We arranged our raffle tickets
Upon the table top
To such surprise we found
We’d almost won the lot!
A true story from tonight’s competition!
(11.06.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Arts & Literature
Poem 494 – Fifty Two Years
On April the twenty third I feel I ought,
To write a sonnet honouring the Bard.
In Fifteen Sixty Four our Will was born,
Living ’til Sixteen Sixteen when he died.
Between these only fifty two short years,
In which to write his dazzling magnus opus,
His folio of world renowned great verse,
Still uttered by the Thames in his wooden O.
Creator of so many memorable lines,
And author of now oft used turns of phrase,
The master of the magical use of rhyme,
With which he artfully captured our human ways.
So why’s today named after some brave knight
And not this bright composer of such delight!
A sonnet on St. George’s Day.
(23.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 460 – Let Me Paint You a Picture
The other night we gathered.
Not around a fire like
our predecessors but
around the table with
the plan of telling tales.
We started with the story
of our days. We shared frustrations
our triumphs, hopes and dreams;
wielding brushes to paint
the scene we wanted seen.
And then our make-believe.
A painting of a haunted house
investigated by
our alter-egos, bravely
searching for the truth.
Its strange, but when I hang
these portraits side by side,
there’s no denying that
the brushstrokes are the same.
Two different worlds connected.
Today the news, more stories.
A splash of colour here
a daub of darkness there,
all vying for opinion,
surreal, unreal or real?
Stories within stories.
Landscapes created by
our conflict. Colours clash
and mix, until we find
some truth emerging from them.
What is truth? I suspect that’s the question of our age. I’m increasingly aware of how we reveal and hide the truth within the stories that we tell.
(20.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ahmed Raza Kz on Unsplash
Poem 457 – Armed with Art
My weapon is a melody,
My sharp sword is a verse,
My prayer a faithful missile fired
Across the universe.
Imagination changes lives,
And poems are armed with dreams,
Guthrie’s guitar killed fascists, yes
The truth will set us free.
The opening line came from today’s prayer meeting, which sparked off thoughts of Guthrie and The Notting Hillbillies version of The Weapon of Prayer.
(17.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Image: Al Aumuller/New York World-Telegram and the Sun (uploaded by User:Urban), Public domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Woody_Guthrie_2.jpg
Poem 451 – My Proclaimer Moment
The irresistible moment arrives…
Now I have written five hundred poems
And I will write five hundred more
Just to be the poet who wrote the thousand
Poems now strewn all over his floor
It had to be done…
(11.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash
(Except it turns out I hadn’t… Misnumbering at some point meant this was not Poem 500 but 451!)
Poem 439 – A Poet’s Self Portrait
The poet lifts his brush and, looking in
the mirror, examines himself with detailed care.
First stroke, a daub of colour describing appearance.
A skinny build, slim jeans, a preference for green.
Once full and dark, the hairline’s now receding
as eyebrows morph, becoming peppered white.
A patch of red upon the cheek that flares
and hazel eyes, that yellow when run-down.
The second stroke, lays down habitual hints.
Five calloused fingers from running down six strings.
Rubbing his back reveals the daily lifting,
or Sunday morning kit lugged from the car.
A tendency to slouch, a life of study.
Perhaps the knees should be more worn than this.
The third and final stroke stares deep within,
tracing beyond his stoic exterior.
A war of looming textures and clashing colours
explores the shades of grey, the constant tension
between the love of self and love of other,
that errs towards the one he knows it shouldn’t.
Laying down his brush, the poet ponders
just why it is we’re quick to catch the blemishes.
On a walk today I found myself wondering what a poetic self-portrait would look like. I suspect it would be more revealing than this, but I’m not sure I’m ready to do that yet!
(27.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ahmed Raza Kz on Unsplash
Poem 437 – Poem Generator
Randomly select
poetic form and metre.
Dash with rhyme to taste.
Liberally add simile
then sprinkle with emotion.
I wasn’t sure what to write about tonight, and so I wrote about that…
(25.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Possessed Photography on Unsplash
Poem 435 – The Other London
Beneath these streets another London lurks
that secretly exerts its influence.
This realm is not inhabited by fae,
some Neverwhere or Long London, but born
of flesh and blood, the footsteps walked before us.
Laid in a myriad of layers, its culture
manipulates our lives, its stretching fingers,
reaching through our paths, our clothes and speech,
are inescapable, a net ensnaring
this famed landscape both for its good or ill.
I’m currently reading Alan Moore’s ‘The Great When’ – what a terrific book it is, in the great tradition of urban fantasy like Gaiman’s ‘Neverwhere’ and Clarke’s ‘Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell’. Strip away the fantasy, and I suspect these readings aren’t so far from reality.
(22.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Benjamin Davies on Unsplash
Poem 405 – Rhyme Around The Clock
Better late than never,
My daily attempt at rhyme,
This stab at wordsmith rhythm only
Squeezes in on time.
A jazzy slate of syllables,
Alliteration rock,
It finally makes its debut on
The last seconds of the clock.
The metronome helps meter
Iambic beats combine
And with a crash of consonants
We make the end bar line.
Home alone, I got distracted playing my guitar, and almost forgot my daily poem…
(24.01.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Kobby Mendez on Unsplash
Poem 402 – Almost But Not Quite…
In my attempt to
Write a poem everyday
I will not write haikus
When writing a poem a day, it is tempting to turn to the haiku with its short format. It’s a great chat for a busy day. I will try and resist.
(21.01.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 
