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
Two men and a van
Bish, bash, bosh, hurrah, job done!
Put the kettle on!
Today’s removal men for our daughter were fantastic! If only the flat pack furniture was as straightforward…
(20.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Claudio Schwarz on Unsplash
‘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
The joy of getting
All the way
And discovering that
We can get back!
A new electric car has eliminated our range anxiety
(08.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
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
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
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:
The wistful ache of final farewells,
a sadness, blended with homeward joy,
that always builds as holidays end.
One last stroll along your ochre sands,
and clamber up your cacti cliffs,
to feel your breath upon my face.
Take summer shirts from where they hang
and fold them in our sandy bags.
Another sweep to clear the room.
And just like that it’s over.
(09.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
This brooding landscape’s constantly on the move,
a bewitching vista, coyly teasing us with
fleeting hints and passing apparitions.
A shape catches in the corner of the eye.
You turn only to find it’s gone and all
that’s left’s a question, hanging in its place.
Hoping that amongst these surging peaks they
may be found, we press on through the waves.
What’s that? You spin, a flash of grey lifted
above the spray, but no, it’s just a fish.
This false hope dashed, gone with the darkened waves,
and so time ebbs away and with it passes hope.
Resigning ourselves to disappointment, we pretend
the caves were enough. Too loud we cry, ‘All’s good!’
Bracing ourselves with bravado we turn for home,
and then, and only then, the waves are broken,
as up towards the cheering sky it soars!
At the third time of asking, our boat ‘sailed’ today. Two years ago we took this excursion along the coastal caves and then out to hunt for dolphins. We enjoyed it so much we had to take the family this time around. Dolphins? No joy, but we were finished to see leading tuna as we turned for home.
(08.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
The warmth picks its spot,
Carefully centres its cross hairs,
And squeezes on the trigger
Gradually the pressure builds
And joyfully radiates
From this central bull’s-eye.
Massaging the tender
Muscle, it coaxes it to
Relax and begin to smile.
I pulled something in my back a couple of days ago. I’ve no idea when or how, it just suddenly was! Sitting by the inside pool, however, the sun performs wonderful therapy.
(07.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Ode for the Day 