Back to the flat country
The land of black peat soil,
eternal horizons and hanging
mist. The womb that bore me.
Of tumbling buildings and ditches.
Of endless skies that leave us
falling into the view.
A dreamscape that still haunts me.
Returned to the Cambridgeshire fens today.
(12.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo public domain by Dr Border at English Wikipedia
This gentle green descends towards the horizon
which laps around its edge in waves of cloud.
Surprisingly, the playful sun is out, its
autumnal heat washes over us,
awakening birds that shriek in joyful play.
We walk, my father and I, along the hedgerows
reaching like groynes into the fields, alert
to fungi, berries and other harvest gifts.
Strolling along this Nottingham coast we let
it roll over our toes with grateful thanks.
Dad and I went for a delightful walk in the Nottingham countryside today, regretting in the surprisingly summer-like weather.
(06.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ries Bosch on Unsplash
You helped us look into their eyes
And see ourselves reflected there,
As kindred spirits, a common gaze
That arcs across the DNA.
And through your long and patient study
We saw the nuance of their lives,
From using tools and forging bonds,
To waging war and playing games.
We learnt with you that we are not
As alone as once we thought we were,
And heard the call to extend our care
To these our long lost sisters, brothers.
I’m saddened to hear of the death of Dame Jane Goodall, such a significant scientist and advocate for the protection of our fellow creatures.
(01.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ryan Al Bishri on Unsplash
Bespectacled and precariously perched upon a branch,
he sits and waits until it’s time. Skillfully
striking, he winds his prey to shore then flaps
away, a lumbering flight of bone and grey.
On an afternoon walk today we realised a heron, a bird that always demands attention.
(27.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Patrice Bouchard on Unsplash
The satisfaction of weary muscles
Arising from an afternoon’s gardening,
Clearing away the brambles and branches,
In hope of finding a patch of Eden.
I’ve spent a bit of time tackling the out of sight bits of the garden this weekend, very therapeutic in the midst of a busy season.
(21.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by David J. Boozer on Unsplash
Sometimes, it’s good to stop and while away
some time in nothing’s welcome hands and rest,
to idle like a river at the behest
of no one but the lazy flow, and play
in gentle eddies, splashing like a child.
These leisurely delights appear so mild,
belying the strength that lies beneath the surface,
accumulated over years of mirth,
as our habitual sabbath play gives guile
to stand despite the force of whim and toil.
This rhythmic life provides enriching soil,
the necessary nutrients for growth,
sink in your roots and deeply drink to clothe
yourselves with crowning leaves and trunk, a royal
oak. Come rest and leave behind the fray.
Reading Edith Wharton’s poem’ Elegy’, I thought I’d try and write something that used the same rhyming form. After another busy week, something on rest seemed appropriate.
(20.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jeffrey Hamilton on Unsplash
A mottled S written upon the ground,
I found you clearing away the fallen leaves
amongst the detritus by the garden fence.
Poised, legs apart, a perfect miniature,
you stood perfectly still with eyes fixed forwards,
a statue carved perhaps from cold hard flint.
Mutually locked in a Medusa stare, we found ourselves
stationary, afraid to make the other start.
I lost and turned. Perhaps you remain there still.
The final throes of summer sent me gardening this afternoon.
(06.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo Kristian Peters CC BY-SA 3.0
The tide comes in, its waves
sweeping across the wall,
a swell of colour crashing
to its very boundaries.
Rock pools form, deep puddles
caught in crevices.
Carefree spray transgresses,
marking past its limits.
But as the wash recedes,
the turbulence dies down,
a pristine beach is left
of smooth and even colour.
We’re decorating at the moment, painting walls one at a time around the house. So often it looks a terrible mess until the very last coat is on and dry.
(02.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ryan Farid on Unsplash
And just like that the shorts have gone away,
the evening dimmed a little earlier.
Dandelions no longer cheer the lawn
now thoughts have turned to autumn.
The summer has been carefully folded up,
and stored in crates of happy memory.
Its carefree days of sun and play will now
only be opened from time to teasing time.
And in the mirror in the store I caught
a passing glimpse of changing seasons,
a hint of what has been, is now, and is
still yet to be, thus turning thoughts to autumn.
The seasons are turning as the schools begin to return.
(01.09.25)
A moment of opportunity
presents itself, an open door,
a chance for frontier exploration.
A skuttle and leap, the gecko ascends,
quickly seizing it’s golden moment.
A flick of searching tongue reveals
a sensory map of smell and texture,
an alien landscape full of mystery.
It pauses, drinking it in before
refuge is sought within a sleeve.
Pascal, our new crested gecko, took the chance to explore our sitting room for the first time this evening.
(28.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Ode for the Day 