Travel

Poem 553 – Driving in the Sun

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Driving home today,
my brain has turned to mush,
I’ll be hard pushed to say
anything that makes sense.

The Sun did not relent,
remaining loud, despite
the cloud, that meant it was
not quite as hot as thought.

I’m writing as I ought,
but nothing much profound
is found, within my head,
for me to say today.

And so I think I’ll stop
and sleep the night away.

It wasn’t as hot as we thought it might be today, but driving home from visiting family frazzled me somewhat nevertheless.
(21.06.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Rajiv Bajaj on Unsplash

Poem 518 – Boundary Market

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A cacophony of smells assaults me,
seducing me with savoury scents.
Fresh cheeses pair with delicate herbs,
sitting by artisan breads and rolls.
Pies with flavours strange and familiar,
entice in rows of crisp gold cases.
Strawberries sell by cups or punnet,
(chocolate sauce is optional).
A brazen rainbow envelops me,
its racks of exotic, colourful fruits
transport me to a foreign land.
Within these streets life is compressed,
our bodies densely stirred together,
a heady cocktail of taste and language.

We were in London today for a show at The Globe today. Arriving early we wandered over to Borough Market, a first time for me.
(17.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Taylor Keeran on Unsplash

Poem 516 – The Race of Life

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Like Race Around the World,
we’re traveling through life,
adopting different speeds,
and taking different routes.
Each life that’s lived’s unique,
a one off gift of time,
blending both choice and chance,
making us who we are.
The victory I’ve found
is not in these but those;
in those with whom I’ve travelled,
and those I’ve loved and served.

Tonight Alpha met Race Around the World.
(15.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Nejc Soklič on Unsplash

Poem 509 – Travelling Backwards

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Today I’m travelling backwards
Facing the wrong way around
Reversing to Cambridge by train

The present flees before me
Doppler effect in years
Returning to my home

Revisiting forgotten passions
Middle age flies by
Resurfacing our childhood

Trips to Cambridge always make me nostalgic. Aging does that too.
(08.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 466 – All of Life

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The studied silence of commuters,
Construction workers crushed with suits,
Upholstered seats in faded colours,
Ear-pods, phones and dog-eared books.

An orthodox Jew and white haired woman,
Young men crushing energy drinks,
A foldable bike and terrified dog,
Covid masks, the missing link.

Abandoned news and empty cups,
Suitcases held, anticipation,
As one we brace against the brakes,
A carriage waiting for the station.

A poet writing daily verse,
Romeo seeking Juliet,
All of life crammed in one train,
From Montague to Capulet.

I had to travel into London for a meeting today. As always the tube was full of characters.
(26.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Pau Casals on Unsplash

Poem 448 – Hertfordshire Chain Walk Pt. 2

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Nine mile loop on foot
Through woods, fields and viaducts.
Above model planes
And red kites glide the thermals.
Back just as the Sun goes down.

After lunch we decided to go back and do the second loop of the Hertfordshire Chain Walk, knowing that we would be getting to the car as the sun went down. No time to hang around!
(08.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 447 – Bike Free

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Pedalling smoothly, my wheels begin to pur,
a low contented growl from spinning cranks.
My muscles sing. I playfully leap and bound.
I am transposed, at one with my bike, man
and machine conjoined to make the King of the Road.

The sun is out and I needed to make a visit to the local hospital, and so it seemed the perfect chance to take the bike for a spin. It felt good.
(07.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Josh Nuttall on Unsplash

Poem 423 – Driving Through 1066

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‘The Norman horde must be holding us up ahead,’
I laughed out loud, as we languished in the lane.
And so imagine my surprise when, making
it around the roundabout, we ran into
a fearsome figure fighting on a horse!
Before him fought on foot a Saxon armed
with axe and anger, armour dulled by blows
so skillfully cut by William’s swiping sword.
Thus trapped, the tortured troops of Harold stand,
eternally caught in conflict with the Conqueror.

Driving to a conference today, we were held up in the Sussex town of Battle…
(11.02.25)

© Ben Quant 2025