Poem 1005 – The Tick-Maister

Your perfect tick
Is most exquis-
itive, it simply
can’t be matched.

The downstroke’s
full of fizz
caused by the way
it was dispatched.

You really should
go into business
with such flare,
a classy act!

Your stylish writing
is a kiss
upon the page
it’s no mere scratch.

I’m really glad
you came, we’d miss
you otherwise,
but most of all
we’d miss your tick
your most exquis-
ite tick, word to
the wise. That Louis
is your man
your master scribe.
There’s none can match
his passion and
the way that he
can etch a tick
his skill in ex-
ecuting it’s
unique and
not too be
despised. Louis,
you are the master
of your trade.
You have the trick
of writing ticks,
so let the world
take note of this
that no one else
comes close to your
unrivalled skill.
Quite simply put
you are the tick
within our box.
You have our vote,
so be the best,
be unabashed,
you are unmatched,
the calligraphic
trophy winner.
You are the one,
the only one,
so go and flick
be free and tick
outrageously
and never cross.

An ode to a volunteer at foodbank who arrived after the rush today when all that was left was to tick a sheet. Best read out loud and fast.
(16.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Image by juicy_fish on Magnific

Poem 1002 – Vengeance Postponed (The Ballad of the Wake cont.)

Now at these words Warenne gave groan,
And stamped his thwarted feet,
And going puce began to moan,
With growing anger in his bones,
His longed for vengeance now postponed,
In light of this defeat.

‘If your master were in my hands,
I promise he’d taste death,
But know I’ll chase him through this land,
Until my final breath!

His curse was met with laughter by
Our Hereward who reached out,
And took his bow and drew its string,
An arrow true and sharp gave wing,
The Earl upon his breast did sting,
Causing his men great doubt.

Although it glided from his chest
Without a mortal wound,
His men, alarmed, ran up to him,
Most frantic at the clanging din,
And how the impact did fling him,
Down to the wretched ground.

Will Warenne ever get his man? Not for now at least…
(13.09.36)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Alireza Sahebi on Unsplash

Poem 1001 – The Cormorant

Sleak and smug,
you dipped beneath
the green water
and disappeared.

A simple movement
of effortless grace
that leaves only
the slightest ripple.

I tarry waiting,
wondering where
you will appear.
You never do.

Walking along the Lee today we spotted a cormorant swimming in front of us, but not for long.
(13.09.36)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Sneha Cecil on Unsplash

Poem 1,000 – Poem 1,000

Unless I have miscounted,
(As I have before),
Today I reach one thousand
Poems, no less no more.
Occasionally profound,
And sometimes simply silly,
Some good whilst others flounder,
Some rhyme whilst others refuse to.

I really ought to write one of the profound or thoughtful ones tonight, but this is what came out tonight instead…
(11.09.36)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Cooper Hofmann on Unsplash

Poem 999 – Just Before

The calm before the storm.
I’m taking a deep breath,
Gathering my thoughts,
And feeding on my nerves,
Preparing to take the plunge,
The chance to turn has gone,
It’s time to build momentum
And take a running JUMP!

I made it to my assembly early this morning, and had a few minutes to scribble these few lines.
(10.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Richard King on Unsplash

Poem 998 – The Family Tree

An oak, or ash or pine, the basic mold,
An individual fingerprint of grain.
We see the bark, the bare exterior,
Stark trunk and fluttering leaves providing tone.

But deep beneath this personal skin there lies
A cavernous world of echoing influence,
Tracing beyond the individual tree,
It stretches out to weave through time and place.

These reaching roots slip out across the water,
Beyond tectonic plate and culture’s haste,
Like eels drawn home to their elusive Sargasso,
We all swim back and are bound to distant Adam.

Working tonight with Who Do You Think You Are in the background spawned these verses.
(09.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 997 – We Refuse (The Ballad of the Wake cont.)

Upon receiving these blunt words
The Earl revealed himself,
And catching sight of Hereward,
Urgently told his men that they should,
Leap in and swim as fast as they could,
And with wild gestures compelled.

‘Avenge my brother’s death,’ he cried,
‘Relieve my boiling heart!’
‘No chance!’ their fast retort was fired,
‘His plan gives us that part’

‘He seeks to lure us across the water,
Into his waiting hands,
And there our doom, our death, our slaughter,
Awaits; this is his plan.’

Warenne’s men refuse to follow the Earl’s orders.
(08.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026