks
Foam tipped, a sliding constant avalanche
Its slick ebony depths, deftly navigated
By fearless swifts that flit between the waves
Somewhere within these valleys swim our prize
These crests their home not human pools that bind
Not at our beck and call we have to wait
Upon their grace and wonder if they’ll grant
An audience. The tables turned they play
With us, suggestive shadows conceal until…
A joyful scream
A flicking tail
A dancing shoal
Around us prance
Albufeira’s dolphins have ensnared us
The highlight of a recent holiday in Portugal, seeing dolphins swimming free in their natural habitat. Astonishing.
(07.11.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Ode for the Day 