The irresistible moment arrives…
Now I have written five hundred poems
And I will write five hundred more
Just to be the poet who wrote the thousand
Poems now strewn all over his floor
It had to be done…
(11.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash
(Except it turns out I hadn’t… Misnumbering at some point meant this was not Poem 500 but 451!)
I didn’t mean to visit the shop
I didn’t mean to go inside
I didn’t mean to check the prices
I didn’t mean to try for size
I didn’t mean to chat to the attendant
I didn’t mean to ask for advice
I didn’t mean to search reviews
I didn’t mean to buy a bike…
Our local bike shop is closing down, and it would have been rude not to. I shall miss them, they’ve been very helpful over the last few years.
(10.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Wayne Bishop on Unsplash
Sitting together
Around the dining table
Each doing their thing.
And yet we’re still united,
Trading tales and sharing air.
Sunday late afternoon, enjoying working alongside each other.
(09.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
Nine mile loop on foot
Through woods, fields and viaducts.
Above model planes
And red kites glide the thermals.
Back just as the Sun goes down.
After lunch we decided to go back and do the second loop of the Hertfordshire Chain Walk, knowing that we would be getting to the car as the sun went down. No time to hang around!
(08.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Pedalling smoothly, my wheels begin to pur,
a low contented growl from spinning cranks.
My muscles sing. I playfully leap and bound.
I am transposed, at one with my bike, man
and machine conjoined to make the King of the Road.
The sun is out and I needed to make a visit to the local hospital, and so it seemed the perfect chance to take the bike for a spin. It felt good.
(07.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Josh Nuttall on Unsplash
The sun rises, and with it rise our spirits,
its warmth begins to thaw our dormant souls.
Woken from their winter hibernation,
emerging smiles begin to bud then flower.
Above the bird song swells in volume and richness,
and here below our voices respond in kind.
Funny how all it takes to wash away
the blues are blue skies, blazing with glorious gold.
This week, Spring has sprung.
(06.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
The Young Ones are
not quite so young.
Alternative?
Not quite as much.
Blackadder has
gone over the top,
the Thin Blue Line
gone out for lunch.
We Will Rock You
has left the building,
and growing older
means losing touch.
But when all is said
the show is over,
motormouth Elton
still packs a punch.
A busy day has been perfectly capped with an evening out watching Ben Elton. Nostalgic, certainly. Generational, sure. But something to say? Definitely.
(05.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Germany license https://de.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Datei:BenElton.jpg
Psalm 19:1 NIV
The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Raising my smartphone to the skies I search
the heavens for their ancient inhabitants;
modern tech becoming a prayer calling
the old gods to be modern occupants.
Small Mercury, messenger to the gods,
flits faintly between the horizon’s distant flames,
hiding from sweet Venus’ advances
as she shines upon young lovers’ nocturnal games.
Above, King Jupiter reigns from his heavenly throne
causing me to crick my neck not bend my knee.
Finally, hawkish Mars asserts his strength
his face flushing in his angry fury.
This revelation thrills me as I learn
the identities of these distant glowing bulbs,
I revel in the glory of these prizes
as they’re poured from creation’s laden treasure vaults.
I was introduced to the Stellarium app recently. I took it out for a whirl at 6.30 this evening to discover I could see four planets in the sky with the naked eye. Amazing.
(04.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by isaac sloman on Unsplash
Setting out,
with trusted friends,
for mutual support.
Delving into,
the hidden motives,
for our deeds.
Taking risks,
with honesty,
a worthwhile cost
Travelling inwards,
our adventure,
of the day.
Today I met with colleagues to discuss our practice of ministry to learn and support each other. A stimulating and helpful exploration.
(03.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Nina Luong on Unsplash
Past.
The tree drank deeply of the earth’s dark soil,
its roots absorbing water from secret distant pools.
Stretching its wooden limbs it reached out branches,
all striving for the shining sun’s bright rays.
From sapling to its full grown majesty
it slowly grew, unfurling limbs then leaves.
Present.
This table’s dead; no sap or life flow here.
Its extendable leaves now lie in twisted pieces;
they’re warped by age and wear and wrenched by boots.
Redundant, I throw the separated branches
into the boot to drive it to the dump,
hurling them into the designated coffin.
Future.
The future is as yet uncarved, unknown.
Will it be pulped, transformed to card or paper?
Or maybe mulched, returning nutrients
back to the earth to nourish future roots?
Out of its greatness, greatness may return;
as earth to earth, from death comes life again.
From and afternoon spent taking old and broken furniture to the local ‘dump’ (recycling centre), sprang thoughts about the cycle of life.
(02.03.25)
Ode for the Day 
