Day after the count
My eyes are blurry, brain dead
Fetch more coffee! Now!
At Broxbourne’s count until the wee hours last night. Gripping stuff but exhausting.
(08.05.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Sander Sammy on Unsplash
Politics
Poem 874 – Placing My Cross
Election day today and so
I place a cross inside a box.
As I grip the stubby pencil
it brings to mind another choice,
not in a temporary booth tucked in
a deserted primary school like this,
but outside a dusty city wall
where hung a man who cast his vote,
a cross marked with his crimson love.
His vote? A vote for all: for strangers,
friends and enemies, for those
we chose to love, and those we chose
to hate, and those we do not see.
A vote with open arms and cast
with generous vulnerability.
Placing my cross inside a box
I pray I won’t do that with his.
It’s the local elections today and it will be fascinating to see how they pan out, it all feels very different from usual. As seems to so often be the case, how we perceive and treat those who are different from ourselves seems to be very much an issue.
(07.05.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Phil Hearing on Unsplash
Poem 853 – Just Ice?
Just ice would be too sharp
Too cold upon the tongue
Bitterness needs sweetness
For us to get along
Firm punishment is fair
For them who break the rules
But for those who are oppressed
Justice is much more cool
It’s absolutely right that those who cheat or lie to obtain asylum and those who assist them for a profit should be punished and prevented, but I worry that stories like those in the news recently may hinder those who are vulnerable and need asylum, or affect how others see them unfairly.
(16.04.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash
Poem 826 – For the Innocent of Iran
The days are light and spring is here.
Winter now seems a distant coup
and so I was confused when you
proclaimed with joy, Happy New Year.
Nowruz Mobarak, ‘happy new day!’
On hearing playful birds’ fresh tunes
and admiring the new born blooms,
the penny dropped, it’s more sense this way.
And so I wish you hope this instant.
Whichever start you mark, I pray
that amongst the shelling you may stay
faithful, and find there hope persistent.
It’s the Iranian New Year today, or so I learnt from my new Iranian friend at our Conversation Cafe. My prayers are with his family and the ordinary people of Iran, those caught up in a war inflicted upon them by those in power.
(20.03.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Chris Linnett on Unsplash
Poem 818 – Them Foreigners
Sometimes, I wonder who the foreigners are?
The ones housed in a nearby hotel I’ve come
to know, whose humanity has touched my soul?
Who had to turn away, with shuddering shoulders,
fearful for their family in Iran?
The ones who persevered, despite their stuttering
tongues, to find a way across the gap?
Who strove to get a job and contribute,
caring in ways that we cannot or won’t?
Or those celebrating its closing down
by insisting ‘them foreigners aren’t welcome here’?
The more I’ve got to know our neighbours, the more I’ve seen our shared humanity.
(12.03.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Lisa Marie Theck on Unsplash
Poem 808 – Embrace the Grey
As I’ve got older I’ve noticed
That grey has invaded my eye brows.
They are not alone.
Increasingly I find
It in my politics
And streaking my theology.
Gone are the days of black
and white and hairlines,
And close up I don’t see
So clearly anymore.
It’s not that I have lost
The idealism of youth,
I remain a dreamer,
But I have learnt in this world
Sometimes options are messy,
Not simply right or wrong.
This isn’t a dreary dullness,
An insipid washed out life,
But an edgy place of risk
That forces thought and faith.
I thought when I’d grown up
I’d know, you know, but no.
The certainties have gone
And all that’s left is hope,
And living on the line,
And love and love and love,
And nothing’s riskier than that.
And so I think and pray
And act and hope and trust
That Love is big enough.
Honestly demands me to admit that the older I get the less I think I know. Thankfully, amongst the debates and decisions, the question gets simpler, what does love look like here.
(02.03.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Poem 807 – I Believe in Tomorrow
Tomorrow bombs of confetti will
be dropped on those we disagree with.
Campaigns of generosity will
be inflicted on our enemies
and joyful marches will take place
protesting love for the stranger.
Tabloids will express a welcome
and social media will be social.
During elections our politicians
will say nice things about each other,
and spam bots will be used to give
good gifts to naive recipients.
Tomorrow the lion will lie with the lamb
whilst all colours will dance together.
I still believe tomorrow will come,
I do, but for now we just drop bombs.
I refuse to give up but sometimes it’s hard to hold onto hope.
(01.03.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Erik Brolin on Unsplash
Poem 805 – A Stone
Take it, and carefully place it on another
to build a wall, together growing a house.
Alternatively, pick it up, lean back
and sling with all your strength to knock ’em down.
The choice we face.
(27.02.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Wolfgang Hasselmann on Unsplash
Poem 802 – A Word Out Of Place
A word out of place is ….. awkward
It forces us to walk around it,
navigate its corners carefully
lest we should bump ourselves.
The temptation is to ….. shout,
ironic really when you think
about the reason for its angle.
But grace is difficult and costs.
Grace calls on us to be the ones
who ….. hold the tower up when things
begin to topple. This may be
against the rules we share but such is ….. love.
It’s such a shame that what should have been such a celebration of John Davidson’s work at the BAFTAS was turned into something else.
(23.02.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Michał Parzuchowski on Unsplash
Poem 801 – Four Years
Four years of yearning, of young men sent to war,
since tanks on tracks raised trouble in the streets
and reason ran away as they rolled in.
Of mighty men who make games of all our lives,
who push people like pawns upon chess boards,
greedily grabbing land for their own gain.
Of tears that tear a track down mothers’ cheeks
and bombs that blow their boys to smithereens
and drones that down their unborn naive dreams.
On 24 February 2022 Russian forces entered the Ukraine marking the start of the current phase of the war between them. A poem in alliterative verse seemed an appropriate way to mark it, an ancient style to mark a modern conflict; somethings don’t really change.
(23.02.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Jade Koroliuk on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 