Holiday

Poem 603 – An Ode to the A303

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

A303 (and associated roads),
nothing else can match your timeless reach!
Neighbouring Stonehenge has mystified us,
entranced us for millennia,
but even it pales into insignificance
compared to your majestic tarmac track.

We happily travel miles to congregate,
line up like creeping snakes to see your span.
Meditating for hours in your presence,
we while away the hours in wordless wonder,
as time stands still, as do we too, in cars
that queue for hours and hours and hours and hours…

The journey home from holiday in Devon today was not the quickest…
(09.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ana Paula Grimaldi on Unsplash

Poem 601 – Past/Present Identity

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

Yesterday we delved into the past,
Chasing ancestors down ancient Devon streets.
Today, instead of lost ancestors, we found
The present in your picturesque terraces.
A surprise collision in Appledore’s Market Street
With contemporary branches of our family tree,
Reminded us that the past begets the present,
That gravestones generate identity.

Someone reads my poems! Much to our surprise Kate’s cousins read my poem about Bideford and got in touch because they were also in the area. Today last and present met.
(07.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 600 – Hunting Hores

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

Hunting Hores in Northam
Finding Fursdons of Fore Street
Hoping for Hugh’s headstones
In Margaret’s grand retreat
Unpicking John Lock’s locale
Crossing off Cross Street
Retracing the tracks of relies
And following their feet
We’re on an ancestry adventure
A holiday in time
And as we find their fingerprints
I’m turning it into rhyme

Day two of our holiday in Bideford. Today we headed into Northam to track down the in-law’s ancestors. And yes, the first surname has been the source of many jokes over time… (St. Margaret’s is the local church).
(06.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 595 – Canvas Dreams

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

The present sound of rain thrumming transports me.
A boy, I lie inside my sleeping bag.
I am content, surrounded by the gentle
rhythm, a surrogate for my mother’s heart.
Although away, I am at home, encircled
by my father’s strong and reaching branches.
Exhausted by a day’s exertions, I close
my eyes, and smiling, drift back to the present.

It’s the time of year when the hankering to be under canvas always returns, and the sound of rain brings back happy memories.
(01.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Frederick Shaw on Unsplash

Poem 529 – Kirby Hall

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

The rain comes down as soon as I
step from the car into its time.
The crying of a peacock lends
an eerie chill, disturbs my spine.

Forgotten gardens, ruined mansions,
midnight strolls and walking statues.
This shell reminds me of the dramas
that wrote the landscape of my childhood.

I half expect to see the ghost
of Queen Elizabeth drift by
the corner of my eye, as I,
survey the walls and roofless ceilings.

We walk in hushed, respectful tones
to navigate its sandstone bones,
and roam within its fading grandeur,
and marvel at this skeletal wonder.

Today we called in on Kirby Hall on the way to visit my parents. An amazing building.
(28.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025