Natural World

Poem 38 – A Hokey Cokey Time of Year

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Tentative November’s a folk dance month
Unable to decide if it’s out or it’s in
Leaves bravely clinging to branches above
Fallen companions raked into the bin
The sun always rises but never quite makes it
Descending before it reaches the top
Fireworks shrill as Fawkes interrupted
But bombers press on and their plots do not stop
The eleventh we remember but still stand conflicted
Pushing and shoving to remain best of the lot
Decisions announced but next day rejected
Political turnarounds made on the spot
Superstore isles full of crackers and tinsel
Seasonal adverts promise festive fun
Christmas is here piped music’s proclaiming
But November’s not finished nor Advent begun

I always find November a confused month, a strange transition from one season to the next with Christmas looming large in the distance. This confusion seems to be seeping into our current affairs this year.
(18.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021
Photo by Bryan Ledgard – https://www.flickr.com/photos/ledgard/10254453475/, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=58259782

Poem 37 – Lea Valley on a November Afternoon

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Balanced on horizon’s tightrope
The sun’s golden glow
Filters through autumn’s gloom
Bathing the silhouetted canopy
Creating an ethereal pathway
Jacob’s ladder highlighting vegetation
With otherworldly emerald
Quickened and strangely luminous

Afternoon walks amongst the trees of Lea Valley is an optical treat with the autumn sun revealing and creating vivid and unreal colours.
(17.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 35 – Interval

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Half past four
Night lowers its curtains
These dark navy drapes
Announce the act’s end
Accompanied by birdsong

Once enveloped
Orchestra and players
Can rest unseen
As they do
We too draw our curtains

Withdrawing
Affords the chance to stretch
Relax body and mind
Assimilate experiences
Be renewed

The alarm rings
Shrilly declaring interval’s end
Bleary we reclaim our seats
And wait for dawn’s revelation
Of today’s set

I love these late autumnal days when night comes so early, allowing us to close the curtains and shut out the world. Not so keen on it being dark when I rise however…
(14.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 31 – Rain Spoils Play

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Photographic filter
Washing our colours
Not dressed for success
But draining vitality
Fine mist descends
Depressing the day

The swoosh of the surf
Succeeds every car
Not Bondai beach
But oil residue
Running in gutters
Raised by rubber

Persistent it penetrates
Seeping with ease
Damping through clothing
Collecting between shoulders
Coldness that shivers
Wrinkles our toes

Last day in self-isolation and looking forward to being released. Sat in my office, however, the view isn’t appealing with the fine drizzle looking set for the day. Hope it clears by tomorrow.

(10.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 25 – The Intercessor

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Reckless these needles stand proud
Reaching defiantly into the deep
An arm outstretched captured pleading
Skimming stone caught flying mid-leap
Valiant intercessor bridging between
Stark precipice and unstoppable blue
Tempestuous nights beacon flashing
Steering brave souls home safe and true

Stuck inside due to Covid gives me the chance to look back through the year’s photos. This one comes from a walk along the south coast of the Isle of Wight, past the Tennyson monument, to look out on the Needles and their lighthouse. What started off as a drizzly day thankfully quickly cheered up, but not much imagination is required to picture how fierce this tranquil scene could become if the weather truly turned.

The Needles, Isle of Wight

(04.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 24 – Tracking Dinosaurs

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On this ancient shore
Once walked terrible lizards
Their footprints remain

A bonus haiku to end the day. As a family we’ve spent many days sifting through stones on the beach looking for fossils. Always fancied finding dinosaur footprints, and on the Isle of Wight I did – although many had no doubt seen these Iguanodon prints before.

(03.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Returning to add this poem to Obsidian, I wonder if it would be better like this:

Terrible lizards
Once walked on this ancient shore
Their footprints remain
(10.10.24)

Poem 23 – The Print

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Delicate indentations reveal a deer passed
Picking its way along waterlogged tracks
Perhaps it tarried briefly pausing alert
Cautiously surveying green surrounds
Head raised to assess through scent and sound
If it traversed alone or was observed
Tense moment before anticipation released
A dainty leap and flick of doe heals
Propelling her fleetingly into concealing reeds
Verdant veil drawn across diminutive form
Leaving a flash of white tail and earthy tread
Alone to reveal that she stood here at all

The Lea Valley park at the end of our road is full of wildlife. One of my favourite sights is the glimpse of a muntjac deer before it vanishes into the undergrowth. Despite them being a regular sight, I have never achieved a satisfactory photograph, they move to fast, these paw prints being the nearest I’ve got.

(03.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 16 – Swans in Transition

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Spying us across the verdant water
The transitioning signet swims urgently
Dragging a deep dart in its wake
Once brown it’s noble ark now speckled
Flattens, reaching, pleading
Demanding food with a desperate shush

Scattered pellets bob summoning
Mottled siblings and parents to join
The royal throng that turns and tussles
Graceful wings raised in display
Becoming fierce enforcers of superiority
Sharp snaps send snowy feathers adrift

With pecking order firmly fixed
The mature monarch rules the roost
Yet young usurpers yearn for their chance
Raising their wings and wrestling
Until food finished joining those forced to flee
Calming, becoming again the beautiful bank*

Most days we take a tub of swan food down to the River Lea. Over the last couple of days there have been a significant number of swans, including yesterday one parent taking its offspring for a dramatic flying lesson. Feeding them today created a fiercely fought frenzy, most unlike the peaceful demeanour they usually display.

* Bank here has a dual meaning referring to both the river bank and the bank of swans, one of their collective nouns.

(24.10.21)

© Ben Quant 2021