A dash of dusty pink
that skims across the bushes,
clipping their crennelations
until it dips within.
Cleft black and white it flies,
a penetrating arrow
homing upon its target,
vanishing from sight.
Spotted on an overcast walk through Lee Valley this afternoon.
(03.10.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Doncoombez on Unsplash
As predictable as ever,
The evening commute begins,
The vaguest hint of hum.
At first a sole outrider,
Quick to leave the office,
Keen to miss the queue.
The sound of a distant thrum,
Becomes an urgent flutter,
A squabbling squall of sound,
A churning flying mass,
A kaleidoscope of grey,
Remorselessly pushing forwards,
A riotous raucous throng.
As quickly as it started
The thundering flock have gone,
Until tomorrow comes.
Just as the light started to dip, the evening murmuration flew over as the starlings returned to Lee Valley for the night, echoing the human commuters who similarly travel in and out on a daily basis.
(20.09.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash
Sunday afternoon and the gardening’s done.
Satisfied, I stop, sit back and observe.
Gleeful goldfinches chitter with delight,
their happy chatter calls to my innocence.
I smile a childlike smile. Meanwhile, a nearby
robin perches, posing like a head-
cocked model caught in curiosity.
She stares, I stare back; we are connected.
Blue tits flit incessantly from one thing
to the next; their frantic avian minds
unable to stand still. I watch them fly
delighted that I, however, managed to do so.
The poem says it all really, a lovely moment at the end of an afternoon’s work.
(14.06.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Jim Summerson on Unsplash
Stationary upon its scaffolding pole,
The cowled jackdaw keeps its eery stare,
An ancient watch atop a modern perch.
Its mate descends to claim a cold partner;
A twitch of midnight feathers and it too
Stands still, two beaks in frozen parallel.
I turn to look with them, wondering what
They watch so motionless. I can not tell;
What plane do these four focused eyes perceive?
I shudder sensing that they see elsewhere,
Penetrating flesh and blood and bones
Perceiving naked souls hiding within.
The house behind ours is currently having an extension built and the local jackdaws have abandoned our trees for the tops of its scaffolding poles.
(02.05.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Daniil Komov on Unsplash
Two graceful ballerinas scything
through the muggy, post-storm air.
A dart of russet tights and arc
of speckled chest, they swoop in turn
through freckled clouds of flying insects,
delighting in the ease at dining.
We stand and for awhile that’s all,
this choreography and us,
until the air begins to clear.
Then they too dissipate, leaving
us earthbound, leaden, wondering if
we’ll ever see their like again.
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Andy Morffew licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license
I started reading J.A. Baker’s The Peregrine today. It brought to mind the one and only time my wife and I saw two hobbies flying over the River Lee. An amazing sight.
(11.03.26)
A late winter’s walk, a wander through
the misty wood before the spring arrives.
Above, hidden within the white damp veil,
a riot erupts of raucous birds aroused
by the promise of pending season change ahead.
Their chatter chimes like church bells summoning
the buds to bloom, confetti blossom showers
that freshly fill the air with fragrant colour.
Our Sunday afternoon walk was marked by the thick sound of birdsong.
(08.03.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Doncoombez on Unsplash
Three gentlemen stood perched along the bank:
the heron, egret and the cormorant.
The first, an aged fellow, grey and boney,
so motionless he seemed already dead.
His beard hung limp along a saggy throat,
contrasting with those penetrating eyes,
alert and constantly alive to us.
Beside, a smaller man not grey but white,
the translucent white that only comes with time,
serene and wise. Two unexpected river-
bedfellows. But is this stillness just
their cover? Up above their carer pearched,
high upon an ivy clad lookout.
Wry grin upon his long, compassionate beak,
he watched wondering what mischief lay ahead.
Walking along the New River today, we spotted the unexpected sight of a great heron, little egret and cormorant next to each other. Surprising and somewhat comical.
(17.01.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Jessica Moss on Unsplash
Bespectacled and precariously perched upon a branch,
he sits and waits until it’s time. Skillfully
striking, he winds his prey to shore then flaps
away, a lumbering flight of bone and grey.
On an afternoon walk today we realised a heron, a bird that always demands attention.
(27.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Patrice Bouchard on Unsplash
Eternally on the wing, the swift circles
and weaves in dreams of constant summer blue.
Here, trapped in two dimensions, I can’t conceive
how it must feel to never touch the ground;
to eat, to sleep, to meet, conceive and sing
all lacking sense of permanence below.
It sounds so liberating yet exhausting,
expansive yet without the roots called home.
Common? No, she is extraordinary.
The last couple of days the air had been filled with the sight and sound of swifts on the wing. Amazing birds (see https://www.rspb.org.uk/birds-and-wildlife/swift)
(08.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
He stood so still, I almost didn’t spot him.
Once, his coat was like the one your mother
bought you, saying you’ll grow into it;
he has. Its scruffy now, its tatty edges stretching, fresh orange feathers finally poking through.
Whilst manhood beckons, he has so much to learn.
He eyes me quizzically, wondering if I can
be trusted, if I am a threat. I’m not.
Decision made we stand there eye to eye,
two fellow creatures looking soul to soul.
I’m held until he breaks his gaze, and twitching,
skips into the shade of a nearby waiting bush.
We have a juvenile robin in our garden at the moment, with whom I exchanged a precious moment this morning.
(02.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
