Poem 466 – All of Life

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

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

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

‘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

Poem 399 – Hertfordshire Chain Walk Pt.1

The opaque skies we walk beneath are white.
Today the Sun is banished, time obscured.
It’s hard to know what era we stand in,
let alone the time of day or year.

Made boggy under horses’ hooves, the clay
is claggy and grows like tumours on our boots.
With every squelching step we feel it’s suction
and fear we might be stranded in its mouth.

Woodpecker heavy metal is joined by sparrow
chatter and the squawk of startled pheasants.
A robin burbles from within the wood,
and Great Tits tweet their welcome as we pass.

Occasionally another world butts in:
manicured golf club lawns, expensive carparks;
the droning rumble of distant motorway traffic;
and show-off houses striving to be on top.

Finally the circle’s closed as we reach the start.
The happy feeling of release as boots are peeled
from tired feet and exchanged for comfortable cousins.
We take our seats both satisfied and weary.

We decided this year we’d set ourselves the target of doing the Hertfordshire Chain Walk; a series of circular walks that turn a chain from south to North Hertfordshire. Today was the first, an 8 mile loop around Whitewebs Park, Crews Hill, and the surrounding countryside. A good if mucky and chilly start.
(18.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 387 – Wet Trousers

The alarm went off this morning.
Outside it was dark, so dark,
I didn’t want to rise,
but had before I knew it.

I left the car at the garage.
Cycling was cold, so cold,
the tide mark rising up
dull chromatography.

The phone rang in the rain.
The call was hard, so hard.
May God’s peace match the puddles
permeating my pockets.

Once home I peeled the layers.
They’re dripping wet, so wet.
The garage rings, it’s ready –
I put them on again…

I had to take our car to the garage first things for it’s annual service. The snow and ice may have gone, but the weather was miserable. I still feel wet. The good news, however, was that there were no issues with the car at all.
(06.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Nicola Anderson on Unsplash

The Portugal Poems

I’ve been away the last week. Does this mean I haven’t been writing poetry? No! I’ve kept up the one poem a day pattern that I’ve got back into recently, but I keep them private until I returned, aware that I didn’t want to advertise too far and wide that our easily identifiable house was vacant. Here they are: