Poem 895 – World Wide Surfing Spider

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Today, I am a world wide surfing spider.
My fingers nimbly chase its binary threads,
which yesterday hadn’t been dreamt or spun.
As I write, I weave my digital truth.

My fingers nimbly chase its binary threads,
I couldn’t perceive their ways when I was younger,
and as I write, I weave my digital truth,
not seeing the vastness of the world without.

When I was younger I couldn’t perceive the snare
that drew me into this shiny cell phone screen,
and not knowing that the outside world’s so vast,
I dreamt that one day we might fly around it.

Trapped in a cell as small as a mobile screen,
a gaol which yesterday hadn’t been dreamt or spun,
I yearn to spread my wings and finally fly
but today? I’m just a world wide surfing spider.

As promised yesterday, a pantoum. This is a Malaysian poetry form where 8 lines are rearranged and repeated in a set pattern that can come up with some fascinating and surprising results.
(28.05.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Photoholgic on Unsplash

Poem 893 – Yet Another Poem About the Heat

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Drenched in lethargy, an airless blanket,
stillness squeezes, leaves us breathless.
Yearned for, now we yearn for our release,
and silent sit and wait and longing sigh.
A simple look from friend or passing stranger
wordlessly communicates, ‘it’s hot’.
Enough, we do not speak, we can’t be bothered,
instead we slump or slowly amble on.

Another hot day. I popped into the church where I work this morning and relished a moment in the cool. And then I checked the the thermostat on the wall – in what world is 25.5 C cool in May?! Ridiculous.
(26.05.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Sylvester Sabo on Unsplash

Poem 892 – Reprieve

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Fling wide your aching doors, throw open windows,
For now the burning sun has started to dim,
Beyond the blue horizon it departs,
And at last the cooling breeze can whisper in.

This yearning land at last begins to breath,
An ease is found after the heavy heat,
Whilst news of soaring records fill the press,
Let’s rise to grasp this temporary reprieve.

34 degrees in May…
(25.05.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Luis Graterol on Unsplash

Poem 891 – The Summer Tide

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Blue skies, like mediterranean seas, flow in.
This summer tide invades and heat pervades
the moment. All things are held within its grasp.
Unlike the birds who seem to revel in
its waves, we wilt, and under happy song,
the avian chorus, we slowly stagger forwards.
Straining to swim full-clothed, we start to strip;
will disentanglement lead us to find freedom?
I fear not so, the sun erodes and leaves
us simply red, paddling painfully flustered
to keep our noses above the rising water.

It’s been a scorcher today. From hailstorms to heatwaves, what a bonkers May its been…
(24.05.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Vicko Mozara on Unsplash

Poem 890 – Driven Away

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Today’s been dulled by miles of endless road
And, somewhere south of Kettering services,
I mislaid my muse upon the motorway.
I didn’t do it by design, believe me,
it simply slipped away in silent protest
at the hours of mindless apathy.

Most of today has been spent on the road enduring hot, boring miles.
(23.05.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Haniel Espinal on Unsplash

Poem 887 – Sci-Fi Distractions

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Trying to work, whilst creatures lurk
In Alien 3, is not so easy.
It’s not the horror, instead the bother
of working out, without a doubt,
the actors names, their claims to fame
some thirty years on from their fearful slaughters.

The son and I caught up with Alien 3 this evening (a few years late in my case!) What an amazing cast – although I had to age them 30 years to work out why they looked familiar.
(20.05.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Nat on Unsplash

Poem 886 – Selina

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I see her familiar face across the room.
Head resting on her hand she is distracted,
her mind on matters out of sight to me.
The casual nature of her arm appears
a little forced, her back is straight, her face
is stern, it’s almost as if she has to brace
herself to pause; I want to speak and make
her stop and slow, to cease her constant churn
and yet, although I’ve known her for so long,
she knows me not at all and never will.

Inspired by a portrait of Selina, the Countess of Huntingdon, who founded the movement of churches I am part of.
(19.05.26)

© Ben Quant 2026