With time the waves erode
the definition of
your features. Self begins
to trickle with the tide.
Odd names become flotsam
adrift and unattached,
whilst conversations wash
repeatedly on the shore.
But even as the castle
walls begin to fall
your parting hug remains
reassuringly true.
(26.09.26)
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
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
With fury flaming in his gut
He hatched an urgent plan,
To build a path across the marsh,
Erect a causeway strong and fast,
Across which Norman men could march,
Urged on by his angry hand.
Hearing of the rebels in Ely, William plans a way across the fen.
(23.09.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Lydia Lögga on Unsplash
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
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
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
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
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
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
