Poem 414 – The Conversation of the Birds

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The conversation of the birds echoes
beneath the ancient woodland canopy.
We turn our searching eyes upwards to check on
the source of these trill tongues, but alas, they flee.
A hint of movement flits amongst the leaves,
a trace of colour or suggestive shape:
the twitching of the leaves caught in the breeze
or shadow of the bird as it escapes?
We close our eyes and stand as still as we
are able to and try to disappear,
perhaps our feathered friends will sense our plea,
and stepping forwards, finally lose their fear.
In time the individuals will emerge,
if you attend to the conversation of the birds.

Birdwatching in the woods can be a frustrating affair, so often they remain out of sight, but careful listening can lead to individuals appearing from the chorus.
(02.02.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Tom Bradley on Unsplash

(Edit: swapped the last two lines around, much better for this simple switch! 03.03.23)

Poem 413 – Hertfordshire Chain Walk Pt. 3

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In wonder, we walk these woodland worlds,
That groan beneath green garlands of moss.
This verdant dressing, vivid and vibrant,
Drapes the boughs and cloaks their branches.
Tacking across our track, a trickling
Stream carves stripes into our path,
Whilst, circling up above, black corvids
Caw at red kites above the castle.
Is this a place where faeries frolic,
Fearless in their velvet kingdom?

Today we walked the third chain of the Hertfordshire Chain Walk (we’re going back to do the second another day). At times the landscape was quite magical.
(01.02.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 412 – Conversation Cafe

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We meet on Friday’s, one o’clock;
foreign faces, different tongues.
Talking with stumbling voices and
a trowel, each time we lay another
brick. Slowly a bridge is built
until at last we finally meet.

One of the highlights of the last year has been our Conversation Cafe at church. Each week we meet a group of Kurdish women, who want to improved their conversational English. We’ve gained as much as they have as we’ve got to know them and their culture.
(31.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by LinkedIn Sales Solutions on Unsplash

Poem 411 – A Moment In The Sun

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Like a languid river, the golden fox lay
outstretched and bronzed under the winter sun.
Sheltered by the fence, she took the time
to rest from foraging for food. Carefree,
she seemed to be unaware of me watching her,
only the occasional twitching of her black-
tipped ears indicated otherwise.
In this lazy moment her life appeared
idyllic. I reached round for my camera,
to see if I could capture a piece for myself,
but as I did she softly slipped away.

I spent my lunch today watching a fox enjoy a half moment of peace and quiet, secure under the sun’s rays in our garden.
(30.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dušan veverkolog on Unsplash

Poem 410 – Ananias and Sapphira

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A journey’s start is critical.
The way we start sets expectations,
The foundations on which we’ll stand,
When difficulties dampen spirits,
And doubts threaten to drag us down.
Lord, help me perceive the light in darkness.

Tonight at church we tussled with this difficult story in Acts 5. It always makes me wince. I sense there’s a way into reconciling myself to it in its context of being at the start of a journey.
(29.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Thanos Pal on Unsplash

Poem 407 – A World in a Word

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Sometimes a simple name can conjure a sound,
produce a tone or mood, or evoke a colour.
Try John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock,
Cannonball Adderley, Wayne Shorter, Charlie Parker.
Say them out loud to enter a world now gone,
where bands chase the elusive rhythm of
adrenaline beating, coloured black and white,
and tinted blue.

Spent this afternoon working to a soundtrack of Blue Note Jazz.
(26.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo William P. Gottlieb, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Poem 406 – Reaching for Heaven

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Picked out in Eden’s perfect white, you strain,
with necks outstretched, and reach for heaven’s doors.
Caught in between two worlds, your life is laboured
but here, serene in flight, as in the water;
gliding through the blue, God’s arrow shot,
an elegance outlined by morning’s sun.
Oh, that I could grasp a feather and fly
within this sky-born halo, but alas,
I fear my earth-bound fingers would find no purchase,
but slip right through to mourn what we have lost.

This morning a perfect V-formation of swans flew past our window, washed brilliant white by the sun. I pointed this out to my wife who said she knew what today’s poem would be about…
(25.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Mathijs de Koning on Unsplash

Poem 405 – Rhyme Around The Clock

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Better late than never,
My daily attempt at rhyme,
This stab at wordsmith rhythm only
Squeezes in on time.

A jazzy slate of syllables,
Alliteration rock,
It finally makes its debut on
The last seconds of the clock.

The metronome helps meter
Iambic beats combine
And with a crash of consonants
We make the end bar line.

Home alone, I got distracted playing my guitar, and almost forgot my daily poem…
(24.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Kobby Mendez on Unsplash