Travel

Poem 342 – The Lure of the Sea

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The sound of seagull shrieks, their ow, ow, oowl,
pierces through the swooshing wind and waves.
The hanging horizon, hazes into infinity;
its rolling waves reflect the rising sun.
A gentle warmth whispers around my ankles,
a welcome relief from home’s oncoming winter,
whilst the taste of breakfast, lingers on my tongue,
just as we lazily lingered over it. The scent
of salty ocean, a siren call, summons us
to stroll along its stretch and search its pools.

I’m writing, sat on our room’s balcony, admiring the southern Portugal coast.
(03.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

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Poem 341 – A Happy Exchange

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This face is weary but its smile
Expresses it all having travelled miles.
To finally arrive and leave behind,
The travails of demanding times,
Exchanged for days of expectation,
Of sunny days and relaxation,
Lightens the step and lifts the soul
Brings life and joy and hope all told.

Day one of our holiday in Portugal. The 4.15am alarm call was not appealing, but was totally and utterly worth it.
(02.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 340 – Packing

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Suncream, have you packed the suncream yet?
And a mac in case it rains, because it will.
And don’t forget the currency and tickets,
As if that’s something I would ever do!

A laugh at the passport photos, a line up of
Stern looking criminals on holiday.
Clothes for hot and cold, a stack of books.
Let’s tidy up in case a burglar looks.

Who’s going to have the pets while we are gone?
Is there enough fuel to get us there and back?
Has anyone seen my trunks since last time around?
And just what was the combination to my lock…

Do you really think you’ll get all those shoes to fit?
Along with the charger spaghetti that’s tied itself
in knots? It’s only a week we’re going for…
You do? But only if I sit on it.

It’s time to go, let’s go, go, go!
You’re kidding, what do you mean you’re not ready yet?
You’ve had all week just like the rest of us.
We’ll wait in the car and get the SatNav set.

Don’t slam the door! Be quiet let me think!
What do you mean? Of course you can breathe it’s just
A small suitcase or two upon your lap.
What’s that? The tickets? What do you mean they’re lost….

After a really busy season we’re taking a break. Some of the above is based on painful memories…
(01.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Eminent Luggage on Unsplash

Poem 301 – Mind the Gap

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Please mind the gap, tread carefully or
Risk falling through the grasping crack.
Beneath the step awaits unseen,
A doom which hides below the tracks.

You hear the scream of biting brakes,
But nothing is as it might seem.
That sound? A mighty creature’s roar,
As along the tracks it eagerly streams.

This beast that lurks unlit by light,
Over the eons has gone berserk.
And now its hand your ankle grasps,
To pull you down with just one jerk.

There’s not much time, so please act now,
Don’t hesitate, and you’ll be fine.
Don’t hang around, because you’ll find,
Upon your bones he’ll gnaw and grind!

I had a meeting in London today, and wrote this on the tube; the phrase ‘mind the gap’ demanded some form of comic verse. To be read out loud with expression!
(23.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Tim Hüfner on Unsplash

Poem 273 – Home

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Sleeping bag grappled.
Tent dried and packed,
along with a random item to be
rediscovered next time.
Rubbish disposed of,
green and not.
Excess taken to the foodbank.
Car sought in a car park
stripped to the bare essentials.
Give thanks when I find it.
Satnav set for ‘Home’.
Strange, this is home too.
A porcelain toilet will be nice though
and a proper cup of tea.
The wristband stays on,
I’m not quite ready yet
to say goodbye.

Greenbelt’s over for another year, and what a cracking weekend it was, despite having four seasons in as many days!
(26.08.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 264 – Waiting

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Frankie was happier on the return leg,
senseless with mirth at his own jokes.
More sleep was had, the gradual detachment
that comes when homeward bound.
Retreating inwards we count –
weekend timetables require patience.
A mindless state’s achieved.

A better journey on the overnight Megabus, helped by the lively ceilidh last thing.
(17.08.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 263 – Farewell

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Farewell pink swabs of rosebay willowherb
Farewell fields awash with barley gold
Farewell Ericht, your waters blue and fast
Farewell Blairgowrie, your starlit nights alive

Today we said a sad farewell to our campsite for the week and headed back to Edinburgh and then to home. Car returned to to the rental base, a bright red Fiat 500.
(16.08.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 260 – Camping Dawn Chorus

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The clicking of bones:
a warm up stretch,
accompanied by
a yawn.
The sound of zips:
first fumbling with
the sleeping bags,
then doors,

inner and outer,
up and down,
a campsite’s rowdy
percussion.
Urgent feet
then crashing doors –
seems someone desperately
rushing.

It sounds as if
the whole world’s playing
just metres from
your pitch.
You check your watch
it must be late
but no it’s barely
six.

What is this madness?
With bleary eyes
you peer out but
to find,
there’s no one up
and all is still
but one child on the
horizon.

This morning wasn’t at all like this, although there a number of bird calls overnight. The familiar sound of zips, however, triggered many early morning campsite memories…
(13.08.24)

© Ben Quant 2024