Wildlife

Poem 680 – The Uncommon Newt

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

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

Poem 651 – The (Un)Common Swift

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

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

Poem 645 – The Robin

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

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

Poem 632 – Seduced

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

Through my kitchen window I spot you pass,
a lady in red, swaggering with an easy
confidence. A stranger to my garden,
you pause to pose in stripey tiger print.
You don’t belong and yet you captivate me
with your exotic ways; my tiger moth.

It isn’t just grasshoppers in our garden this year, for the first time I recall, there’s a number of beautiful Jersey Tiger Moths fluttering around, along with a variety of butterflies.
(21.07.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo Jean-Pol GRANDMONT, CC BY 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Poem 610 – Haunted

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

Under this raging sun the ragwort blooms
and ancient English oaks stand broad and tall.
On the wing, strange, alien-blue, dragonflies zoom,
as vivid caterpillars stretch and crawl.
Meanwhile, a song thrush finds its finest hour
in glorious song, a masterclass of splendour.
Its beauty’s only matched by bright wildflowers;
as this dream becomes a glimpse through heaven’s door.
We stroll along the gayly dressed bright field,
whilst skylarks burble in the meadow grass.
Such visions jar with those further afield,
reminders of the life of days gone past.
Too few, alas, these ghosts of what has gone –
our lives are haunted by their lives undone.

I thought I’d try and rework yesterday’s poem into a sonnet, its content seeming to call for a more classic form.
(29.06.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 609 – Today We Walk With Ghosts

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

Under this summer sun wild flowers bloom.
And ancient trees at ease stand broad and tall.
Caterpillars drop like hazel catkins
Whilst skylarks burble in the meadow grass.
Somewhere, a song thrush finds its finest hour,
A masterclass in glorious song and splendour.
These fields are haunted by the life we’ve lost;
Too few, alas, these ghosts of what has gone.

Today we completed loop four of the Hertfordshire Chain Walk, passing through some magnificent fields that have been left to nature. Bursting with life they lifted my spirits, only for the barrenness beyond them to be made starkly clear.
(28.06.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 604 – Reynard’s Children

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

Two pairs of black tipped ears peak over
the sun-bleached grass. Alert they twitch,
then gallop, gambol, giddily roll,
over and over, intoxicated.

This frenzy of rolling frollicking ends
a heap of writhing rusty yelps.
Beneath lies Reynard, dutifully watching,
made weary by new life’s first breaths.

The highlight of today? Two handsome fox cubs playing in the garden.
(23.06.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Poem 483 – The Birds Have Spoken

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

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

Poem 291 – Transfigured

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

The early morning sun rises at we do,
shivers then casts its rays upon our windows,
revealing in their panes the evidence
of life that has pressed itself against their glass.
These traces sparkle under its caress,
lit up in brilliant white to make us blush.
A delicate weave with downward threads outlined
like the curving paths of stars in timelapse captured.
A smear from Reynard’s tail when jumping the fence.
Paw marks made by a mad squirrel seeing
a rival in his face reflected there.
The outline of a feathered angel captured
transfigured in a momentary pose.
These illuminated memories shine
but briefly; all too soon the spell has passed.

I should be embarrassed by state of our windows, but when the autumn sun shines on them, something beautiful is revealed. (UPDATE: A few have asked me who the Reynard is that appears in a few of my poems. He’s a trickster fox from stories starting in mediaeval times. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reynard_the_Fox)
(13.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Richie Bettencourt on Unsplash

Poem 280 – The Guvnor

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

Out of the corner of my eye
I see him scurry across the fence;
a bully who has artfully eased
his predecessors off the patch.

His movement’s confident and cocky,
the urban swagger of one who knows
he’s reached the top of his ‘profession’.
He is the top cat, guvnor, kingpin.

Over his shoulder hangs no weapon
but a bushy tail, his bling,
or status symbol signifying
that he is not too be messed with.

One moment he’s there and then he’s not.
I turn to look but he has vanished,
disarmingly slipped out of my sight.
I scan my surroundings nervously.

It’s not just him that’s disappeared,
it is his stash, ill-gotten gains,
the product of extortion, never
to be seen again till next year.

Somewhere he’s counting out his nuts
stacking then in their ordered piles,
a display intended to underline
that he’s in charge and no one else.

I was sitting this evening wondering what to write about today when I spotted our neighborhood squirrel on the fence…
(02.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Lucia Sorrentino on Unsplash