Poem 1016 – When I’m Gone

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The world will still turn round each day,
The Sun and Moon will dance their dance,
Gravity will constant tug,
The tide flow in and then depart.

My absence will be soon forgotten,
Opinions once so clear will pass,
My footprints will all fade from sight,
And passions strong no longer last.

So what remains for me today,
When all is just a fleeting song?
Seeking to be a harmonious note,
Amongst the divergent musical throng.

Written whilst in the queue for The Globe. There’s something about standing here in London by the Thames that reminds me of our temporary nature as humans. So much has been here for far longer than I have and will continue long after I’m gone.
(27.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Ana Paula Grimaldi on Unsplash

Poem 1014 – Human vs Duvet Cover

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Straight-jacketted by bed-linen,
I refuse to panic or submit,
seeking to fight the sheets into
submission. Grappling with corners,
I twist and thrash and try to solve
this case of cotton origami.
At first it all seems bleak, the bedding
begins to win but just as all
looks lost ‘That’s Life’ emerges from
the folds of distant memory.
Shaking out the cobwebs, one flick
is all it takes to turn defeat
into a perfectly aligned
duvet – and Rantzen wins again.

Having almost finished decorating the spare room, it was time to put the bedding on again… Decades on, I still remember Esther Rantzen’s advice regarding how to put these new fangled duvet covers on.
(25.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by wd toro 🇲🇨 on Unsplash

Poem 1013 – Dusk

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Tonight the world went pink,
A blood transfusion from a dying Sun.
An evening gift of life.

Heading over to the church for an evening meeting tonight, the world was transformed by an eerie light. The group waiting by the door were all bathed with light, reminding me of my Grandad after his regular blood transfusions.
(24.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by weyfoto loh on Unsplash

Poem 1011 – The Flood

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When news from Ely found its way
From Fenland isle to crown,
A fury filled King William,
Blowing aside the protective dam,
Loosing an angry, raging ram,
Furious waters that rampant slammed,
At all that would against him stand,
Seeking to bring them down.

The news of the rebels massing in Ely reaches William.
(22.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Lukas Hron on Unsplash

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
Photo by GABRIEL CARVALHO on Unsplash

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