Increasing tension,
As the deadline approaches,
Demands attention.
Talks and events are coming thick and fast!
(15.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Towfiqu barbhuiya on Unsplash
Author: BenDQ
Poem 485 – First Up
A book, a cup of tea,
Bird song for company,
And the breathing silence
Of a sleeping house.
The silence is alive.
Listening, I take stock,
Take note of vital signs:
The rhythm of its clock,
The creaking of its ribs,
Airflow through passages.
Slowly she starts to stir;
Occasional murmurs grow
In frequency and strength
Until a final stretch
And up, at last, it gets.
I was up first today, and had my breakfast on my own. This poem started then, both as a reflection on the quietness, but also a chance to play around a little with rhyme.
(14.04.25)
Poem 484 – But On A Donkey?
A rolling writhing
Sea of sound
Hope and hands rising
The roar of the crowd
A swelling number
Rebellious mood
Their chanting thunders
Their branches strewed
Crying hosanna
A country wronged
Occupied land whose
People long
Testimonies weighed
And signs observed
Their verdict made
Announcing him lord
A quick poem at the end of an enjoyable Palm Sunday.
(13.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jacob Bentzinger on Unsplash
Poem 483 – The Birds Have Spoken
This year I got in early
and started ‘No Mow May’ in
January. Now the grass
is tufty and embedded
with dandelion splashes.
It might not win awards
or have those tasteful stripes,
but the birds all seem to love it
and that’s a prize to me.
As spring erupts, our garden’s come to life. First thing the lawn’s awash with birds, pecking for food and heating material.
(12.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 482 – Pètanque
SMACK! Smashed gravel flies.
A shower of shards are scattered
as the boule descends.
Crashing into its target,
it sends it scything across
the crunching gravel court.
With pumping fists, the players
cheer, opponents groan,
their pole position lost.
One final fling, all hope
is pinned on nicking the nearest
boule placed by the jack.
A pause for silent prayer
before the bending player
looses their last chance…
Today we spent a lovely sunny time with friends, culminating in a tight hand of petanque. We lost, joy won.
(11.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Caroline Hernandez on Unsplash
Poem 481 – The Chiffchaff
‘What’s that?’ she asked abruptly,
pointing to the smallest
bird perched in the tree
beside us.
I almost missed it listening
to the sound resounding
all around me, loud
and laughing.
This Irish lilt, melodic
song that filled the air,
composers answering
each other.
But then I saw it fill its
chest, open its beak,
and sing and sing and sing,
so merry!
This little fellow was the
author of the song
that brought such joy, we can’t
stop smiling!
This afternoon we took a post lunch walk around Lea Valley and saw a chiffchaff in the tree beside us. Their loud and laughing song always makes me smile. I was surprised to discover that the source of this big sound is such a small bird! I thought I’d try and capture something of its bouncy song in the form of this poem. If you don’t know what they sound like listen to this: https://youtu.be/we0bA5POyzU?si=etmckMGRQWKkPgjL
(10.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Andrey Strizhkov on Unsplash
Poem 480 – Making Space
Today, I’m making space for conversation
Pushing back the barriers to speech
Setting out the chairs around the table
Ensuring everybody has a place
Putting on the kettle, making tea
Meeting everybody with a smile
Whiling away the hours with open questions
Offering our guests the gift of time
I’ve been reflecting on the impact of our foodbank layout on our visitors, and have decided that it’s time to ring the changes.
(09.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Aditya Kulkarni on Unsplash
Poem 479 – Home to Roost
Each dusk they fly in flocks
Across the inky sky
A gathering murmuration
And as the starlings gather
Bats begin to flit
And weave their frantic patterns
This transit brings to mind
Another distant view
The passing of the sun
We gathered in your garden
Equipped with tinted glasses
To watch the solar eclipse
Back then, as now, the birds
Flew across the horizon
Going home to roost
But soon it’s time for you
To take to wing and pass
Go heading home to roost
Fly safely, my old friend,
Through this liminal place
And soon the sun will shine
The starlings are massing as night falls.
(08.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jan Haerer on Unsplash
Poem 478 – The Price Of Experience
The foal sleeps;
its newborn mind
a blank canvas
that only knows
this present peace.
Experienced,
love stands on guard;
the mother finds her
peace in the breathing
of its child.
Another take on yesterday’s scene/poem
(07.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Fabien Maurin on Unsplash
Poem 477 – Mother Sun
The newborn sunshine warms the sleeping foal.
With winter’s labour done, its early rays
accompany the horse’s early breaths.
Lying content and totally at peace
its chest rises and falls, filling with life
under its constant mother’s patient gaze.
This afternoon we took a walk across the River Lea, and stumbled across the site of a new born foal sleeping under the early spring sun.
(06.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Ode for the Day 