Poem 941 – Hereward Brings Turfrieda Home (The Ballad of the Wake cont.)

So now renowned in far Flanders
Across the Narrow Seas, 1
He took Turfrieda in his embrace,
With arms now proven in strength and grace,
Declaring ‘No more should we be displaced,
Let’s live as family!’

We’ve been apart for far too long,
Let’s leave and forge a home,
Back in the Fens, my Father’s land,
Let’s up at once and go!

And so he gathered up his men
With Siwards Red and White,
The chaplain Hugo Britannious,
With prayer and sword a genius,
His brother too, one Withardus,
A knight of valour and might.

And so they sailed across the Seas,
Past France, back home again,
Where Old Man Heron patient stood,
And pike and perch swam in the brook,
And eels swam past the willow wood,
Back to his Mother Fen.

After sharing a few verses with my father yesterday, I’m feeling inspired to press on with this ballad, and determined to intertwine the tale of Hereward with the character of our shared fenland home.
(14.07.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Image public domain

  1. The Anglo Saxon Name for the English Channel ↩︎

Poem 936 – Drosophila

A glorious name for something
as humble as a fruitfly.
A mere milimetre,
a comma in the air
punctuating the bowl
of warm and ripening bananas.
An overlooked contestant
in evolution’s race?
Perhaps, as whilst I wilt
under this heatwave’s sun
you’re born in paragraphs,
a cloud of dancing pauses.

Working today, I became aware of fruit flies, my companions from biochemistry days, accompanying me once more.
(09.07.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Poem 935 – The Wreck

Now exposed to the elements,
your striped back bones are bleached
and fading fast. You tilt to dip
your toes into the welcome water
and, finding its embrace enticing,
you slowly slide under its sheets,
a cautious paddler, one inch at a time.

A boat has been abandoned in the river at the foot of our road. Whilst it’s an unsafe eyesore, it’s also fascinating to watch it gradually decay.
(08.07.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 933 – Lethargic Poet

Can I be bothered?
The weekend was long
and I’m feeling weary.
But above the swifts
are wheeling still
and I’m put to shame.
Perhaps I ought
to rouse myself…
Maybe tomorrow.

Yesterday I had a five hour drive back from near Exeter and today is hot. You almost got a haiku…
(06.07.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 925 – Golden

The furious Sun has shone with anger,
With rasping rays that raked our days,
Set rooms afire throughout the night,
Burning the world, no sign of grace.
We’ve wished it gone and prayed for rain,
But as it finally edged away,
It shed its fury and shone with joy,
Its last hurrah guilt edged the day.

As the heat finally broke this afternoon we took a walk and were treated to this stunning sun down view.
(27.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 924 – The Lantern Men (Ballad of the Wake cont.)

Beware the marsh the black crow cries,
Beware the treacherous mire,
Beware deceptive flickering lights,
That tempt and tease us from our stride,
The cunning of these devious guides,
That wickedly conspire.

Beware the evil lantern men,
The haunters of the fen,
That flicker with the barking dog,
That howls within the cloaking fog,
The phantom hound, the grim Black Shuck,
Enticing us to our death.

A bit brain dulled by the heat and the days events, so here’s a couple of verses that may or may not feature in the Ballad of the Wake.
(26.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Fabio Verhorstert on Unsplash

poem 922 – dissolve

the rising heat pervades and saturates,
discombobulating, it smears and saps
our life, we sit and stare and take our turn
uttering, ‘It’s hot, too hot,’ our words become
confused and stumble, jumble, skip a line
and fall in greasy puddles around our shoes,
and start to slide apart, it is too much,
and slide apart, proximity adverse

The hottest day of yet another heatwave. It’s all too much…
(24.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash