A rumble of thunder rolls across the bay.
A portent of trouble? Uncertainty ahead, and
before too long rainfall joins the fray.
Thankfully with rain coats packed we’re ready
and soon it stops, the sun returns, the grey
clouds drift away. We’re not deterred, instead
we step on out, we’re hopeful for the day
and making the most of being by the Med.
The sun emerges, shadows mark our way.
We walk past golden Atatürk the head
of modern Turkey, tall and proud, today
a statue under whose purview we tread.
A dicey looking day turned out well with a lovely walk into Marmaris along the coast.
(06.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Travel
Poem 425 – Midnight Waters
Guarded by the hills and
Lit by moon alone, the
Midnight lagoon sits still
Under Turkish skies.
Echoing around the bay
Cicada songs resound
As, guided by the stars,
Cygnus, the swan, flies by.
The water calls to me,
Invites me to slip under
Its twilight sheets, entranced by
Mediterranean charms.
We were captivated by our first views over Marmaris bay last night.
(05.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 424 – Check In Haiku
At security
Bring patted down, of course
Clearly suspicious
It’s always me…
(04.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 723 – Twilight Driving
The autumn light’s a nowhere liminal place.
The grisly rain descends in grimy grey,
its slimy fingers obscure my vision’s scope.
Passing figures flicker into view
then fade, phasing both in and out like phantoms
haunting the highway in their hazy dusk.
It’s time to temper haste and take no risks.
I turn my wipers on, weary and worried
that I might slip and strike some passerby
before I see them. I slow my speed and pray.
Fearing my vehicle’s veered into a violent
twilight realm, been trapped or transported
to find itself amongst the fickle fae
(how I fear their wily ways!), I wish that I
could wake at once to morning’s welcoming light,
and fix my thoughts upon finding my way to you.
Evening driving in autumnal drizzle.
(19.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Justin Cron on Unsplash
Poem 717 – Brief Encounters
Our eyes meet.
Not across a crowded room
or pulsing dance floor
but in the train window,
falling upon each other’s
reflected against the backdrop
of a quickly changing landscape.
This is, of course, exactly
what we were seeking to
avoid. We flinch confused,
not certain what to do,
before shifting our focus
to gaze upon the verge.
Being English on the train means avoiding human interaction. On Saturday evening I failed despite my best efforts.
(13.10.25)
Poem 716 – Eternal Horizons
Back to the flat country
The land of black peat soil,
eternal horizons and hanging
mist. The womb that bore me.
Of tumbling buildings and ditches.
Of endless skies that leave us
falling into the view.
A dreamscape that still haunts me.
Returned to the Cambridgeshire fens today.
(12.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo public domain by Dr Border at English Wikipedia
Poem 693 – Poetry On The Go
Poem 687 – Cycling in the Rain
Back at the very start,
The rain no longer matters.
I smile because the miles
Are done, the hills are past,
The churches all ticked off.
Somehow, the heavens opening
Seems appropriate.
I jump for joy in puddles
Thinking, there should be
A lamppost standing by,
For me to dance around.
I took part in the Bike ‘n’ Hike today, raising funds to maintain local historic churches. 24 churches visited over 34 miles, over 2.5 hours on the move. I’m out of practice, the legs turned to jelly after a bit, but thoroughly enjoyed myself.
(13.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 659 – Riding in the Dark
A nighttime ride, 1.30, and it’s dark,
the perfect time to perch upon the saddle
and race against the waking of the lark.
No doubt there’s many who would think I’m mad,
but, peddling at this solitary hour, I find
the space to think and ponder makes me glad.
All other voices banished from my mind,
a purity of focus can be found,
as thoughts and legs in perfect rhythm combine.
Last night I joined friends in Enfield for an evening of boardgames. As usual we finished in the wee hours. Having been a hot day, I treated myself to cycling there and back. Decided today to try a poem in a terza Rima form, three three line stanzas with an ABA BCB CDC rhyming format, and my ride came to mind.
(16.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Samantha Gilmore on Unsplash
Poem 653 – Victoria Line
Walthamstow Central,
The doors slide open,
Blackhorse Road,
Beckoning us on,
Tottenham Hale
Entering warily,
And Seven Sisters,
Surreptitiously spying.
Finsbury Park
We clatter and sway,
And Highbury and Islington,
Involuntary community,
King’s Cross St. Pancreas,
Friends and strangers,
Euston and Warren Street,
Close yet distant.
Then Oxford Circus,
A blurring of boundaries,
Victoria and Pimlico,
Of personal space,
Vauxhall and Brixton,
A sigh of relief,
We’re spewn out together,
At the end of the line.
Travelling on the Victoria Line today, I realised how well the station names scanned with train like rhythm.
(10.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dan Roizer on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 