Totally crashed out
and basking in the sun,
Reynard relaxes beneath
its golden smile and grins;
his snout become a mirror.
A fox has taken to lying at the end of our garden. Yesterday he was so relaxed I was worried for a moment until his snout twitched.
(21.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dušan veverkolog on Unsplash
Rush hour, Monday morning, the crowded Tube,
the regular array of faces, usual places.
The suits eyes down in laptops, youth on phones,
a clutch of builders, bags of tools and coffee. Respectable, routine, their faces reflect
mine as they catch up on the sports pages.
The searing shriek of metal splits the scene,
which sunders, superimposing a previous day.
Arms outstretched their conductor waves his hands. Under his spell the crowd begin to jump,
a victory song that swells in violent time,
until the carriage starts to sway along.
Fearfully I watch, shrinking, isolated,
no badge of loyalty, no strip, no colours.
They are not me, but shuddering between
I see my face reflected in the crowd.
I saw The Crucible on Saturday. That and a TV drama I’ve been watching has got me thinking of crowd mentality and an incident on a train I once experienced.
(20.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Oleg Sergeichik on Unsplash
Between faith and doubt there lives a tension
that neither pulls towards belief or tugs
towards betrayal. It sits in hesitation.
The story that you tell me calls for action,
begat the growing urge to spring to help,
but something in my bones warns me to hold.
I stand, suspended; caught between the move
to love and the opposing withdrawal of suspicion. I’m trapped, arrested in dissatisfaction.
I’ve had a couple of calls from someone seeking help. They might be genuine, but I find myself hesitating. This sits uneasy with me.
(19.05.25)
A lawn of lions,
Their golden manes
Bobbing brightly
Under the Sun.
NoMowMay has produced a beautiful display of dandelions.
(18.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Nikša Leko on Unsplash
A cacophony of smells assaults me,
seducing me with savoury scents.
Fresh cheeses pair with delicate herbs,
sitting by artisan breads and rolls.
Pies with flavours strange and familiar,
entice in rows of crisp gold cases.
Strawberries sell by cups or punnet,
(chocolate sauce is optional).
A brazen rainbow envelops me,
its racks of exotic, colourful fruits
transport me to a foreign land.
Within these streets life is compressed,
our bodies densely stirred together,
a heady cocktail of taste and language.
We were in London today for a show at The Globe today. Arriving early we wandered over to Borough Market, a first time for me.
(17.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Taylor Keeran on Unsplash
The summit of another year’s been won,
a further 365 days done and here,
I sit reflecting on the last of them.
A call from my parents who gave the gift of life.
At times I’m sure they must have wondered why!
A bottle of whiskey and toffees from my son.
He knows me well. I suspect they will be shared.
Facebook greetings from friends old and new
that spread across the growing years and places.
A simple click perhaps, but strangely moving.
A trio of pairs of socks embroidered with bikes
from friends who’ve shared the ups and downs of life.
Discovering cake and conversation can
cut across divides of difference between us.
And finally a ring. A ring to replace the ring
I snapped that I had worn for thirty years.
The ring isn’t really the gift, it’s just the paper
wrapping the second life that I’ve received.
It’s my birthday. It’s been a good one!
(16.05.25)
Like Race Around the World,
we’re traveling through life,
adopting different speeds,
and taking different routes.
Each life that’s lived’s unique,
a one off gift of time,
blending both choice and chance,
making us who we are.
The victory I’ve found
is not in these but those;
in those with whom I’ve travelled,
and those I’ve loved and served.
Tonight Alpha met Race Around the World.
(15.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Nejc Soklič on Unsplash
Just place her down and instantly
her body wound, a rubber band,
until the tension broke and poured
like crashing waves upon the sand.
What stamina she had for one
so young! This tidal flood could last
for hours until she was picked up
and then and only then would pass.
It didn’t matter if you sat
beside her or played face to face,
you may as well have left the room, or
simply vanished without a trace.
No, as soon as nappy-wrapped
behind made contact with the floor,
this lovely child, delightful girl
transformed, convulsing with a roar.
Her eyes would bulge and stomach clench,
and face turn many shades of puce,
her knuckles turn to pearls of white
and then tsunamis would be loosed.
All other souls would scatter fast
to seek her tired and desperate mother,
and if they couldn’t find her fast
dive under tables seeking cover.
A year has passed, you’d never guess
this happy child was such a pain.
Beware the day she has a child
and mighty tantrums rage again!
At toddlers I’ve been befriended by a girl who not so long ago was played by insecurity. To see the change in her is wonderful. I wonder if she’ll ever realise what she put her childminders through.
(14.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Zahra Amiri on Unsplash
Trapped behind the bricks,
I’m caught amongst the ashes,
left flapping in the dark.
This fall was not intended,
I but I couldn’t stop myself,
from descending in the dark.
Unable to escape, with
no space to find my way,
or spread my wings and fly,
I’m left in desperation,
increasingly bewildered,
blinded, lost, exhausted.
Below a light appears,
its grasping fingers reach,
in beckoning invitation.
I panic, torn between
the comfort of the known,
and fearful possibility.
This morning started with a futile attempt to rescue a starling from our chimney.
(13.05.25)
Ernie, earnestly urged
the ‘erbs to urgently ‘urtle
upwards from the urn
Challenged to come up with alliterative lines to go with various names, Ernie proved a little problematic…
(12.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 