Beware! Bare flesh and filthy language lie
ahead. Hold firm if frightened of loud bangs.
Take notice, sexual naughtiness in store.
Greek legends clash in hungry rival gangs.
The author of this violent, grim discourse?
None other than the English Bard of course.
Written in response to the warnings by the stage door at The Globe for Troilus and Cressida tonight.
(28.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
I met him in a queue once
a line inside a theatre
a few snatched words thats all
and yet he diagnosed me.
A handful of lyrics paired with
a simple tune – that’s all
it took to bypass my
defences, strike the mark.
My voice broke long ago
so why do I now hear
a creaking in my song as
I sing along this morning.
I’ve been enjoying the latest Divine Comedy album ‘Rainy Sunday Afternoon’ this week. I sense that he and I are hitting similar life stages right now.
(26.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
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
Today like Moses I parted the sea
Only, it wasn’t water instead waves of grass
And I struck not a staff but shunted a mower
No horses drowned although grasshoppers jumped
and I didn’t reach Canaan just the end of the green
A photo taken at high speed,
I find myself a smeared shadow.
Caught in the instant, its movement is
uncertain, full of the tension found
between two possibilities.
This indecisive Schrödinger moment,
leaves its unseen plotlines hanging.
An odd day today. Between things.
(27.05.25)
A lawn of lions,
Their golden manes
Bobbing brightly
Under the Sun.
NoMowMay has produced a beautiful display of dandelions.
(18.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Nikša Leko on Unsplash
The snaking bramble wraps itself around
the bush, the branches and my arms.
Its tail around my back, it lurches
catching me unawares, and bites.
I spin, it bites again. I twist
and turn, it bites once more. It’s always
faster, darting out of reach.
But I will not be beaten! No!
I persevere and tug and tug,
each pull a victory in perseverance.
Eventually I slump exhausted.
My body bears a thousand wounds,
but all around the bramble lies,
its broken body in submission,
the battle won…
…but not the war.
An afternoon of gardening. I have the scars to prove it.
(26.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Stefan Kostić on Unsplash
Packing bags
Packing boxes
Packing cars
Packing trucks
Packing tools
Packing kettles
Packing hopes
Packing losses
Packing dreams
Packing memories
Packing fears
Packing love
Packing family
Packing friends
Packing stories
On every box
Our daughter’s moving this week, raising memories of our last move where as a young girl she wrote stories on every box.
(19.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
In the corner of my eye
the phone flashes
urgently. But why?
Why are they calling?
I can’t answer now,
they know I’m at work.
But why are they calling?
Has something happened?
Is that why they’re
calling? A thousand
permutations present themselves
but I still can’t answer.
I’ll have to get someone
else to answer
while I press on
with the task in hand.
I pretend to work,
time on hold.
I was in the middle of leading a song at church when I spotted my phone was ringing… It turns out there had been an accident at home, but thankfully, all was ok in the end.
(27.10.24)
Flows through my fingers
I cannot grasp it’s currents
My poem’s unsaid
Ran out of time today….
(30.08.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Jérôme Prax on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 