I’ve been away the last week. Does this mean I haven’t been writing poetry? No! I’ve kept up the one poem a day pattern that I’ve got back into recently, but I keep them private until I returned, aware that I didn’t want to advertise too far and wide that our easily identifiable house was vacant. Here they are:
Portugal
Poem 348 – Endings
The wistful ache of final farewells,
a sadness, blended with homeward joy,
that always builds as holidays end.
One last stroll along your ochre sands,
and clamber up your cacti cliffs,
to feel your breath upon my face.
Take summer shirts from where they hang
and fold them in our sandy bags.
Another sweep to clear the room.
And just like that it’s over.
(09.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Poem 347 – Dolphin Hunting
This brooding landscape’s constantly on the move,
a bewitching vista, coyly teasing us with
fleeting hints and passing apparitions.
A shape catches in the corner of the eye.
You turn only to find it’s gone and all
that’s left’s a question, hanging in its place.
Hoping that amongst these surging peaks they
may be found, we press on through the waves.
What’s that? You spin, a flash of grey lifted
above the spray, but no, it’s just a fish.
This false hope dashed, gone with the darkened waves,
and so time ebbs away and with it passes hope.
Resigning ourselves to disappointment, we pretend
the caves were enough. Too loud we cry, ‘All’s good!’
Bracing ourselves with bravado we turn for home,
and then, and only then, the waves are broken,
as up towards the cheering sky it soars!
At the third time of asking, our boat ‘sailed’ today. Two years ago we took this excursion along the coastal caves and then out to hunt for dolphins. We enjoyed it so much we had to take the family this time around. Dolphins? No joy, but we were finished to see leading tuna as we turned for home.
(08.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Poem 346 – Upon My Back
The warmth picks its spot,
Carefully centres its cross hairs,
And squeezes on the trigger
Gradually the pressure builds
And joyfully radiates
From this central bull’s-eye.
Massaging the tender
Muscle, it coaxes it to
Relax and begin to smile.
I pulled something in my back a couple of days ago. I’ve no idea when or how, it just suddenly was! Sitting by the inside pool, however, the sun performs wonderful therapy.
(07.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Poem 345 – Brits on Tour
I have never seen
so many pregnant men
lying on the beach
roasting in the sun
I was going to write about Trump, but that was too depressing.
(06.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Poem 344 – Fawkes’ Face
We are surrounded by so many faces.
I play the game of guess the nationality.
Sometimes I get it right but most not.
‘That’s an American’ becomes a Swede;
the Pole is Portugese; the Irish, Dutch,
the ‘dead-cert German’, a Geordie; and every
other transpires to be a Liverpudlian.
On this day when we remember Guido,
perhaps this ambiguity matters most.
There is great people watching to be had at the hotel at mealtimes…
(05.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Poem 343 – Ancient Echoes
A line of bird-like steps
strut confidently up the cliff-face,
towards its sandstone crest.
With toes outsplayed, they tread
through time, a shadow traced
on ancient tracks and paths.
Relentlessly, the waves
crash onwards, their roar
an echo of past voices.
Once permanent, now fleeting,
these footprints quickly fade,
the tide flows out, they’re gone.
Today we went dinosaur footprint hunting on the coastline near Albufeira. We found them, but they were already much eroded. (https://www.portugalresident.com/dinosaur-footprints-uncovered-at-albufeira-beach/)
(04.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Poem 342 – The Lure of the Sea
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
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 143 – Dolphin Hunt
This broiling seascape rolls, its darkened peaks
Foam tipped, a sliding constant avalanche
Its slick ebony depths, deftly navigated
By fearless swifts that flit between the waves
Somewhere within these valleys swim our prize
These crests their home not human pools that bind
Not at our beck and call we have to wait
Upon their grace and wonder if they’ll grant
An audience. The tables turned they play
With us, suggestive shadows conceal until…
A joyful scream
A flicking tail
A dancing shoal
Around us prance
Albufeira’s dolphins have ensnared us
The highlight of a recent holiday in Portugal, seeing dolphins swimming free in their natural habitat. Astonishing.
(07.11.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Ode for the Day 