Author: BenDQ

Poem 966 – Frederic’s Ghost (The Ballad of the Wake cont.)

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The Earl of Warenne stewed in horror
Haunted by the death
Of his brother Frederic recently slain,
Now under the earth forever to stay,
A cold oak coffin his lonely domain,
No light, no hope, no breath.

This ghost grew large in his fevered state
And called for his revenge,
‘My brother rise be still no more,
Go bring him down with fist and claw,
Come strike him down unto the floor
To satisfy my end!’

William, Earl of Warenne (pronounced Warren) is driven to seek revenge upon Hereward.
(07.08.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Seven Colors on Unsplash

Poem 964 – Frederic’s Plot (The Ballad of the Wake cont.)

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Now at this time one Frederic
Searched high and low and far,
Enquiring of our Hereward’s presence,
With plans to seize him with mighty menace,
To hand him over to pay his penance,
Or lift his head upon a high fence,
Thus demonstrate his deeds as offence,
The motive of his heart.

His plan? To earn King William’s favour,
Secure himself a seat,
Within the Conqueror’s noble court,
Thinking that he surely ought,
Be found therein and highly thought of
By surf and lord apiece.

But Hereward heard of this attempt
Upon his life and freedom,
And so he raised a warrior band,
And with them searched throughout the land,
Until he found him plotting plans,
To work out how to seize him.

And so he turned things upside down
And jumped on Frederic
And before he had the chance to fight,
He swung his sword with all his might,
And caused his head to swift alight,
With only one fast flick!

Time to get back to The Ballad of the Wake. Settling down tonight, I realised I’d jumped a key scene that is referred back to later when William de Warenne seeks revenge for his brother, Frederic’s, death.
(06.08.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Henry Hustava on Unsplash

Poem 963 – Lost in Hunstanton

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Above, burnt ochre buildings line the streets.
Pensioners potter along the prom, wistfully
wishing for what’s been gradually washed away.

Below, a lonely pigeon looks across the
littered shell fragments lying lost to time
and tide, as trickling memory takes and steals.

Beyond, a rusting wreck decays. Wrapped in seaweed ribbons it rests and dreams of rites
of passage past and present and yet to come.

We spent a lovely day today wandering around Old Hunstanton, and as we wandered various lines began to coalesce.
(05.08.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 962 – The Imagination of Rain

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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 to 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

Poem 961 – Eroded

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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

Poem 959 – The River

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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