Poem 1010 – A Sonnet to Time Management

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Today’s a day that’s dedicated to
A list of tasks that I must undertake,
Completing them before the day is through,
Whilst not missing any out by mistake.
I’ve drawn up lists with boxes to be ticked
And diarised my tasks with coloured code,
Been ruthless with my focus – that’s the trick,
Or so by online gurus I’ve been told
It doesn’t matter how fast that they’re ticked,
There’s always more approaching from behind,
Relentless ranks of jobs come marching briskly,
With urgency and importance intertwined.
But thankfully this is not who I am,
It’s character not tasks that makes a man.

Thought I’d write a sonnet today and this is what tumbled out.
(21.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 1009 – The Evening Commute

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As predictable as ever,
The evening commute begins,
The vaguest hint of hum.

At first a sole outrider,
Quick to leave the office,
Keen to miss the queue.

The sound of a distant thrum,
Becomes an urgent flutter,
A squabbling squall of sound,
A churning flying mass,
A kaleidoscope of grey,
Remorselessly pushing forwards,
A riotous raucous throng.

As quickly as it started
The thundering flock have gone,
Until tomorrow comes.

Just as the light started to dip, the evening murmuration flew over as the starlings returned to Lee Valley for the night, echoing the human commuters who similarly travel in and out on a daily basis.
(20.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Poem 1008 – Patiently Made

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Carefully carved behind concealing doors,
This key was kept in secret, kept for mischief.
What plots and plans was it purposed for?
What jokes and japes contrived and journeys made?
These stories still remain safely hidden,
Locked and lost to time and left unspoken.

Visited a former lunatic asylum this afternoon as part of heritage open day. The keys in this display caught my attention.
(19.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 1007 – We Breathe Again

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The blaze of summer is now a fading wick.
Lawns, once overcooked like forgotten toast,
are turning green again, fragranced by rain.
Under the cover of our apple tree
spontaneous cyclamen have started to cluster,
delicate in contrast to the former sun.
Finally, the nights are drawing in.

Change is definitely in the air today.
(18.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 1006 – Refuge for the Free

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And with that Warenne was scuttled away
Within his soldiers arms,
Leaving Hereward clear to ride,
To Ely, with his men at his side,
Finding there others who had tried,
To resist the Conquerer’s ‘charms’.

The Abbott and his monks opened
Their doors with great respect,
Along with other honoured men,
Who seeking refuge there had fled,
To raise a rebellion their intent,
Fuelled by their discontent.

Amongst those hiding in the Isle
Were three bold Earls all told:
Firstly Adwin Earl of Leicester,
Then his brother, Warwick, no lesser,
Lastly Tosti who under pressure
Who’d fled there from the cold.

At last the fabled Wake’s arrived
Upon the Isle of Ely,
And welcomed there by monks and men,
By nobles, abbott and Mother Fen,
By vole and eel and grey heron,
As hero of the free.

The resistance starts to amass in Ely.
(17.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by David Clode on Unsplash

Poem 1005 – The Tick-Maister

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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.)

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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

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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