Poem 1033 – Dada’s Tour (The Ballad of the Wake cont.)

Having heard this soldier’s words
The rebels sang his praise,
They marked his bold audacity,
His valour and tenacity,
Inviting him to stay and see
And learn more of their ways.

They showed him their defences and
Their fortifications strong,
And companies of famous men,
Whose feats of arms protected them,
Regaling him with songs which lended
Glory to where they belonged.

And after this they sent him home
But first he swore an oath,
To only speak of what he saw,
The truth of what he heard no more,
Only what he perceived on their shores,
This was his solemn troth.

Impressing his captors, Dada is given a tour of the fenland defences.
(14.10.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Pelayo Arbués on Unsplash

Poem 1030 – Dada Explains Himself (The Ballad of the Wake cont.)

‘Pray, Dada, tell us why you came,
With sword across the Fen?
What have we done to earn your blame,
Why come with armoured men?’

‘It is not you,’ the knight replied,
‘I see you not with ire,
The King promised the first to find
Their way across the mire,

And boldly land a blow upon
The rebels without care,
Could name a prize, some gift among
The treasures lying there.

And so I sought to prove myself
And demonstrate my courage,
By striving to achieve this wealth,
And never be discouraged.’

Dada explains his motivation for striving to Ely.
(11.10.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Image by Poliphilo, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Poem 1028 – Daggers Out!

Look out
It’s daggers out
Rumours milled
Faithful killed

Clues analysed
Suspicions rise
Watch your back
On the wrack

No evidence
Credence’s lent
To crazy themes
Bonkers schemes

Faithful strive
To stay alive
Dispel doubt
Traitors out!

A silly one tonight. It’s been a heavy day today, which makes Celebrity Traitors the perfect release!
(09.10.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Melanie Hughes on Unsplash

Poem 1027 – Memory

Not fixed, memory is a malleable thing,
It swells and slips, elusive glides and flows,
Like clouds that drift upon the wind.
The views, once clear, become obscured by mists
that landward flow from shifting tide to hide
the fading touch of a departed’s kiss.
But who’s to say that what we sense is false,
that mutating recollections are a lie
and that our limited minds are at fault?
Perhaps what matters is what’s left behind,
the present impact, generous or unkind?

Reflecting on my memories ahead of a funeral tomorrow, and how our recollections of people fluctuate and change, I’m left wondering if that really matters. Where do we find meaning and truth if all we ever know is filtered by interpretation?
(08.10.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Ian Wetherill on Unsplash

Poem 1025 – Harvest Hills

Man-made mountain range
Tectonic plates surge upwards
Gratitude ridges

Another busy day with the foodbank, not just arranging parcels, but receiving so much food from our generous Borough. I don’t think I can lift another crate today, I’m totally exhausted but so grateful.
(06.10.26)

© Ben Quant 2026