boardgames

Poem 832 – A Lesson in Self Control

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To stick or not to stick that is the question.
The head says to but deep inside this urgent
urge declares it’s fine; just one more card,
that’s all, just one, what harm can one more do?

And so you nod. The dealer starts to turn
and as they do the world contracts and centres
on his hovering hand. Sound stops. He flips
and as he does your flitting heart does too.

Shock waves. The slow-mo thud resounds across
the table as the heavy card descends.
To stick or not to stick that is the question;
it seems I learnt too little much too late.

Fun social evening at church tonight playing, and losing, Flip7.
(26.03.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Sergi Viladesau on Unsplash

Poem 827 – Pandemic

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Alas, tonight we failed
to save the world. We tried
but sometimes trying’s not
enough. Sometimes hope
requires a lucky hand.

An early epidemic meant we were up against it from the start.
(21.03.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 703 – Childish Things?

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Eight men, eight grown-up men at that, all sat
Around a table playing games. It seems,
A little childish perhaps, a desperate clutching
Onto passing days, of memories
Of living wild and young and fearlessly.
But here we’re free to put aside, for now,
Responsibility and simply be
Ourselves. To set aside the expectations
Put upon us by ourselves and others.
Right now the world reduces to the choices
Made, the turns we take, and all that matters
Is the fun we find, investing in each other.
We end rejuvenated, ready as
the table and the world expand again.

Today I travelled back from a weekend playing boardgames with friends. A wonderful time, thanks all!
(17.11.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 702 – Anticipating

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We roll the dice
and all lean in,
our breath is held,
as pulses rise,
a gasp, a cry,
a ‘Yes!’ a ‘No!’
‘I hate this game!’
‘I told you so.’

The cards slide in
as turns are made,
collective groans,
delighted cheers,
as points are counted,
totals summed,
impatient waiting
to find who’s won.

A weekend away boardgaming, with the’evil’ 6 Nimmt card game being a highlight, with all its highs and delightful lows.
(16.11.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by 2H Media on Unsplash

Poem 610 – Riding in the Dark

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A nighttime ride, 1.30, and it’s dark,
the perfect time to perch upon the saddle
and race against the waking of the lark.
No doubt there’s many who would think I’m mad,
but, peddling at this solitary hour, I find
the space to think and ponder makes me glad.
All other voices banished from my mind,
a purity of focus can be found,
as thoughts and legs in perfect rhythm combine.

Last night I joined friends in Enfield for an evening of boardgames. As usual we finished in the wee hours. Having been a hot day, I treated myself to cycling there and back. Decided today to try a poem in a terza Rima form, three three line stanzas with an ABA BCB CDC rhyming format, and my ride came to mind.
(16.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Samantha Gilmore on Unsplash

Poem 588 – Pandemic

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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