It’s nine o’clock and so
Creation’s curtains close,
drawn by a flock of starlings
heading home to bed.
Every night, as regular as clockwork!
(22.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash
Natural World
Poem 522 – Under the Sun
Totally crashed out
and basking in the sun,
Reynard relaxes beneath
its golden smile and grins;
his snout become a mirror.
A fox has taken to lying at the end of our garden. Yesterday he was so relaxed I was worried for a moment until his snout twitched.
(21.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dušan veverkolog on Unsplash
Poem 519 – The Pride
A lawn of lions,
Their golden manes
Bobbing brightly
Under the Sun.
NoMowMay has produced a beautiful display of dandelions.
(18.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Nikša Leko on Unsplash
Poem 514 – Starling’s Choice
Trapped behind the bricks,
I’m caught amongst the ashes,
left flapping in the dark.
This fall was not intended,
I but I couldn’t stop myself,
from descending in the dark.
Unable to escape, with
no space to find my way,
or spread my wings and fly,
I’m left in desperation,
increasingly bewildered,
blinded, lost, exhausted.
Below a light appears,
its grasping fingers reach,
in beckoning invitation.
I panic, torn between
the comfort of the known,
and fearful possibility.
This morning started with a futile attempt to rescue a starling from our chimney.
(13.05.25)
Poem 512 – The Frog Princess
Plump, olive green and shiny under the lamp
the frog sits in its tank and smiles a vacant
smile at me. For now it sleeps the sleep of
the idle, all its needs will be provided.
Occasionally it shuffles, rearranges
limbs, then settles down once more exhausted.
I’m not convinced a prince would pucker lips,
but if he did, what metamorphosis might
occur? Please welcome our new prince the toad!
I’m busy working on an entry to a local poetry competition, so here’s a quick one based on our pet White’s Tree Frog.
(11.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 511 – The Living River
Is this river alive?
I think so. She flows
along our valley birthing
life where e’er she goes:
the hazy clouds of flies
that flock this time of year,
the clacking coots upon
comical towering nests,
the dragonflies that briefly dart
by deer that stalk its edges.
Small fish flick within her
currents, whilst willows lean
admiring her fine looks.
Some days she dresses down
in sombre darkened brown,
in winter black and white,
but today the sun is out,
it’s time for brighter colours.
She is our giving mother
nurturing our valley
with her languid love
and flowing tender tears,
and whilst she does she sings
her lapping melody.
This river is alive,
of that there is no doubt.
I’ve been listening to the BBC’s adaptation of Robert MacFarlane’s ‘Is A River Alive?’ Living next to the River Lee (or Lea), I find it easy to grasp what he means.
(10.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 504 – Capability Calls
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
Poem 503 – Windows of the Soul
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
Poem 501 – Upon the Cusp
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
Poem 500 – Sleeping with Lions
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
Ode for the Day 
