Relationships

Poem 879 – About Turn

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It started innocently enough,
you came in angry, feeling roughly
treated, but this was out of sight,
and I was ignorant. So tough,

you thought, to an imagined slight
and muscled up ready to fight!
I backed away, caught by surprise,
hastily trying to put things right.

Keep calm, I thought, and lowered my eyes
seeking to help you realise
that I wasn’t a threat to you at all
by paying attention to your replies.

Gradually the fire went out,
the fight became fresh shoots of doubt,
(had you really been rebuffed?)
the beginning of a turn about.

It was satisfying today to turn a tense situation into the start of a much better relationship.
(12.05.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Maxime Gilbert on Unsplash

Poem 828 – Stolen

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Stolen. I didn’t know at the time
that this was our last conversation.
I turned my back and our words were gone.
I don’t remember what they were.

Now scattered, loose change upon the floor,
I desperately long to gather them up,
investigate every corner and search
the dark places until all are found.

Mutely, you stare at me. I’m sure,
inside, there’s much that you would say but,
vocabulary snatched, expression stilled,
that chance has gone and I am dumb.

As a child, before my speech was born,
I used to bang my head upon
the wall in frustration. I fear that you
now feel the pain that I felt then.

What would I have said if I had known?
Something profound? A nervous joke?
It’s strange. Your silence breeds more silence
and without reply my words dry up.

Mother and son, we search each other’s
eyes hoping that we might find those
missing coins. I leave uncertain,
praying you heard the words unsaid.

Written after a recent visit.
(22.03.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Napendra Singh on Unsplash

Poem 821 – Mother Sunday Words

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Mothering Sunday:
I call to say I love you,
You moan in return.

Have I been chastised?
Once, I would have dreaded that,
Now I’d ask for more.

Now you have no words:
Someone left your tap running,
Drained them all away.

May my few combine
With your heartfelt emotion
And fulfil us both.

Mum can no longer talk making this a bittersweet Mothering Sunday.
(15.03.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by FlyD on Unsplash

Poem 807 – I Believe in Tomorrow

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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 806 – J

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For just one fleeting year we shared a home,
our lives briefly intertwined, grafted
together as family. But then that day,
that desperate day, your branch was torn away.

This wrenching moment lingers unresolved;
do you remember me across the years,
the childlike joy and tantrums that we shared?
Where are you now and who have you become?

My hope? Your dislocated branch may have become
a cutting, finding new and fertile soil,
from where today your roots dig deeply and
your mighty boughs stretch out into the blue.

I lodged for a year with a family whose children were later put in care. I often wonder what became of them.
(28.02.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by olga brajnovic on Unsplash

Poem 802 – A Word Out Of Place

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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 796 – Two Leaves

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It’s cold, bitterly cold, but nothing that
steak pie and mash won’t fix along with coffee.
We sit, replete and beginning to glow, and smile
at love and friendship grown over a life-
time spent together. It’s been a day spent tracking
those who’ve walked that ancient way before us,
who intertwined and merged to form the trunk
and spreading branches of our tree. We take
our place and, longing, reach up to the sun.

It’s been a fun day exploring places my wife’s family came from and enjoying each other’s company. The photo is of Selby Abbey where one ancestor was baptised.
(18.02.26)

© Ben Quant 2026