Standing stark and strong,
the weight of generations
tugging us through time.
Historic earth, a rod,
grounding our feet in place;
eternity in stone.
A silhouette, cold white,
engraved in fleeting lives,
eroded, lichen clad.
A throbbing weight, it’s heart-
beating our ears with gravity,
not breathing yet alive.
Tonight’s TV drama (Vera) featured three standing stones, reminding me of trips to Avebury and other ancient monuments, and the feelings associated with them.
(22.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Driving, packing, moving and assembling,
Scrubbing, scraping, sweeping, lifting, mending,
Two days non-stop moving until now,
And I’m never going to move my bones again.
That’s it, the job’s more or less done. And so am I.
(21.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
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
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
The black crows wheeled about and dived,
Three harbingers of doom descending
In perfect harmony, upon the man.
I knew not why they chose this wanderer,
Just what his crime or cause of grief,
But froze in horror as they harangued him.
Their cawing clawed along my back,
Paralleling their piercing talons,
Which, rampant, ripped his suit to shreds.
Brandishing his umbrella like a bayonet,
He thrust it furiously at the fiends,
But repelling them not retreated.
Around the corner he ran in terror,
Before, when out of sight, he screamed
A sound like shrieking foxes wailing.
At last I roused myself and ran
To offer help in fending off
These beasts, but found them gone, a feather
Left lying on the floor, the only
Evidence of their existence.
And of the man? No sign remained…
I never found the missing man,
Nor saw the hellish crows once more,
Except asleep in anxious dreams,
But even now I shrink in fear,
Upon the sight of silent birds
Aloft on wing or lonely trees.
Walking to church today I saw the crows sweeping in a curve, one before the other, in a downward dive. Starting to write about the sight, this is what came out. I didn’t intend to write gothic or alliterative verse, but that’s where it took me.
(18.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Stary Smok on Unsplash
The perfect vision
Arching delight
Curving crisply
Casting the light
Reaching over
Reeds and blue water
Alas this bridge
Is an imposter
To celebrate half term, we took some time today to visit Kenwood House and grounds. Over the lake reaches this beautiful bridge which can be seen from the house. Close inspection, however, reveals it is a sham – it is a two dimensional prop!
(17.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
The simple joy
Of an evening spent
With two old friends
Two friends whose lives
Have intertwined
And accompanied ours
Two friends who shared
Our wedding day
(But sadly not with us)
Two friends whose children
Have become
The friends of ours
Two friends who’ve walked
Our joys and trials
As we’ve walked theirs
Two friends with whom
We can relax
And simply be
Seemed an obvious follow-up to the last couple of days’ poems. That’s not us in the photo though, surprisingly I’ve virtually no photos of just the four (or eight) of us. Thanks J&B!
(16.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Devin Avery on Unsplash
Eleven thousand,
One hundred and thirty seven,
Spent married to you.
Who’s counting? I am.
Each matters, every one a
Choice made together.
From the heady start,
Somersaulting down the aisle,
When Ben married ‘Ken’.
The joy of shared walks,
Exploring each other’s hands,
And ways of thinking.
To expanding love,
The miracle of childbirth,
And growing as one.
Enduring Ofsted,
Learning how you like your tea,
Shared viva anger.
Funding the future,
Investing all my eggs in
One basket with you.
Every day matters,
From mundane daily chores to
Ecstatic highlights.
Eleven thousand,
One hundred and thirty seven,
Spent in loving you.
Ok, so yesterday’s hastily scrawled haiku didn’t convey the feeling behind it (the time was better spent doing that in person than absorbed on the mobile writing!) Hopefully this conveys some of that. And yes, our vicar did try and marry Ben and Ken, his embarrassment a cause for great delight for the rest of us!
(15.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Eleven thousand,
One hundred and thirty six,
Spent married to you.
A haiku for Valentine’s Day.
(14.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Eric Rothermel on Unsplash
A waltz can be stopped
when one partner sits down,
but for a dance to be danced
both partners are needed.
A war can be caused
by the actions of one,
but for peace to be peace
both parties are needed.
After the news of Trump’s calling Putin about the end of the war in Ukraine, I’m hoping his approach is more than mere appeasement.
(13.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Marko Zirdum
Ode for the Day 