Poem 441 – Inevitable

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

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 403 – Childish Delights

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

Poem 400 – Mud

Mud in my eyes
Mud in my fingernails
Mud in the tongue
Mud in the insoles
Mud in the eyelets
Mud in the treads
Mud in the laces
Mud in the stitching
Mud in the cracks
Mud in the crevices
Mud in the cloth
Mud in the plughole
I wonder how
There’s any left lingering
In yesterday’s
Most muddy fields

Today’s task? Cleaning the muddy boots from yesterday’s mucky walk (see Poem 408).
(19.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Martin Martz on Unsplash

Poem 398 – Call Centre Blues

Your call is important to us
So we’re placing you in a queue
And playing some lovely music
For you to listen to

Your call is important to us
So we’re recording every word
We’ll listen back to it often
To learn from what we’ve heard

Your call is important to us
Along with the other ninety-nine
We’re looking forward to speaking to you
When we finally have the time

Your call is important to us
We’ll hang onto every jot
We’re sorry to leave you waiting
But abruptly this call must

I’ve had the joy of feeling with a few call centres recently. Occasionally one comes along that is great (thank you Indra), but often it’s a nightmare.
(17.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by LumenSoft Technologies on Unsplash

Poem 395 – Installing Washing Machines

It always sounds straightforward
in the manual. Simply
remove the packaging,
undo the bolts and then
attach the pipe and hose.
Turn on the water. Pray
(it doesn’t say this but
I find I always do).

It always sounds straightforward
but bolts stick then they snap.
Attaching pipes requires
amazing acrobatic
acts behind the units.
Despite how tight you tighten,
the water always leaks.
I swear then pray some more.

This evening I installed a new washing machine. I think it’s sorted, but I won’t know until we use it. Of course to check all’s good, I’ll have to get behind it yet again to look for puddles…
(14.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Leif Christoph Gottwald on Unsplash

Poem 389 – Muddy Feet

The postman delivers a set
of new mats for the car,
to stop me from wiping the mud
from my feet on its floor.

These mats all resemble the one
that we’ve put by the door,
to stop us from wiping the mud
from our feet on the floor.

My feet seem to cause so much grief
everywhere that they tour!
There must be a much better way
to keep mud from the floor…

Perhaps I’ll stick mats on my feet
with some string from our drawer?
And with no more contact there’ll be
no more mud on the floor!

I did receive new mats today…
(08.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dmitry Ganin on Unsplash