The satisfaction of weary muscles
Arising from an afternoon’s gardening,
Clearing away the brambles and branches,
In hope of finding a patch of Eden.
I’ve spent a bit of time tackling the out of sight bits of the garden this weekend, very therapeutic in the midst of a busy season.
(21.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by David J. Boozer on Unsplash
A mottled S written upon the ground,
I found you clearing away the fallen leaves
amongst the detritus by the garden fence.
Poised, legs apart, a perfect miniature,
you stood perfectly still with eyes fixed forwards,
a statue carved perhaps from cold hard flint.
Mutually locked in a Medusa stare, we found ourselves
stationary, afraid to make the other start.
I lost and turned. Perhaps you remain there still.
The final throes of summer sent me gardening this afternoon.
(06.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo Kristian Peters CC BY-SA 3.0
Poetry tonight?
That was my intention, but
Gardening won instead…
Self explanatory!
(18.06.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Alive!
Each step
Explodes
A swirling
Celebration
Of insects.
Having left the lawn to its own devices over May it’s full of grasshoppers and other insects.
(10.06.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
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
Our lawn has been infested
by violets, a swarming purple.
Next will come white daisies
and bohemian dandelions.
A lone daffodil has
somehow found its way,
but now the sun is out
they’ll start to come en masse.
Bluebells ring amidst a
daze of forget-me-nots.
Wild cyclamen appear
even a stray red strawberry.
These immigrants attract
bees and other insects,
troublemakers buzzing
in tongues I cannot speak.
Be sure it won’t stop there.
No, before you know it
they’ll flock, the birds and bats
and butterflies and crickets.
Every sound and language
under the sun will surround us;
a multitudinous riot
of culture, colour and song.
I fear for my children, they
will never know the past:
our English gardens’ green
and monocultural grass.
The more I talk to those of other countries living here, the more I see the beauty around me.
(14.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by virginia lackinger on Unsplash
Today I’ve been pruning a bush.
That is an understatement.
I’ve been chopping up remains
of vast swathes of branches culled
from overgrown hedges and bushes
and dumping them in our bin.
It’s been a battle, one man
with secateurs versus
Mother Nature gone wild.
Mother Nature is winning.
Eventually, Mother Nature
always finds a way,
but meanwhile, here I am,
trying to tame her excess.
Each piece recalls the past,
each snip a season gone,
and as the wheelie bin is
filled with trimmings, time flies.
Today I’ve been being pruned,
my sense of self stripped back,
perspective re-established,
the brambles will be back.
With winter gradually receding, I’ve been trying in vain to maintain garden order…
(12.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
The hedge was out of control,
its branches lined their vicious
spikes beyond the fence,
like medieval pikemen
stood ready for the charge.
There was but one reply!
I grabbed my shears and set
about their ranks with wild
abandon, sending limbs
flying in every direction.
Resisting, they made their mark:
my blood was shed, but alas,
for them, victory was mine
as fast they fell, and soon
lay scattered on the ground.
But this was not the end.
In remembrance I gathered the fallen,
twisting them into a wreath
and hanging them on the door;
a holly crown for the Christ.
I spent this morning pruning our hedgerow, including the holly bush. I’ve often pondered making my own wreath, and so today I gave it a go, at least the holly framework. Tomorrow, perhaps, I’ll add a splash of colour to go with it.
(30.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 