Mutation strikes
As genes combine
The virus is subverted
Now virulent
The strain now spreads
The world is now alerted
Working as one
Combining minds
Our efforts are concerted
Against all odds
The world is saved
Impending doom diverted
Pandemic has been a favourite boardgame for some time now, although we haven’t played for a while. Took it out for a spin tonight, and for a while it looked like we had no chance, but somehow we managed to hang on to win!
(25.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
One moment I was me
The me I’ve always been
But suddenly I find
My name is actually Lynne
I didn’t know I’d bought
A new iPhone 16
And sent it to an address
In a house I don’t live in
My phone has been delivered
To a hand that isn’t mine
I’ve not done anything wrong
But still committed a crime
Joy of joys, someone has used my email address to take out a contract in a new phone from Sky…
(24.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Daniel Romero on Unsplash
Ventoux, on whom legends are made,
Your mythical mountain slopes loom high.
Reaching beyond the trees, your lunar
Landscape, stark and steep, melds sky
And space, a place where heroes race:
Poulidour, Merckx, Pantani, Virenque,
You gifted glory to their wins.
Pogačar battled, Chris Froome ran,
Forever Simpson cycles on,
But you, Ventoux, remain the true
Pinnacle, the hero of le Tour.
I only caught up with yesterday’s stage in the Tour de France this morning, a stunning stage of full blooded racing, but as always, the lingering image will always be not the riders but the mount itself.
(23.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Lucas Gallone on Unsplash
Last minute,
final breath,
time
stands
still
until…
the roar!!!!!
Bonus poem today after the footie.
What. A. Turnaround.
(22.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Chaos Soccer Gear on Unsplash
This new fangled technology!
It’s not like back when we were young,
back then we talked to one another,
communicated face to face.
But now? They’re all distracted, dumb,
fixed stares, eyes down, lost in the page,
retreating from community;
the printing press has killed the art
of conversation. If this continues,
who knows the damage there could be!
I get worries about the impact of screen time, but at the same time, I suspect it’s all been said before…
(22.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Paul Hanaoka on Unsplash
Through my kitchen window I spot you pass,
a lady in red, swaggering with an easy
confidence. A stranger to my garden,
you pause to pose in stripey tiger print.
You don’t belong and yet you captivate me
with your exotic ways; my tiger moth.
It isn’t just grasshoppers in our garden this year, for the first time I recall, there’s a number of beautiful Jersey Tiger Moths fluttering around, along with a variety of butterflies.
(21.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo Jean-Pol GRANDMONT, CC BY 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
It’s time to tame the lawn, to mow the meadow.
Spring’s growth is done, the flowers’ beauty faded,
and all that are left are dry and browning stalks.
I venture out, the mower pushed before me,
and suddenly what’s dead springs back to life;
a thousand hidden grasshoppers leaping skywards.
The river bursts its banks and overflows,
spilling forth, a rushing roiling flow
of boiling, bubbling, exuberance let loose.
For a moment I feel lost among the waves,
I’m all at sea, but gradually the turmoil
fades and I finally find my way again.
‘No Mow May’ slipped into ‘Let It Bloom June’ and found it’s way into July, but finally I needed to reclaim the lawn. Mowing revealed just how much life had taken up residence in the meantime.
(20.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ngan Nguyen on Unsplash
The trees’ reflections are stirred,
obscured by whirling eddies
that form along the bank.
Concentric circles overlap,
and dancing dissipate.
Delineation blurs as
the air moistens, merging
with the flow below.
Darting swifts live up to
their names catching disturbed
insects on the wing.
Suspended spiders’ webs,
glistening silver-plated,
adorn the grassy fence,
whilst blackberries, freshly washed,
hang low from laden branches,
dressed in mourning tones.
A cormorant smiles and dives,
oblivious to the tears.
It’s down to rain all day, but regardless, we snatched a walk between deluges along the New River, built to feed water to London to the south. My new raincoat kept the rain out.
(19.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jackie Best on Unsplash
I’m searching for the swing,
Staccato syncopation,
Digging deep to find
Those dark and husky notes.
I’m summoning up the spirit,
Reaching for the vibe, of
Adderley, Rollins, Shorter,
Past masters of the ‘phone..
I’m seeking out the style,
A yearning aspiration,
To find perfection’s rhythm
And move both heart and soul.
A few weeks in and I’ve realised that, although I’m never going to be a master, I might just be able to get to a reasonable standard with continued practice.
(18.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash
Farewell Year 6, it’s been a laugh.
Grab shirts and pens and autograph!
Big fish, small pond, it’s time to leave,
Your future’s bright so we believe.
The things you’ve learnt while you’ve been here,
Will serve you well, so keep them near.
Remember friends, grow tall, grow strong,
We pray God’s blessing on what’s to come!
One of the joys of my job is being involved in the life of our local primary schools. Today it was Leavers’ Services day, here’s a prayer/poem I wrote and used at one of them.
(17.07.25)
