Mystery email
Says today is your birthday
Is this true? Or spam?
Today I received an email with a list of birthdays from an email address I don’t know. One name is known to me.
(03.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Hannes Johnson on Unsplash
Poem 473 – Two Heads
An honest conversation,
A sharing of opinions,
Through letting our guards down,
And trusting one another.
Revealing ignorance,
And asking searching questions,
Opening to the other,
Two heads better than one.
I’ve had a day of activities and meetings today. A common thread has been a series of cracking conversations where we’ve genuinely learnt from each other.
(02.04.25)
Poem 472 – Watch the Date!
Spaghetti trees and panda eggs,
Flying penguins pass in packs,
Des Lynam praises staff behaviour,
As fists land blows behind his back.
Planetary alignment weakens gravity,
Trampoline aisles in supermarkets,
Anton du Beke joins Ant and Dec
My favourite April Fools Day pranks
Some classic childhood favourites (and a newer one).
(01.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Denis Agati on Unsplash
Poem 471 – Sailing Solo
Thirty years on and I’m still not bored
of being in your company;
we fit together you and I.
But sometimes I fancy some time to myself,
to do the things that you’re not into.
When those occasions come along
I make grand plans and varied lists,
and look forward to my solo adventures.
Perhaps I’ll ride my bike all day,
looking magnificent in lycra.
Or stay in bed and read a book,
from cover to cover, under the covers,
only emerging for food and drink.
Elsewise, I’ll grab my guitar, and cranking
up the volume to eleven, master
tricky licks and guitar god poses.
But when the day arrives, I find
myself unmoored, adrift in aimless
seas, wishing the silent hours
away, waiting for my rescue.
A restless weekend on my own.
(31.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Little John on Unsplash
Poem 470 – Back on Track
Today the clocks all say different times,
My sense of moment has been totally scrambled.
My brain is slightly discombobulated,
My words are coming out confused and jumbled.
The only saving grace is in the bathroom,
Where last autumn I forgot to change the clock,
Since then its screen has been an hour out,
But now I find it is, at last, tip-top!
Very bleary today after the switch to British Summer Time. It would be today that I had a delivery slot scheduled for between 7.30-9am – that’s 6.30-8am in yesterday’s time… Yuk.
(30.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Towfiqu barbhuiya on Unsplash
Poem 469 – BST
Tonight, a theft,
As time is taken,
Some sixty minutes of
Sleep deprivation.
Swiped from under
Our weary eyes.
Predictable,
Yet still a surprise.
But do not fear,
This thief relents,
Each and every year,
And pays recompense!
Don’t forget the clocks go forward tonight (in the UK). Who will turn up an hour later for church tomorrow!…
(29.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Brooke Campbell on Unsplash
Poem 468 – Side A
I slip the vinyl from its paper sleeve,
carefully cradling it with my outstretched fingers,
holding it gently like a newborn babe.
Placing it tenderly, I dust it with a cloth
then brush the needle clean. This tactile ritual
just as important as the sound produced.
The customary crackle. ‘Hello old friend’, I smile.
The soundtrack of my youth plays on with only
the occasional interloper interrupting.
Have I reached the groove at record’s end
that leaves us turning on an endless loop,
or does the promise of a second side remain?
Working late today, listening to Roger Taylor’s ‘Outsider’ album. The record may be fairly new, but the voice is a long familiar travelling companion.
(28.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 467 – Enforced Intermission
For one afternoon
we had no internet.
The world didn’t end,
at least, not in real life.
No doubt the fires raged
on social media as
celebrities were cancelled,
politicians vilified,
and wild views justified.
Football pundits were stilled,
pop-up adverts burst,
and the only cookies crunched
had chocolate chips – no trolls
were fed today, just me.
Maybe Artificial
Intelligence took my place,
an algorithm wore
my face. I’d like to think
you’d spot the difference.
Our telephone
is still not working.
The silence lingers.
Oh what bliss…
Today we swapped broadband providers, and for one wonderful afternoon we were cut off.
(27.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Kristina Flour on Unsplash
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 465 – An Avian Revival
We sit outside, enjoying Spring’s fresh sun,
sharing a cup of tea and conversation.
The heavens’ freshness is invigorating,
shining light into wearied Winter limbs.
We aren’t the only ones awakened by
the afternoon’s blue opportunity;
the sky swells with ranks of choristers,
alert, their chests puffed out with jubilant song.
Performing bass, the racket of the rooks erupts,
joining the tree-born tenor pigeons’ coos.
Insistent great tits drill their alto beats, as
greenfinch glissandos trill in soprano splendour.
At the finale’s final flourish we file
out of the garden, aware that we’ve been treated
by a most marvellous rendition of this
anarchic avian anthem. We applaud.
Yesterday afternoon, I sat outside with my parents, ensuring the weather and the glorious birdsong.
(25.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Svetozar Cenisev on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 