The annual question
Is there enough gas to cook?
This year? A gamble.
I’m off to Greenbelt on Thursday, my annual festival retreat. Getting some of the kit together today I was faced with the usual question.
(19.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Author: BenDQ
Poem 661 – Just in Time
Distracted by the day’s events,
appointments, admin, strategic planning,
I almost forgot that I was meant
to write a verse in my fair hand,
of poetry before the day was out –
it didn’t need to be that grand.
My plan? To write each day throughout
the year, to capture thoughts and dreams,
moments of faith and times of doubt.
A busy day today, I almost forgot…
(18.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Murray Campbell on Unsplash
Poem 660 – The Heat of Our Desires
What is it that makes you think
that you can wave our flag,
and stand on behalf of us,
and shout angrily in our name?
What is it that makes you think
that we need protecting from
young children and families
who’ve fled from foreign lands?
Does it make you feel big to send
the fearful to hide in their rooms
for safety, when they came
looking for refuge here?
But even as I type
I find that I must pause,
realise my frailties,
and look beyond the waves.
Underneath perhaps the same
uncertainties play out,
as old securities
are lost and all’s at sea.
O, still, small voice of calm,
If only we could reach
beyond the rhetoric
of populist and paper.
Forgive our foolish ways.
On Friday I cycled through protests at our local asylum seeker hotel. I found myself feeling angry at what was going on, angry at the impact this would be having on the people I know there. This poem started as an angry response at those who didn’t take time to think about the humanity of those they were targeting, but was I guilty of becoming what I was accusing them of?
(17.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by balesstudio on Unsplash
Poem 659 – Riding in the Dark
A nighttime ride, 1.30, and it’s dark,
the perfect time to perch upon the saddle
and race against the waking of the lark.
No doubt there’s many who would think I’m mad,
but, peddling at this solitary hour, I find
the space to think and ponder makes me glad.
All other voices banished from my mind,
a purity of focus can be found,
as thoughts and legs in perfect rhythm combine.
Last night I joined friends in Enfield for an evening of boardgames. As usual we finished in the wee hours. Having been a hot day, I treated myself to cycling there and back. Decided today to try a poem in a terza Rima form, three three line stanzas with an ABA BCB CDC rhyming format, and my ride came to mind.
(16.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Samantha Gilmore on Unsplash
Poem 658 – Wondering about the wisdom of an act of DIY
I’ve got some glass
And a tub of putty
But will replacing the pane
Drive me nutty?
Clear out the old
What can go wrong?
Pop in the new
Stick it nice and strong.
It’s been a while
Since I did it last
Any skills I had
Are lost to the past…
Scope for disaster?
Without a doubt.
Please join me praying
It won’t fall out!
A quick silly poem before tomorrow’s DIY task at church.
(15.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Call Me Fred on Unsplash
Poem 657 – A Summer Walk in Lee Valley
A summer’s evening walk with friends,
a stroll into the golden glow.
Beneath the leafy archways of
the reaching trees (a guard of honour?)
we stumble on Lee Valley’s secret
pathways and hidden island treasures.
The wander slows us down, affords
a chance for idle conversation,
for forging stronger bonds of friendship.
And as the night turns monochrome
we walk backwards through the years,
straying upon the wartime barges
abandoned to the encroaching reeds.
And by the time we make it home
we find our lives have been enriched.
Spent a pleasant hour and a half on a church summer social in the local countryside.
(14.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 656 – Character Forming
Cut through time to take a look,
examine me under the microscope,
assess my passage from the start,
the journey taken, years of growth.
Like rings within an ancient tree
revealed in hindsight by the axe,
or brickwork courses growing taller,
each one stacking on the last.
Or painted walls, each layer giving
deeper colour, gaining richness,
our lives mature, as we grow older,
building on their early promise.
Look carefully, see the DNA,
the chemical chains that snake through years,
parental nurture shaping outlook
the constraints of our family tree.
The trail is present from our birth,
outcome foreshadowed from the start,
our final face beneath the first,
foundations shaping who we are.
A combination of decorating and a nostalgic trip through our children’s school records, led me to reflect upon how much of who we become is present in who we were.
(13.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Joel & Jasmin Førestbird on Unsplash
Poem 655 – Ode to Polyfilla
Polyfilla fills
Holes from many drills
This cowboy builder’s dream
Doing some decorating. Ran out of time for a proper poem..
(12.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Roselyn Tirado on Unsplash
Poem 654 – The Great Escape
We never saw the plotting and scheming,
Committees meeting under our noses.
Did they excavate under a vault,
To dig deep tunnels under the floor?
Or build a glider to fly from the table,
To run with freshly forged false papers?
Encouraged by the open door
In a bid for freedom, the cricket jumped
Out of the box, across the floor,
Across the carpet, its great escape.
But alas, its accent gave it away,
And rather than a McQueen moment,
An iconic final do or die,
I trapped it under a plastic cup…
Our son keeps crickets to feed his frogs and newts. Occasionally we spot them crossing the floor or climbing the wall…
(11.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 653 – Victoria Line
Walthamstow Central,
The doors slide open,
Blackhorse Road,
Beckoning us on,
Tottenham Hale
Entering warily,
And Seven Sisters,
Surreptitiously spying.
Finsbury Park
We clatter and sway,
And Highbury and Islington,
Involuntary community,
King’s Cross St. Pancreas,
Friends and strangers,
Euston and Warren Street,
Close yet distant.
Then Oxford Circus,
A blurring of boundaries,
Victoria and Pimlico,
Of personal space,
Vauxhall and Brixton,
A sigh of relief,
We’re spewn out together,
At the end of the line.
Travelling on the Victoria Line today, I realised how well the station names scanned with train like rhythm.
(10.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dan Roizer on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 