Work

Poem 1009 – The Evening Commute

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As predictable as ever,
The evening commute begins,
The vaguest hint of hum.

At first a sole outrider,
Quick to leave the office,
Keen to miss the queue.

The sound of a distant thrum,
Becomes an urgent flutter,
A squabbling squall of sound,
A churning flying mass,
A kaleidoscope of grey,
Remorselessly pushing forwards,
A riotous raucous throng.

As quickly as it started
The thundering flock have gone,
Until tomorrow comes.

Just as the light started to dip, the evening murmuration flew over as the starlings returned to Lee Valley for the night, echoing the human commuters who similarly travel in and out on a daily basis.
(20.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Poem 999 – Just Before

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The calm before the storm.
I’m taking a deep breath,
Gathering my thoughts,
And feeding on my nerves,
Preparing to take the plunge,
The chance to turn has gone,
It’s time to build momentum
And take a running JUMP!

I made it to my assembly early this morning, and had a few minutes to scribble these few lines.
(10.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Richard King on Unsplash

Poem 977 – Contentment

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Sat in the back of a foodbank van, the sun
is beating on my face. Right now this is
a happy place. I note the irony.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter what
you have, that things don’t fill a soul or make
you whole. That’s easy to say when you have things.

I have things. Too many things it’s true.
So many things I freely throw them in
the dump. That’s not a boast but a confession.

Once, a wise man found the secret of
contentment in plenty and in debt. Perhaps
I need to find it. …But maybe not just yet.

Musings whilst sitting on the back of the foodbank van today…
(19.08.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Autotrader UK on Unsplash

Poem 972 – It’s Hot

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It’s hot.
So hot that I’ve started to melt.

I find myself dreaming of
a long refreshing drink,
hallucinating visions
of a pint; can you see it?

And so, upon returning
home, I find I am
inevitably pouring myself…

…onto the sofa and leaking
absolutely everywhere.
It’s hot, so very, very
hot.

It’s been a tad warm in the foodbank warehouse this week…
(14.08.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Timothy Dykes on Unsplash

Poem 886 – Selina

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I see her familiar face across the room.
Head resting on her hand she is distracted,
her mind on matters out of sight to me.
The casual nature of her arm appears
a little forced, her back is straight, her face
is stern, it’s almost as if she has to brace
herself to pause; I want to speak and make
her stop and slow, to cease her constant churn
and yet, although I’ve known her for so long,
she knows me not at all and never will.

Inspired by a portrait of Selina, the Countess of Huntingdon, who founded the movement of churches I am part of.
(19.05.26)

© Ben Quant 2026