Poetry

Poem 602 – Driving in the Sun

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Driving home today,
my brain has turned to mush,
I’ll be hard pushed to say
anything that makes sense.

The Sun did not relent,
remaining loud, despite
the cloud, that meant it was
not quite as hot as thought.

I’m writing as I ought,
but nothing much profound
is found, within my head,
for me to say today.

And so I think I’ll stop
and sleep the night away.

It wasn’t as hot as we thought it might be today, but driving home from visiting family frazzled me somewhat nevertheless.
(21.06.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Rajiv Bajaj on Unsplash

Poem 600 – Six Hundred & Counting

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I only meant to write a poem,
A simple rhyme to celebrate the day,
A one off, no more than that.
I didn’t mean to blow the bloody doors off,
Or take the world by storm,
Or change the world one verse at a time.
On that score I guess I succeeded!
But here I am six hundred poems later
And it seems I’m unable to stop.
Like a wave that keeps on rolling,
I keep on washing stanzas on the shore,
And splashing innocent bystanders
With iambic spray or alliterative verse.
So here’s to rolling up my socks
And paddling in poetry
For just a little longer.

I had no idea that those few lines written for National Poetry Day in 2021 would be the start of something.
(19.06.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

Poem 457 – Armed with Art

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My weapon is a melody,
My sharp sword is a verse,
My prayer a faithful missile fired
Across the universe.
Imagination changes lives,
And poems are armed with dreams,
Guthrie’s guitar killed fascists, yes
The truth will set us free.

The opening line came from today’s prayer meeting, which sparked off thoughts of Guthrie and The Notting Hillbillies version of The Weapon of Prayer.
(17.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Image: Al Aumuller/New York World-Telegram and the Sun (uploaded by User:Urban), Public domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Woody_Guthrie_2.jpg

Poem 405 – Rhyme Around The Clock

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Better late than never,
My daily attempt at rhyme,
This stab at wordsmith rhythm only
Squeezes in on time.

A jazzy slate of syllables,
Alliteration rock,
It finally makes its debut on
The last seconds of the clock.

The metronome helps meter
Iambic beats combine
And with a crash of consonants
We make the end bar line.

Home alone, I got distracted playing my guitar, and almost forgot my daily poem…
(24.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Kobby Mendez on Unsplash

Poem 382 – This Year

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This year I will not leap out of
a plane for charity,
nor scale a tree topped mountain summit
or swim across the sea.

I bet my debut novel still
will probably not get written,
and surely I won’t be packing theatres
with jokes and witticism.

I will not gain a medal or
some gong in the New Year’s Honours,
I plan not to feature in the news
for being some crazed wrong ‘un.

Instead my New Year’s resolution
is simply to see it through,
and on the way to write a poem
every day or two…

This year, other than getting grants for the church redevelopment, I have no special objectives or challenges planned, except the personal challenge of regularly posting poems throughout the year. Can I do one a day throughout 2025?
(01.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Vincent Burkhead on Unsplash