This year I got in early
and started ‘No Mow May’ in
January. Now the grass
is tufty and embedded
with dandelion splashes.
It might not win awards
or have those tasteful stripes,
but the birds all seem to love it
and that’s a prize to me.
As spring erupts, our garden’s come to life. First thing the lawn’s awash with birds, pecking for food and heating material.
(12.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Each dusk they fly in flocks
Across the inky sky
A gathering murmuration
And as the starlings gather
Bats begin to flit
And weave their frantic patterns
This transit brings to mind
Another distant view
The passing of the sun
We gathered in your garden
Equipped with tinted glasses
To watch the solar eclipse
Back then, as now, the birds
Flew across the horizon
Going home to roost
But soon it’s time for you
To take to wing and pass
Go heading home to roost
Fly safely, my old friend,
Through this liminal place
And soon the sun will shine
The starlings are massing as night falls.
(08.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jan Haerer on Unsplash
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)
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
We suddenly became aware of
his lonesome presence not far away.
Perfectly still, he perched mere metres
from where we sat behind the glass.
He gazed disdainfully at us through
his alien eyes, dismissing us,
before, with a casual flick of his feathers,
launching himself from the plum tree branch.
We had an unexpected visitor in the garden the other day.
(20.12.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo Muséum de Toulouse, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Seeking solace in numbers, they flock together,
Perched on the edge of clefts and aisles and chairs,
Whilst down below their mates peck through the clothes.
Though close, they never acknowledge each other’s presence,
Except perhaps a brief shared nod between them,
In recognition of their mutual plight.
And as each female emerges to the flock,
They twitter, preening hair, and staking claims,
Puffing their chests and hoping that she’s theirs.
There’s always great people watching to be had in shopping centres…
(28.09.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Denver Saldanha on Unsplash
The sky is wakened
by the urgent chatter
of sparrows bouncing
back and forth.
I can only see a few
but their chorus fills
my morning ears
and stirs me from
my slumbers.
They loiter in the bushes,
kicking cans and
and smoking joints, but
these avian urchins,
these hedgerow ragamuffins,
these cheeky chappies,
are anything but common
– they are the heralds
of the morn!
Pouring my morning cup of tea today, the air was suddenly
filled with the sound of sparrows singing; rowdy but beautiful.
(10.05.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Jacques LE HENAFF on Unsplash
Walking amidst the trees I hear:
blackcaps and great tits, chiffchaffs and wrens,
weaving a three dimensional tapestry.
Confined, the blackbird’s song frees me,
widens my perception, whilst the goldfinch
grants me wings amongst the leaves.
Picking out particular voices,
the choir starts to swell and I’m
enrapt by their musicality.
Recently I’ve been trying to learn to recognise and name birdsong. With the help of a phone app, this has opened my awareness to the choir around me. What was generic birdsong has become the glorious conversation of a varied throng of birds: an ear for the particular has enriched the appreciation of the whole.
(30.04.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Andrea Lightfoot on Unsplash
The subtle scent of freshly woken grass
and crispness of the sky arrest me as
the door is opened on the dawning day.
Sparrows, already up, are catching the
proverbial early worm and the morning’s gossip;
the air is thickened with excited chatter.
Jostling students join them, calling out
greetings to newcomers in their growing flock.
I remember being in their number.
But now is not for melancholy thoughts or
nostalgic longing for carefree childhood days.
I wave goodbye to my departing wife
and note the soft cool air that curls around
my naked ankles; I’m still in my pajamas,
time to wash the night away and dress.
Cat Stevens comes to mind and Etch-a-Sketch
where with one swipe the old is wiped away
and the new is ushered in.
The smell of dew dampened grass greeted me as my wife left for work this morning, bringing with it the fading refrain of Morning Has Broken sung at a recent funeral.
(18.04.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Sergio Otoya on Unsplash
Catching up on poems from the last few days…
A little weary, out of rhythm,
we rise to scattered festive relics.
An anecdote is told about
a former poet laureate.
Required walking to clear our heads
and settled Christmas lethargy.
We stop to feed Egyptian and Canadian
geese and opportunistic pigeons.
Back home it’s time for lunch, comprised of
yesterday’s offcuts before
a most unexpected reprise,
“You know that story? I missed a line,
‘I woke besides the ugliest woman…'”
A true story…
(26.12.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
