Some people are larger than life.
They stride the planet, making
our lives a little bigger.
Knowing them enriches us,
and when they leave somehow
the world is a little less.
Goodbye Pam, thank you.
(02.07.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Relationships
Poem 928 – The Club Convenes in Person
Slowly we converge. Alert, we trace
each stranger’s face to ascertain their nature.
Do those features belong to one of us?
We hesitate, it’s better to be cautious
than run unnecessary risk. Be careful.
Watch and wait. Let someone else move first.
A stranger looks your way. Eyes briefly meet
then break away. An accidental action,
or look of recognition? Turn back and see.
They’re looking too, it’s time to make your move.
The first in person meeting for The Pendragon Club, an online community gathered around the imaginary worlds created by Julian Simpson. And what a brilliant evening it was!
(30.06.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Poem 926 – Tempus Fugit
Poem 923 – A Heavenly Blacksmith
The furnace of the African sun
Was the perfect place to forge a friendship,
To meld our souls, two servants together.
It only seemed appropriate that
This friendship was restored today
Under the blaze of this burning Sun.
As one we walk in different fields,
A common life in different cultures,
Together refined by Christ the Son.
In an act of perfect symmetry I was reunited with a friend from Sierra Leone in a heatwave reminiscent of my time there.
(25.06.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Vincenzo Marotta on Unsplash
Poem 914 – Mike
Thunderbirds are go,
or so you used to say
(unlike the trains you loved –
are those llamas on the track?!)
Ham sandwiches and mustard,
you waved me on my way,
with home made flags and cheering,
on my saddle-bound holiday.
(Remember the size of the restaurant
plates we ate from? So large
I thought we’d never make it
to the end. You did.)
Sniggering in meetings.
Inappropriate jokes
at serious moments. Laughter
invaded toil and lightened.
As a mentor in Salone,
generous in wisdom.
Gaps between meetings grow
but birthday cards still come.
Until this year. They stopped,
I fear, no more. We used
to pick up where we left off.
One day, I pray, we will.
We said goodbye to a dear friend yesterday. It isn’t a great poem and won’t make to much sense to others, but it’s been good to remember shared moments in the past.
(16.06.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Poem 899 – Devoted
A precious afternoon
With no prior agenda
Devoted to each other
Listening and reminiscing
About old times, old friends
And sharing time together
‘Cause nothing else matters
An afternoon spent with an old friend whose time with us is drawing to its end.
(01.06.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash
Poem 879 – About Turn
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
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
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)
Poem 815 – Car Day
On the road all day
Driving to see my parents
Every mile worthwhile
A long day but great to see Mum and Dad
(09.03.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Darwin Vegher on Unsplash
