Natural World

Poem 631 – The Uncommon Newt

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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

Poem 627 – Tidal Painting

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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

Poem 626 – Turning

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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)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Matt on Unsplash

Poem 622 – Carpe Diem

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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

Poem 608 – A Summer Walk in Lee Valley

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A summer’s evening walk with friends,
a stroll into the golden glow.
Beneath the leafy archways of
the reaching trees (a guard of honour?)
we stumble on Lee Valley’s secret
pathways and hidden island treasures.
The wander slows us down, affords
a chance for idle conversation,
for forging stronger bonds of friendship.
And as the night turns monochrome
we walk backwards through the years,
straying upon the wartime barges
abandoned to the encroaching reeds.
And by the time we make it home
we find our lives have been enriched.

Spent a pleasant hour and a half on a church summer social in the local countryside.
(14.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 605 – The Great Escape

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We never saw the plotting and scheming,
Committees meeting under our noses.
Did they excavate under a vault,
To dig deep tunnels under the floor?
Or build a glider to fly from the table,
To run with freshly forged false papers?
Encouraged by the open door
In a bid for freedom, the cricket jumped
Out of the box, across the floor,
Across the carpet, its great escape.
But alas, its accent gave it away,
And rather than a McQueen moment,
An iconic final do or die,
I trapped it under a plastic cup…

Our son keeps crickets to feed his frogs and newts. Occasionally we spot them crossing the floor or climbing the wall…
(11.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 602 – The (Un)Common Swift

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Eternally on the wing, the swift circles
and weaves in dreams of constant summer blue.
Here, trapped in two dimensions, I can’t conceive
how it must feel to never touch the ground;
to eat, to sleep, to meet, conceive and sing
all lacking sense of permanence below.
It sounds so liberating yet exhausting,
expansive yet without the roots called home.
Common? No, she is extraordinary.

The last couple of days the air had been filled with the sight and sound of swifts on the wing. Amazing birds (see https://www.rspb.org.uk/birds-and-wildlife/swift)
(08.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 596 – The Robin

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He stood so still, I almost didn’t spot him.
Once, his coat was like the one your mother
bought you, saying you’ll grow into it;
he has. Its scruffy now, its tatty edges stretching, fresh orange feathers finally poking through.
Whilst manhood beckons, he has so much to learn.
He eyes me quizzically, wondering if I can
be trusted, if I am a threat. I’m not.
Decision made we stand there eye to eye,
two fellow creatures looking soul to soul.
I’m held until he breaks his gaze, and twitching,
skips into the shade of a nearby waiting bush.

We have a juvenile robin in our garden at the moment, with whom I exchanged a precious moment this morning.
(02.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 595 – Canvas Dreams

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The present sound of rain thrumming transports me.
A boy, I lie inside my sleeping bag.
I am content, surrounded by the gentle
rhythm, a surrogate for my mother’s heart.
Although away, I am at home, encircled
by my father’s strong and reaching branches.
Exhausted by a day’s exertions, I close
my eyes, and smiling, drift back to the present.

It’s the time of year when the hankering to be under canvas always returns, and the sound of rain brings back happy memories.
(01.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Frederick Shaw on Unsplash

Poem 583 – Seduced

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Through my kitchen window I spot you pass,
a lady in red, swaggering with an easy
confidence. A stranger to my garden,
you pause to pose in stripey tiger print.
You don’t belong and yet you captivate me
with your exotic ways; my tiger moth.

It isn’t just grasshoppers in our garden this year, for the first time I recall, there’s a number of beautiful Jersey Tiger Moths fluttering around, along with a variety of butterflies.
(21.07.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo Jean-Pol GRANDMONT, CC BY 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons