Poem 909 – The Ballad of the Wake: Return to Bourne

Jun 11, 2026Jun 11, 2026 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

A few days spent in idleness,
Raging upon this news,
He finally decided to return and fight,
To see if affairs he could aright,
Assisted by his companion Lightfoot,¹
To correct this abuse.

And so to Bourne he did return,
Back to his father’s manor,
And there he found much gloom and fear,
Amongst the people he held dear,
At the death of their lord’s youngest heir,
Our Hereward’s infant brother.

He’d laid upon two thugs he’d found
Dishonouring his mother,
And in disgust he took them down
To restore her honour.

But in revenge they took their swords
And swiped his head away,
And took the face of this young lord
And stuck it on display.

‘Lost Hereward, return’, they cried,
‘A mighty man they say,
He would display his great renown,
Before the night’s dark veil came down,
When man and beast in beds are found,
And all his killers slay.’

Although Hereward is far from a good man, and I’m already struggling with some of the attitudes displayed in the original writings towards ‘foreigners’, I can’t help but sense an echo of the story of the Prodigal Son in these stories, a son banished to a far land because of his lack of respect for his family, only to later come to his senses and return. But here there is no Father figure waiting for him…
(11.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by British Library on Unsplash

Poem 908 – Ballad of The Wake: Hereward in Exile

Jun 10, 2026 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

And so the bold outlaw set forth,
At eighteen years disowned,
To slaying braggarts, beasts and bears,
And catching wedding guests unaware,
And acquiring Swallow his swift sleek mare –
So many adventures alone!

During this time he fell in love
With Turfrida of St. Omer,
When fighting for the Count of Flanders
Against Count Guines and his fighters,
And then against the French commanders,
Holding her ever closer.

But all these tales are not for today,
Perhaps another time,
Instead the tales of his return,
When he heard that his homeland burned,
Invaders ruled his hometown Bourne,
Whilst boasting of their crimes.

Returning to The Ballad of the Wake, these verse attempt to condense his time in exile.
(10.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by British Library on Unsplash

Poem 906 – The Origins of Hereward

Jun 8, 2026Jun 11, 2026 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

Here is the tale of Hereward,
The one they call The Wake,
The warrior from the deepest Fen,
Who gathered around him mighty men,
To keep at bay that William,
For precious England’s sake.

Amongst his childhood friends and peers
Young Hereward caused offence,
Both tough in work and rough in play,
He grew in boldness day by day,
Determined to win in every way,
Succeeding at others’ expense.

But through this strife he grew in strength,
In arm and leg and chest,
With speed, agility, and thought,
In nimbleness he was never caught,
Overcoming all he fought,
Proving he was the best.

His Father? Leofric of Bourne,
The nephew of Earl Ralph.
His mother? Eadgyth,¹ great-niece of
The famed Duke Oslac of the north.
From this fair family he set forth,
One born to rank and wealth.

In stature, sturdy and most stout
And handsome in his features.
With striking eyes and long blond hair,
He strode the land without a care,
A burly man built like a bear,
Most striking of God’s creatures.

After a while his constant quarrels,
With neighbours, friends and strangers,
Kept his parents from their sleep,
As they had to wield their swords to keep,
At bay the crowds of those he’d beat,
Now baying for blood enraged.

Inevitably this hell-raiser,
Soon fought against his father,
And wore him down with arguments
And a rebellious streak that wouldn’t relent.
So long this feud was allowed to ferment
That his Father snapped, his clothes he rent,
And with the blessings of good King Ed,²
Banished his son to the continent,
To shock the prodigal was his intent,
Into rediscovering honour.

So Hereward stormed away in anger
As heat burned in his head,
No kind words to his kin addressed,
No sin he thought should he confess,
He left them in their sore distress,
As onwards he did tread.

A few more stanzas of my Hereward ballad, edited together with those from earlier this week
(08.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Image John Cassell, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Pronounced Edith ↩︎
King Edgar ↩︎

Poem 905 – The Ballad of The Wake (pt2)

Jun 7, 2026 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

But through this strife he grew in strength
In arm and leg and chest,
With speed, agility, and thought,
In nimbleness he was never caught,
Overcoming all he fought,
Proving he was the best.

In stature, sturdy and most stout
And handsome in his features
With striking eyes and long blond hair
He strode the land without a care
A burly man built like a bear
Most striking of God’s creatures

A look back at Hereward’s youth
(07.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
John Cassell, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Poem 904 – The Ballad of The Wake (pt1)

Jun 6, 2026Jun 7, 2026 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

Here is the tale of Hereward,
The one they call The Wake,
The warrior from the deepest Fen,
Who gathered around him mighty men,
To keep at bay that William,
For precious England’s sake.

A hell-raiser from Lancashire,
He fought against his father,
And wore him down with arguments
And a rebellious streak that wouldn’t relent.
So long this feud was allowed to ferment
That his Father snapped, his clothes he rent,
And with the blessings of good King Ed,
Banished his son to the continent
To rediscover honour.

And so he stormed away in anger
As heat burned in his head,
No kind words to his kin addressed,
No sin he thought should he confess,
He left them in their sore distress
As onwards he did tread.

Inspired by Malcolm Guite’s ‘Galahad and the Grail’, I thought I’d try a similar ‘ballad’ approach to tell the story of Hereward the Wake. This one’s going to take more than a day to write, and so I’m going to post a bit each day as they’re drafted and see where they take me. To be continued…
(06.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
John Cassell, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Poem 877 – A Chilling Mystery

May 10, 2026 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

The lure of mystery,
of hidden secrets layered,
deep beneath the surface.
The possibility of
threat and treasure leading
to wisdom’s epiphany.
Of gripping pulp adventures
epic expeditions,
and eldritch beasts to better.
But which do I get to face?
To pit my strength against
and struggle to resolve?
The puzzle of why there’s never
room within the freezer
no matter what’s removed…

A truth that applies to all forms of storage…
(10.05.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Ben McCloskey on Unsplash

Poem 869 – The Jackdaw

May 2, 2026 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

Stationary upon its scaffolding pole,
The cowled jackdaw keeps its eery stare,
An ancient watch atop a modern perch.

Its mate descends to claim a cold partner;
A twitch of midnight feathers and it too
Stands still, two beaks in frozen parallel.

I turn to look with them, wondering what
They watch so motionless. I can not tell;
What plane do these four focused eyes perceive?

I shudder sensing that they see elsewhere,
Penetrating flesh and blood and bones
Perceiving naked souls hiding within.

The house behind ours is currently having an extension built and the local jackdaws have abandoned our trees for the tops of its scaffolding poles.
(02.05.26)

Poem 868 – Albion’s Soul

May 1, 2026 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

May Day, prepare for morris dancers,
bearded men and women (beardless)
armed with tankards, sticks and hankies,
legs adorned with chiming bells.

Here comes the Fool, their ball spinning
around their head before they strike
a member of the public un-
awares. Result? A raucous riot.

And then the Squire, the headman of
this rustic troop, who seeks to steer
them through their ancient dance that streams
throughout Old England’s leafy years.

It is no Riverdance or gold
Bolero, there’s no Nureyev
nor Sleep in sight, it’s out of date,
a clumsy, awkward, fading light.

Yet in the laughter lies an anchor,
in ritual, hazel arms that reach
to hazy days of yesteryear
and Albion’s soul and beating heart.

Our country is full of strange traditions that somehow linger on despite changing culture and lives. Their charm lies, perhaps, in a sense that they tie us to something that our modern lives have lost.
(01.05.26)

Poem 866 – Small Prophets

Apr 29, 2026 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

Were the minor prophets
The same as Mackenzie Crook’s,
And did they also conjure
Homunculae from books?
Did old Ezekiel
Work at B&Q?
Or was he simply shorter
Than folk like me and you?

Just emerged to find the brilliant Small Prophets on the box at the end of a full day. It won’t make sense if you haven’t seen it.
(29.04.26)

Poem 776 – Black Feather

Jan 29, 2026 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

Flapping up high in the sycamore leaves,
Black Feather perches in the breeze.
An eye on the weather, an eye on the floor,
Black Feather watches with a wink and a caw.
A thought for the lonely who stand just as he,
a thought for the brook, for the hedge and the tree.
A thought for the orphan, a thought for the sick,
a thought for the sad as he gathered up twigs.
Black as the as darkest cave, black as the sea,
black as the sin that stains you and me.
He sees it all from his post in the sky,
Black Feather cries as he wonders why.

Just watched the first episode of Mackenzie Crook’s Worzel Gummidge, and found myself trying to write a poem that evoked an English folk saying about crows.
(29.01.26)

Ode for the Day

An experiment in poetic doodling

Folklore & Fantasy