A rumble of thunder rolls across the bay.
A portent of trouble? Uncertainty ahead, and
before too long rainfall joins the fray.
Thankfully with rain coats packed we’re ready
and soon it stops, the sun returns, the grey
clouds drift away. We’re not deterred, instead
we step on out, we’re hopeful for the day
and making the most of being by the Med.
The sun emerges, shadows mark our way.
We walk past golden Atatürk the head
of modern Turkey, tall and proud, today
a statue under whose purview we tread.
A dicey looking day turned out well with a lovely walk into Marmaris along the coast.
(06.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Author: BenDQ
Poem 425 – Midnight Waters
Guarded by the hills and
Lit by moon alone, the
Midnight lagoon sits still
Under Turkish skies.
Echoing around the bay
Cicada songs resound
As, guided by the stars,
Cygnus, the swan, flies by.
The water calls to me,
Invites me to slip under
Its twilight sheets, entranced by
Mediterranean charms.
We were captivated by our first views over Marmaris bay last night.
(05.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 424 – Check In Haiku
At security
Bring patted down, of course
Clearly suspicious
It’s always me…
(04.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 423 – Dead on Time
Deadlines demand
A dedicated drive
A do or die
To get them done
Today I’ve driven
My head ducked down
And I’ve not died
I think they’re done
Lots to get done today before the day was out.
(03.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash
Poem 422- The River
Breathing slowly,
A flowing glass,
This deep dark tide,
A pulsing vein,
Captivates us
With its presence,
Hypnotizes
With its weight,
Its gravity,
Dense dignity,
That dwells within
These river banks.
The River Lee has an amazing heavy glassy quality right now that feels alive.
(02.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 421 – Summer’s Passing
The river mourns, bedraggled willows weep,
their tousled hair drenched in its silent tears.
Its darkened waters meet the dreary mood,
the sun withholds its glow in sympathy.
Otters frolic no more and stay indoors,
above autumnal leaves begin to fall.
The rushes twitch, and coots peer out, as below
their doors the heavy cortege wearily flows.
Perched on his lonely post, dressed in funereal
black, the cormorant bows, pays his respects.
A lowly swan takes flight and passing honks,
‘Alas our green and pleasant land is dead!’
By the end of our walk the sun had come out, but much of our morning stroll had a very different character.
(01.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 420 – The Vigil
Suspended, still and silent,
the spider hung all evening,
a single silken thread
secured him to the spot.
Patiently he waited, watching
with alien eyes, all eight,
hopefully focused upon us,
wondering when to leap.
But as the evening ended
the arachnid remained alert,
where, we retired praying,
he would remain all night.
I’ve spent the second night ironing, aware that all evening, someone hung behind me.
(31.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 419 – Ironing Shirts
The satisfaction
Of crisp creases,
Neat lines aligning
The sides of sleeves.
Gliding along
The front and back,
A perfect piece
Of art in action.
A pile of ironing awaits. I’m putting it off although I always find shirts perversely satisfying.
(30.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ryoji Hayasaka on Unsplash
Poem 418 – Unaware
Stepping out from safety’s bounds towards
The unfamiliar, outside the manicured lawns,
The Father carries the Son within his arms.
The stillness strange, all sounds ring out unreal,
An eerie feel pervades the morning air.
A squirrel seems surreal, a beast at large.
But from his seat he has no cares, the child
Has eyes only for his Father’s face, the two
Absorbed in conversation’s gleeful flow.
One points, the other laughs, they pass my bedroom
Window, both unaware that they have roused
My soul and stirred my weary heart with hope.
Walking in the last morning of Conference today I was more than weary; as always it has been demanding. The passing sight from my window picked me up, however, a glimpse of the love The Father has for all his children.
(29.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 417 – It Is Finished
The deed is done,
the audience won, I hope,
the words delivered
without a stumble,
(well just a little one
when I became distracted).
And now I’ll sleep with thoughts
of friends and family in Him.
It wasn’t good enough,
it never is, and nor am I,
but He is all we need.
For the second year running I ended up stepping into the gap when a speaker couldn’t make it to our annual Conference. A late night scrawling turned into a poetry gig with a message – a first public ‘reading’ of my poetry.
(28.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Ode for the Day 