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
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
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
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
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
Lethargy reigns, the air is all sucked out
We slope around the room, moving as little
As we can get away with, stultified
Regretfully wishing the time away, we long
For rain, an end to endless heat, but then
I know we’ll wish for sunny days once more
A companion to Poem 139 – Sister Moon. I know I said I was taking a bit of a break from writing to focus on my these, but I woke up with the first line in my head. It’s been a long hot summer…
(15.08.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Photo by James Day on Unsplash
Last night the Moon hung big and bold and brash
It’s golden face stared down in confidence
In contrast to the crescent which adorned
The darkened sky last week
Then, like a nervous child it peeked around
The shadow that we cast as if it were
Still clutching to its mother’s legs in fear
Of what might lie beyond
I wonder what has caused that reticence
To be replaced with teenage cockiness
And if there is another phase to come
A geriatric one?
A recent fingernail moon was soon replaced by a brash super moon. Both spectacular in their own ways.
(14.08.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Life finds a way somehow
Its superhero strength
Will overcome even
The most formidable
Opponent in its path
Yet even superman
Was vulnerable, made weak
By kryptonite struck down
So as the temperature rises
I wonder if we’ll prove
To be Achilles’ heel
Ushering in its downfall
I spotted this sapling impressively bursting through a nearby tarmac path, and it got me thinking about the patient strength of nature.
(02.07.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
So No Mow May slipped into June
Kneehigh the grasses swayed
And under summer’s sun turned brown
Before I’d turned a blade
I’d hoped for some exotic meadow
An array of blooms
Instead a field of hay fever
And stinging nettles grew
So finally I grabbed the mower
To try and tame this beast
But left it growing at the back
And planted some wild seeds
I’ve always fancied a wild flower meadow and a garden that’s more attractive to wildlife. Alas, it turns out that laziness doesn’t create it…
(21.06.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Walking beneath the canopy above,
I stop and listen. Slowly I begin,
To hear it breathe, the branches rise and fall,
And in its breeze, translucent leaves make play.
A bee drones past ignoring my intrusion,
Whilst down below the moles dig on unseen
Their earthy mounds the only indication,
Of their lightless subterranean dreams.
A flap and avian caw as something falls,
And ricochets, until the undergrowth,
Receives it with its eager spiky arms,
Concealing it within a dense embrace.
The trees begin to stir, swaying in slow,
Rhythm to a beat that sounds unheard.
Even the elders join their patient dance,
Their ancient limbs cracking as they flex.
A cole tit reassures his youngsters whilst,
He flits around the local bounds, with loud,
Beeping that finds an answering call,
Cried proudly, deep within their concealed nest.
Somewhere a stream trickles its way across,
The wood, its flow, the artery that serves,
To nourish this green creature I stand within,
Alive and other, beyond our frame of reference.
Exploring woodland in Hertford the other day, I stopped alone for a moment, and realised I was anything but…
(30.05.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Ode for the Day 