Sharply formed and
Immaculately cut,
In neat straight lines
Of grass and roses.
Fragrant scents and
Pastiche pieces,
White marble figures
By formal arches.
Here nature’s tamed,
Close manicured,
Ghosts promenade,
As stone lions roar.
We spent today’s sunny morning strolling around the grounds of Wrest Park.
(03.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Nigel Cox CC-BY SA 2.0
He sits, intently fixing me
with ancient eyes that see and know.
They hold me not directly but
obliquely. Nevertheless, they have
the measure of me, weighing me up,
appraising character and work.
I wonder what he sees in there.
I also gaze into his soul
and find within familiar landscape,
a long lost brother clad in orange.
One of the highlights of our visit to Port Lympne Safari Park was the orangutans. Watching and being watched by someone so close to being a human was highly moving.
(02.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
The husk rests dry and dead
within the dark cold ground,
and sleeps the winter through
until the warm spring’s tug.
The right conditions call
it forth; a conversation,
a word, a revelation,
that stirs and wakes potential.
A downward delving for
the deepest nutrient
and reaching for the light,
the outshoots of new growth.
And from Good Friday’s husk
comes Easter’s child, who reaches
up with outstretched hands
and tottering first steps.
A conversation earlier today reminded me of my first steps to faith.
(30.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dibakar Roy on Unsplash
Last night I slept with lions.
The final sound I heard?
That deep hoarse throaty roar
that said this place is mine
and you are only guests
as long as I permit it.
Sleep well but don’t forget…
We stayed in a glamping pod at Port Lympne Zoo last night as part of a two day trip to there and Howletts. Absolutely fantastic.
(29.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Beware of gorillas throwing sticks
Take care of toucans tossing stones
Be cautious capybaras playing tricks
And flippin’ flamingos flinging bones
Look out the lemurs are lobbing logs
The anteater’s taking aim at you
Mind out for missiles fired by dogs
It’s all gone ballistic at the zoo!
Visited Port Lympne Zoo today and stumbled across this sign. A poem had to follow.
(28.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
The snaking bramble wraps itself around
the bush, the branches and my arms.
Its tail around my back, it lurches
catching me unawares, and bites.
I spin, it bites again. I twist
and turn, it bites once more. It’s always
faster, darting out of reach.
But I will not be beaten! No!
I persevere and tug and tug,
each pull a victory in perseverance.
Eventually I slump exhausted.
My body bears a thousand wounds,
but all around the bramble lies,
its broken body in submission,
the battle won…
…but not the war.
An afternoon of gardening. I have the scars to prove it.
(26.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Stefan Kostić on Unsplash
The rising sun invades through sycamore branches,
its spotlight picking out a lonely snail,
bedecked in stark contrasting coloured spirals.
The Sun’s dazzling white enlivens grenades
of glass dropped onto the lawn’s lengthening stalks.
Spider zip wires, momentarily made visible,
transverse, fragile yet strong, will shortly vanish.
A gang of boisterous sparrows playing tag
fill me with delight as they shout and switch.
Soon they’ll wake the flowers, who somehow slumber
oblivious to this squadron’s raucous games.
This fleeting action is invigorating.
I drink it deeply, let it permeate,
and pray it will sustain me through the day.
A snapshot through the window this morning as I ate my breakfast. Reading Robert MacFarlane’s introduction to Nan Shepherd’s ‘The Living Mountain’, I’ve been encouraged to look deeper at my surrounds.
(25.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Önder Andinç on Unsplash
Today we walk as royalty on our way,
Illuminated by the chestnuts’ light.
Above, a buzzard monitors the crowd
Of rapeseed, waving yellow flags in joy.
A chiffchaff serenades us with a song and
Summer’s first swift performs its daring flypast.
Our daughter’s home for the weekend, so we thought we’d repeat the first leg of the Hertfordshire Chain Walk with her.
(19.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
This year I got in early
and started ‘No Mow May’ in
January. Now the grass
is tufty and embedded
with dandelion splashes.
It might not win awards
or have those tasteful stripes,
but the birds all seem to love it
and that’s a prize to me.
As spring erupts, our garden’s come to life. First thing the lawn’s awash with birds, pecking for food and heating material.
(12.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
‘What’s that?’ she asked abruptly,
pointing to the smallest
bird perched in the tree
beside us.
I almost missed it listening
to the sound resounding
all around me, loud
and laughing.
This Irish lilt, melodic
song that filled the air,
composers answering
each other.
But then I saw it fill its
chest, open its beak,
and sing and sing and sing,
so merry!
This little fellow was the
author of the song
that brought such joy, we can’t
stop smiling!
This afternoon we took a post lunch walk around Lea Valley and saw a chiffchaff in the tree beside us. Their loud and laughing song always makes me smile. I was surprised to discover that the source of this big sound is such a small bird! I thought I’d try and capture something of its bouncy song in the form of this poem. If you don’t know what they sound like listen to this: https://youtu.be/we0bA5POyzU?si=etmckMGRQWKkPgjL
(10.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Andrey Strizhkov on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 
