The imagination of rain.
A dream that calls forth life
in torrents of shapes and sizes.
Thoughts that whisper strands
of DNA helixes,
a multitude of colours
and possibility.
Ideas externalised
in passing forms,
mirroring those made flesh.
Creativity
dispersed in root and river.
Although the clouds threatened in Hunstanton today, we only got to enjoy a brief hint of rain, no more. It was enough to cause the title of this poem to come to mind, however.
(04.08.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
The Wash slides in and reaches over
in a gentle but relentless flow.
Its touch is tender but love is not
always thoughtful or reciprocated.
It feels as if we might be slowly
consumed, grain by single grain.
An evening stroll along the front at Hunstanton.
(03.08.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
No time for rhyme today
and worse, no verse, at play
No, just one stanza, hardly
an extravaganza!
Busy day at church and on the road.
(02.08.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
The river undulates,
a snake-like peristalsis
wrapping around the city.
It lets us ride upon
its rolling back, for now,
but don’t forget it isn’t
tame – at any time
the Thames may turn and bite,
a bitter serpent bite.
Enjoyed a day upon the Thames today, but on the final stretch noted how its movements seemed alive.
(01.08.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
The first drop in the desert
Lock gates are opened
And colour starts to spread
Pressure is released
I’ve been carrying a few things recently and experienced the joyful release of one of them being lifted today.
(31.07.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Terry Vlisidis on Unsplash
The door won’t open?
Then switch the fittings around
It sounds so simple…
We got there in the end!
(30.07.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Knights lift their lances and charge enlivened by
the fight for fame or chance of lady’s favour.
At the heft of hooves pounding so heavily,
the crowds start crying, eager to crown a champion.
Baying for blood, like hounds they bite and snarl
at one and will the other to win with ease,
but, fickle friends, they switch to favour those
they believe most likely to end up leaving king!
We visited Warwick Castle today and enjoyed the dramatic sights and sounds of their jousting knights. A quick poem at the end of a long hot day.
(29.07.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Art deco lines, once crisp, now stand invaded,
their borders crossed by roots and softened by
the wind that blows through blown out windows panes.
Inside the only queues are distant echoes,
first dates of yesteryear and giddy children
grasping parent’s hands and bags of sweets.
An organ plays before the ghostly reels
begin to turn and greyscale images
flicker upon the absent silver screen.
Somewhere a forgotten steward points to seats
as ancestors laugh and point and scream with joy
ignorant that their far-flung families walk by.
The shell is all we see; a failing
memory beneath a fading dome,
doors sealed and windows boarded in defiant hope.
Just down the road from where we’re staying is The Royalty, Harbone’s once resplendent art deco cinema, but now a shell despised by fire and time. Despite appearances, it somehow seems alive.
(28.07.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Spread-eagled, fallen angel’s wings lie prone,
dark, shredded tyres reaching to the heavens.
Did they plummet violently like Icarus,
actively rebelling against their master?
Or was their end more gradual, a slow decline
like falling snow that gently fades away?
The same conclusion waits for both despite
the drama faced: a lonely, cold, hard shoulder.
So take good heed, my friend, and drive with care
not speed, and fly, eyes open, filled with love.
Driving along the motorway today I spotted the familiar sight of remnants of truck tyres lying on the hardshoulder. One strip in particular caught my attention, its edges feathered.
(27.07.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Alexandr Popadin on Unsplash
He sees her canine companion and asks
if he may stroke it. She says yes
and soon they’re talking, clicking, smiling.
Names are exchanged, one Brit, one Greek,
but alas this is her stop. She panics.
Are you on Facebook? No, he says,
but by now the doors are closing down
on alternatives and what could be.
Meanwhile, in another carriage she pouts,
arranges her hair and lips and lashes,
and purring, poses for her phone
(it’s neatly perched between her nails).
She loves it and hopes the feeling’s mutual.
It’s safe at least and undemanding,
but underneath she hungers for
the danger of uncertainty.
I love people watching on the tube. These were both scenes I saw on a journey today `although they weren’t simultaneous as the poem suggests. The contrast between them was fascinating.
(26.07.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Belinda Fewings on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 