Poem 931 – The Chapel

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A place of steeped in prayer,
Where liturgies of hope,
Have polished heart and beams.
Where panels echo to
The beat of spirits’ breath,
And stones are smoothed by grace.
We join the timeless one,
Converging generations,
Come, Lord Jesus, come!

Inspired by a chapel at the centre where I’ve been leading a retreat for the Sierra Leone Mission today.
(04.07.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 929 – Return to Flanders (The Ballad of the Wake cont.)

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Now one year on it’s time to turn
To Flanders for his wife,
Who he’d left there with his nephews,
Siward the Red and White, these two
The noblest of his men both true
In caring for her life.

Returned but for a fortnight long,
When Baldwin the fine Knight,
Came calling for his help and arms,
Against the Viscount Pynkenni’s advance,
To stop his men from causing harm,
‘Will you take on the fight?’

‘Of course I will!’ he fast announced,
‘With Siwards Red and White,
The three of us would be so proud,
To ride with you tonight!’

Hereward keeps his promise to go back for his wife within the year.
(01.07.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 928 – The Club Convenes in Person

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Slowly we converge. Alert, we trace
each stranger’s face to ascertain their nature.
Do those features belong to one of us?
We hesitate, it’s better to be cautious
than run unnecessary risk. Be careful.
Watch and wait. Let someone else move first.
A stranger looks your way. Eyes briefly meet
then break away. An accidental action,
or look of recognition? Turn back and see.
They’re looking too, it’s time to make your move.

The first in person meeting for The Pendragon Club, an online community gathered around the imaginary worlds created by Julian Simpson. And what a brilliant evening it was!
(30.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 927 – Knighted (The Ballad of the Wake cont.)

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Not unmindful of these fears our
Hereward amassed his men,
The biggest and the bold he called,
Some forty nine he sent abroad,
All dressed in armour fresh procured,
The bravest from the Fens.

Upon the Feast of Peter and Paul
He went to the Abbot of Burgh, (Peterborough)
A man called Brant of noble birth,
Requesting that around his girth,
He’d hang a belt and sword in mirth,
To make of him a Sir.

And in an act of further fury
He called upon his fighters,
To be likewise made knights like this,
Proclaimed as such by a solemn kiss ,
That English ways not French persist,
As by the clergy they’re knighted.

Back to the Ballad today and Hereward preparing for the King William’s revenge in response to his own (see Poem 920).
(29.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Jonathan Kemper on Unsplash

Poem 925 – Golden

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The furious Sun has shone with anger,
With rasping rays that raked our days,
Set rooms afire throughout the night,
Burning the world, no sign of grace.
We’ve wished it gone and prayed for rain,
But as it finally edged away,
It shed its fury and shone with joy,
Its last hurrah guilt edged the day.

As the heat finally broke this afternoon we took a walk and were treated to this stunning sun down view.
(27.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 924 – The Lantern Men (Ballad of the Wake cont.)

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Beware the marsh the black crow cries,
Beware the treacherous mire,
Beware deceptive flickering lights,
That tempt and tease us from our stride,
The cunning of these devious guides,
That wickedly conspire.

Beware the evil lantern men,
The haunters of the fen,
That flicker with the barking dog,
That howls within the cloaking fog,
The phantom hound, the grim Black Shuck,
Enticing us to our death.

A bit brain dulled by the heat and the days events, so here’s a couple of verses that may or may not feature in the Ballad of the Wake.
(26.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Fabio Verhorstert on Unsplash