Poem 395 – Installing Washing Machines

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It always sounds straightforward
in the manual. Simply
remove the packaging,
undo the bolts and then
attach the pipe and hose.
Turn on the water. Pray
(it doesn’t say this but
I find I always do).

It always sounds straightforward
but bolts stick then they snap.
Attaching pipes requires
amazing acrobatic
acts behind the units.
Despite how tight you tighten,
the water always leaks.
I swear then pray some more.

This evening I installed a new washing machine. I think it’s sorted, but I won’t know until we use it. Of course to check all’s good, I’ll have to get behind it yet again to look for puddles…
(14.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Leif Christoph Gottwald on Unsplash

Poem 393 – Jack’s World

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Yesterday, upon our wooden gatepost,
the frost created miniature white forests
of crystalline columns. How I longed to walk
beneath their delicate icy canopy,
and folic under its frozen leaves and branches.
What winter creatures made their habitat
amongst these glassy pillars and nested there?
Who crawled amongst its sugary undergrowth,
and hid within the dusting of white detritus?
Alas, so many mysteries remain unfound,
now dissipating beneath the rising sun.

Waiting for a lift yesterday morning, I spied a hidden world.
(12.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Yuri Antonenko on Unsplash

Poem 392 – Boardroom Betrayal

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Today, all day,
I sat in a meeting
And found myself
Wondering

Wouldn’t it
be more fun
If someone was
A traitor…

From time to time
We’d break into
Subcommittees
And scheme

And then we’d draw
Our pens and cast
A suspect out
Before

The constitution
Affords the traitor
A chance to veto
Someone’s voice.

After a six hour meeting, it was good to come home and catch up with Traitors, a complete contrast!
(11.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Tim Gouw on Unsplash

Poem 391 – What Will It Take?

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As Hollywood burns we point elsewhere
pretending there is no connection.
Friends, there is no action hero,
no caped crusader, only us,
and with great power expenditure
there comes great responsibility.

This morning I heard about the LA fires approaching the famous Hollywood sign. Moments later I read an post about American climate change deniers pointing to other causes rather that face the possibility that man made climate change could be behind it. I know I’m to blame too, but sometimes I despair…
(10.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Nathan DeFiesta on Unsplash

Poem 390 – Traitors

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Tricky decisions have to be made as
Round the round table divisions are played.
Against one another in plotting and scheming
In devious manoevers, of success they are dreaming.
Tripping each other with unfolding feelings
Of who they suspect of foul play in their dealings.
Respect has no place as they race to the gold,
So gather your wits or be left in the cold…

New Year, new series of Traitors, and once again we’re hooked.
(09.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Tyler Quiring on Unsplash

Poem 389 – Muddy Feet

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The postman delivers a set
of new mats for the car,
to stop me from wiping the mud
from my feet on its floor.

These mats all resemble the one
that we’ve put by the door,
to stop us from wiping the mud
from our feet on the floor.

My feet seem to cause so much grief
everywhere that they tour!
There must be a much better way
to keep mud from the floor…

Perhaps I’ll stick mats on my feet
with some string from our drawer?
And with no more contact there’ll be
no more mud on the floor!

I did receive new mats today…
(08.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dmitry Ganin on Unsplash

Poem 388 – Farewell

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I’ll never forget the day you locked yourself
out of the house. You called for help – I came.
I broke into your bathroom by climbing onto
the garage roof and squeezing through your window.
Briefly, I hooked my belt around the latch,
which threatened to leave me undressed and hanging.

A deep sense of determination was written
on your face, reminding me of Mount
Rushmore, resolute and irresistible,
a pervading positivity that said
‘this can be done, let’s make the most of it’.
Pragmatic stoicism served you well.

But in your eyes I saw hidden emotion.
I saw your caring check of those around you
and presiding pride in friends and family.
You held my eyes, revealed intelligence,
weariness, frustration at all you’d lost,
until the last page was turned and Wordle done.

Setting out the chairs today felt wrong
as one was in your place – a weekly reminder,
as if one’s needed. Soon we’ll say goodbye.
Ever thoughtful, you’ve told us what you want.
Not wearing black, we’ll celebrate as one
a resolute life in story and joyful song.

Over Christmas we lost a long-term member of our weekly lunch at church. We’ll miss her. I met with the family today ahead of the funeral. These verses emerged from our conversation.
(07.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by 🇸🇮 Janko Ferlič on Unsplash

Poem 387 – Wet Trousers

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The alarm went off this morning.
Outside it was dark, so dark,
I didn’t want to rise,
but had before I knew it.

I left the car at the garage.
Cycling was cold, so cold,
the tide mark rising up
dull chromatography.

The phone rang in the rain.
The call was hard, so hard.
May God’s peace match the puddles
permeating my pockets.

Once home I peeled the layers.
They’re dripping wet, so wet.
The garage rings, it’s ready –
I put them on again…

I had to take our car to the garage first things for it’s annual service. The snow and ice may have gone, but the weather was miserable. I still feel wet. The good news, however, was that there were no issues with the car at all.
(06.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Nicola Anderson on Unsplash

Poem 386 – Twelfth Night

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Three years on this trot
I’ve written poems today that
Share the same title

A short one today! A busy day with a great service this morning, clearing the house and decorations this afternoon, and friends around tonight to finish the season.
(05.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Painting by Edwin Landseer, Scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1851) (Public Domain)