Poem 682 – Signs of Life

Did you know a house can die? It’s true.
Our neighbour died and like a loyal pet,
his house began to pine, the peeling paint
its tears, and spreading weeds its growing grief.
As beams decayed its backbone bent all hunched,
and boarded up, sad eyes began to close.
But even then the faintest pulse remained,
the finest thread of life tied on to hope,
a flicker waiting for resuscitation.
Today that longed for life at last moved in.

Going for an evening walk tonight, we notice that we have new neighbours.
(08.09.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Untitled Photo on Unsplash

Poem 679 – A Chinese Moveaway

A few months into university
I’d got used to you being away.
The house was ours again and, during
the working day, just mine. I’d play my music
loudly without the risk of disturbing you
and watch whatever I wanted to at lunch.
Is it wrong to say that it was good?
But Covid called and back you came. And stayed.
Today you put an offer on a house
and I am so, so thrilled for you, I am.
But I find inside that I’m not so ready
to say goodbye. An empty house no longer
seems as liberating as before.
I’m sure that I’ll get used to it, I will,
but today just feels a little sweet and sour.

Change is on the horizon.
(05.09.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Erda Estremera on Unsplash

Poem 431 – Packing

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