Today I’m travelling backwards
Facing the wrong way around
Reversing to Cambridge by train
The present flees before me
Doppler effect in years
Returning to my home
Revisiting forgotten passions
Middle age flies by
Resurfacing our childhood
Trips to Cambridge always make me nostalgic. Aging does that too.
(08.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Just thirteen episodes in all.
So few and yet their magic reaches
far beyond their number’s sum.
Familiar notes transport me to
a shop that bridges the gap between
my childhood and maturity.
A shopkeeper appears inside.
An enigma: his origin’s
unknown, as is his name and motive.
He passes a coathanger to me
upon which his choice of outfit
hangs each time, a dream ticket.
Accepting without question, we don
the outfit, another’s skin, and find
ourselves metamorphosised.
A red knight, a hunter, a clown,
balloonist, wizard, spaceman,
zookeeper, cook and caveman.
A frogman, cowboy, carpet flyer,
and at last a pirate, before
an encore as a gladiator.
Not surprisingly, Mr Benn was a childhood favourite. More surprisingly, I find myself talking about him at a Churches Together service tonight, asking with Two Monsters.
(18.10.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo Peloponnesian Folklore Foundation, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
To start, prepare a base
of knights from Arthur’s Court.
and a dash of Robin Hood.
Stir with diced Norse legends.
Leave to simmer with a Hobbit,
thirteen dwarfs, a wizard
and an ancient dragon.
Add a sprinkling of Old Ones
and once the Dark has risen,
accompany with a garnish
of Garner, Brisingamen and owls.
Inspired by seeing a copy of Alan Garner’s brilliant Treacle Walker at my parent’s house. The owl is in their garden.
(21.09.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Do you recall those hazy childhood days,
Those lazy endless freedom days outside?
The den we made together in the hedge,
Found at the bottom of our road, our world?
Behind it stood a farmer’s field in which,
We used to scatter, hide within the grain.
I wonder if he ever saw us there,
And turned a blind eye to our escapades?
The pylons, alien, stood tall and strong,
Tempting investigation but warnings,
Upon ‘the box’ made us fearful. Likewise,
We never played with matches, afraid of death.
This was our kingdom, on our bikes we reigned.
The rules were ours, no adults interfered,
Until exhausted, dinner called us home,
Across the border full of tales to tell.
Was it really as I remember it, with blue skies all year and endless hours to play? Probably not, but the sense of that is strong.
(26.02.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Ode for the Day 
