Natural World

Poem 512 – The Frog Princess

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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

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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 503 – Windows of the Soul

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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

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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

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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

Poem 499 – Beware of Gorillas Throwing Sticks

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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

Poem 497 – Man vs. Plant

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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

Poem 496 – Morning Invasion

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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

Poem 490 – A Royal Welcome

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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