Remember the noise the ruler made when
You thrummed it on the side of the desk?
That drumming sound that slid upwards as you
Drew the springboard inwards crescendoing?
I swear I heard that as I walked amongst the trees.
I looked around but there was no classroom
Comedian, no scruffy school boy here.
Confused I turned again with searching eyes
But still no culprit was disclosed until
Skyward I lifted my attention, where
A flash of red revealed the avian punk
Headbanging yobbish rhythms on the branch.
Today, my afternoon walk was accompanied by the sound of drumming amongst the trees. I didn’t actually spot the culprit, but I knew who it was.
(10.01.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Natural World
Poem 61 – The Touch of Frost
The touch of frost caresses me, running
It’s icy fingers across my earthly skin
And tracing limb and fold they penetrate
With cold embrace that draws from me a moan
Its bitter kiss breathes chill into my bones
An intimacy that lasts until love thaws
We woke today to find the outside world white with frost, a magical scene, at least from the warm indoors that is!
(22.12.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 59 – The Solo
So dark. It
Seems night’s deep blue has
Successfully silenced our
Skies. Victory appears
Secure until a lone
Soloist rebels, urgently
Sounding its call
Summoning us
Swiftly from our
Slumbers. How, so
Small, does it
Sing so loud? Hark,
Slowly, companions’
Songs join, resistance
Swelling until their
Symphony usurps
Silence. Day resumes
Sovereignty
Okay, I know I said I was going to take a break, but the sound of a lone bird valiantly defying the darkness as I put on the kettle this morning caught my imagination. Why the alliteration? No idea, it just happened that way.
(16.12.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 57 – Season’s End
All gone! The brilliant greens and vivid blues
Are drained of their vitality as winter
Cuts it’s teeth and autumn fades
Its timorous light barely heats before
Withdrawing into early evening dark
And even our speech seems subdued
Under the laden air that heavily hangs
Until whispering we withdraw home too
The usually colourful Lea Valley suddenly felt dulled on today’s afternoon walk.
(12.12.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 56 – The Egret
The egret stalked midstream
It’s skinny old man’s legs
Somehow supportive as
Swollen knees protruding
It slowly made its way
Along the water course
This startling vision seemed
Discordant, incongruous
Ancient and exotic
A purposeful hunter
Stalking between concrete
Suburban banks and shops
Walking into Cheshunt we were startled today by a flash of white by the roadside. Looking into the ditch, an egret elegantly walked alongside us!
(11.12.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 50 – Chaos Theory
The rivulets flow gently down the window
Pane, where they mix and combine randomly
Forming patterns that will not be seen again.
Each stream a unique moment in time that
Once gone is lost and replaced by something
Else, new and similar but changed in strength
And form, each flow departing further than
The one that came before. Eventually
Perhaps the permutations will complete
And finally begin again, but if
They do the order will not match
Such, is this world’s complexity.
I opened the curtains this morning to the sight of rain running down our windows, reminding me of the famous scene in Jurassic Park where Jeff Goldblum’s character explains chaos theory by dripping water on his companions hand.
(03.12.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 47 – A Winter Crime
Clear skies allowed a freezing night’s trespass,
A trail of frosty tracks hard evidence.
The dawn’s spotlight reveals its icy prints,
Deep etched forensics cross our car’s windscreen.
So armed with scraper in my gloved numb hand,
I set to gustily restore the scene,
And clear the way to safely drive, whilst not
Breathing, in case the mist offends my view.
Storm Arwen has departed leaving in its wake dropped temperatures, adding a extra step before my wife’s morning commute.
(29.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 45 – Christmas Lights
They rolled the dice to choose a date to hold
November’s fayre a gamble keenly made
Who was to know this day from north to south
A fearsome wind would tear and whip and howl
Our volunteers take hold with all their strength
To stop gazebos chasing down the street
Cold visitors won’t stop but briskly pass
Their faces pale blood drained by biting teeth
The dark descends stall keepers packing up
Warm homes like sirens luring their farewell
The show may stutter, not what we had planned
But as I leave illuminated trees
Stand sparkling proudly ‘cross my cycle’s path
Not shivering nor shaking, standing strong
A testament to that first Christmas birth
Their light the darkness cannot overcome
Today our Churches Together group joined other organisations at the local town Christmas Fayre. Unfortunately, today was the day that Storm Arwen decided to blow, making the event a bit of an endurance test…
(27.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 44 – The Visitor
Peripheral
A quivering scuttle
On the fringe
A spider? No…
As I turn to admire
It freezes
Like a child hiding
Behind its own hands
Believing they bequeath
Invisibility
The mouse stares
As I stare
Defying me
Before retreating
Releasing me from its grip
Tonight I had a visitor whilst working on Sunday’s service. As the winter weather hits, they often visit briefly seeking food before hibernating.
(26.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 40 – From the New River to Top Field
We begin by strolling along the New River, ‘London’s Tap’,
Ponderously supplying the city’s water under hungover skies.
Passing a bridge that goes nowhere reclaimed by ivy,
Dry curled sycamore leaves form a path along the bank,
Protecting boots from the damp clogging clay beneath.
Today the water is dark and heavy, rolling slowly.
We look for our swans to feed but today they are absent,
Only cocky mallards traverse her dulled waters,
Even they seem subdued and stilled.
As we leave our watery guide we pass construction works,
Homes rising like the scattered oak saplings espied,
Emerging from squirrel scattered acorns perhaps.
Indeed other than us, they are the only ones moving,
Fattened, scurrying to prepare for winter hibernation,
Whilst diggers stand stationary and sites are vacant.
Perpendicular to her flow we rise from Lea Valley,
Reaching Top Field whose spectacular wildflower meadows,
Have been mown, leaving damp stalks and pregnant potential.
The dip becomes clear as we look across to the parallel rise beyond.
Departing, a momentarily surprise, a snatch of distant urbanity,
The towers of Canary Wharf winking their warning.
It seems astonishing that our haven is so near.
Leaving their gaze behind we enter Bell Lane’s woods,
A contrasting lightness, a gaiety absent before,
Leaves, sweetcorn and peas, speckling silver birch skies.
Exiting, our path crosses a field where bedraggled horses munch,
And an S shaped brook snakes between its mounds.
Momentarily they lift their necks to consider as we pass.
Back down Church Lane descending into Wormley,
Peace again broken as we return above the thundering A10.
Passing the sports club we transition from pastoral to people,
Navigating between parents’ cars parked on the verge,
Delivering budding footballers as they grasp hand warming coffees.
What views they have missed by arriving cocooned in these cabins!
Finally, the New River again lies at our feet, ready to guide us home.
Most of our daily walks involve the River Lea to the east of us, but sometimes, we take wander by the New River to the west, cut to deliver London’s water.
(20.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Ode for the Day 