Just for fun

Poem 710 – Making Sense of Lfe

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Filling in the blnks,
Personalising the crwd,
Identfyng objects
Hgh in the gathering clouds.

Forevr seeking patterns,
Our brains instinctivly,
Fill in all the gaps, to mke
Snse of what they see.

This is our superpowr,
Our mnd’s great party trck,
Unless there’s no connecton,
And then we come unstck.

All that said, I’ve never been good at the missing vowels round in Only Connect…
(24.11.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

Poem 682 – I’m a Poet

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I’m a poet and I know it,
There’s 700 poems to show it,
And I’m not going to blow it
By missing out tonight.

But today I’ve given all.
And I’m running out of juice.
I’ve nothing left to offer
Only the stubborn wall
That I’ve run into,
That says I’m done,
It’s time for bed.

My head is blank
And yet there’s more to do.
I’m a poet and I know it,
And that will have to do.

I’m at our denomination’s annual conference which I help run. I love it and enjoy throwing myself into it, but there’s little capacity for anything else when I’m here… (If you’re wondering why I say 700 poems when this is number 416, that’s because of a numbering error that means I’ve gone back to full in a gap!)
(27.10.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Tim De Pauw on Unsplash

Poem 662 – Famous Faces

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I nearly bumped into Nigel Havers once.
He was leaving the Tube on a raining Notting Hill
evening, collars upturned to hide his face.
Another memorable night, I found myself crushed
against the seat of Terry Gilliam. I waited
for something completely different, perhaps a giant
foot, to descend upon my cartoon head.
It never came. And then one time we walked
across a Cambridge park. A familiar figure
passed the other way. We said, ‘hello’.
He nodded and walked on by without a word.
With a blush we realised we only knew him from
the telly. There were others, comedians on
theme park rides, news readers on the streets,
soap stars at outdoor concerts; so many famous
faces. It raises the question, when they meet,
do they discuss the time that they met us?

Sparked by a conversation today with Dad when he asked if I knew anyone famous.
(07.10.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Photo by Eduardo Unda-Sanzana from Antofagasta, Chile • CC BY 2.0

Poem 660 – Fighting for Sleep

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Tonight I lie to sleep in my parents’ house
having defeated the attempts of the sofa bed
to prevent me from doing this horizontally.
Head bolt upright? I don’t think so! Neither
my feet to the floor. In increasingly frenzied moves
our engagement played out, a midnight wrestling bout,
featuring twisted limbs, contorted faces,
until at last, it finally yielded its secrets.

Just wrestling in a poem before midnight…
(05.10.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Krista Mangulsone on Unsplash

Poem 642 – Belief

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I hear they’re calling it Slottage Time,
That moment in the dying breath,
When time stands still and waits and waits,
Until the ball flies in the net.

Perhaps we’re riding on a wave
Of luck that surely must run out,
But until then we wait and wait,
And wait for it without a doubt.

It might be nice for once to win
Before the extra time is shown
Not needing to wait on and on
Until the final kick flies home.

‘But where’s the fun in that?’ I say
There’s nothing like the adrenaline rush
From tension building up and up
Exploding with the final touch.

For the fifth time in fife games, Liverpool somehow managed to win tonight in the final moments of the match. It’s now no longer a surprise but expected.
(17.09.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Chris Knight on Unsplash

Poem 620 – Flat Pack Politics

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A week or two has passed
and all is as we left it.
The TV hasn’t fallen,
or damp stains reappeared,
or furniture collapsed.
My DIY has lasted
longer than Liz Truss.
I can announce I have
a strong and stable cabinet!

Much to my relief, returning after Greenbelt, the DIY is as I left it.
(26.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025