Spaghetti trees and panda eggs,
Flying penguins pass in packs,
Des Lynam praises staff behaviour,
As fists land blows behind his back.
Planetary alignment weakens gravity,
Trampoline aisles in supermarkets,
Anton du Beke joins Ant and Dec
My favourite April Fools Day pranks
Some classic childhood favourites (and a newer one).
(01.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Denis Agati on Unsplash
Today the clocks all say different times,
My sense of moment has been totally scrambled.
My brain is slightly discombobulated,
My words are coming out confused and jumbled.
The only saving grace is in the bathroom,
Where last autumn I forgot to change the clock,
Since then its screen has been an hour out,
But now I find it is, at last, tip-top!
Very bleary today after the switch to British Summer Time. It would be today that I had a delivery slot scheduled for between 7.30-9am – that’s 6.30-8am in yesterday’s time… Yuk.
(30.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Towfiqu barbhuiya on Unsplash
Tonight, a theft,
As time is taken,
Some sixty minutes of
Sleep deprivation.
Swiped from under
Our weary eyes.
Predictable,
Yet still a surprise.
But do not fear,
This thief relents,
Each and every year,
And pays recompense!
Don’t forget the clocks go forward tonight (in the UK). Who will turn up an hour later for church tomorrow!…
(29.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Brooke Campbell on Unsplash
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!)
I didn’t mean to visit the shop
I didn’t mean to go inside
I didn’t mean to check the prices
I didn’t mean to try for size
I didn’t mean to chat to the attendant
I didn’t mean to ask for advice
I didn’t mean to search reviews
I didn’t mean to buy a bike…
Our local bike shop is closing down, and it would have been rude not to. I shall miss them, they’ve been very helpful over the last few years.
(10.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Wayne Bishop on Unsplash
Oozing, the glue seeps from the hole
I pricked because the lid was stuck.
I wiped its stream along the join
and held the pieces tight, hoping
my fingers wouldn’t do the same.
Fortuitously, for once, they didn’t because
the gooey flow continued, despite
stopping squeezing it some time before.
Grappling with my spare hand I tried
to wipe it off and stem the flow.
Bits of cloth stuck to the nozzle,
whilst goblets adhered to my digits.
Letting go of the join I went
to clean them off, only to find
the wayward pieces sprang apart.
Cursing, I grabbed them. A big mistake.
Now cloth and glue and wood and fingers
combined to make an unholy mess,
whilst in the corner of my eye the
determined adhesive freely flowed.
This time the glue securely bonded.
Reaching for the glue today I found the lid had stuck to the tube – not surprising, it’s glue after all!
(01.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Scott Sanker on Unsplash
Time is
Running
Out
Waiting
In a
Queue
For a
Parking
Space
At the
Hospital
Despite arriving in good time, we ended up cutting it fine for an appointment today. In the end, it was timed to perfection!
(28.01.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Sara Kurfeß on Unsplash
Best laid plans and all…
I said I wouldn’t do this
But hey, queue one up
It’s been a full day today. Sometimes you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.
(27.01.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by José Martín Ramírez Carrasco on Unsplash
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
Winding in the lead on a Henry vacuum cleaner;
its silky movement reminiscent of
a whipping snake or spiralling whirlpool.
The satisfying pleasure of plunging the plunger
on a cafetiere, believing that this triggers
a dramatic chimney stack collapse.
The mutual suspense and thrill when casting a handful
of dice upon the table with a group
of friends and waiting for the outcome.
Cooking porridge in the microwave
and, like the bear in the fairy story, getting
the delicious texture ‘just right’.
A line of verse falling on the page
and landing poised and perfectly rhymed from birth.
It rarely happens but when it does…
So often childlike eyes, like Narnia’s wardrobe,
can unlock the doors to a world that otherwise hides
hidden behind our hanging coats.
Vacuuming after foodbank today, we discovered the shared joy of winding in the vacuum cleaner lead. I was challenged to write a poem about it… This one’s for you Jasmine!
(22.01.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Pete from Liverpool, UK – Project 365 #170: 190613 A New Arrival, Public Domain, Link
Ode for the Day 