Tonight a crisply crafted stroke
Gave satisfaction in a well
formed line, brought pleasure not in verse
but household chores, the ironing…
Between work and home there’s not been much time for writing today
(22.04.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Aleš Čerin on Unsplash
A hasty haiku
To complete a busy day
Sequence not broken
Keeping up the daily habit…
(20.04.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
The day is done
My time has gone
To write a rhyme
That is much long-
er than this one
I’ve run out of day…
(29.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Mubashir Ahmad on Unsplash
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
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
Poetry tonight?
That was my intention, but
Gardening won instead…
Self explanatory!
(18.06.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
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
The irresistible moment arrives…
Now I have written five hundred poems
And I will write five hundred more
Just to be the poet who wrote the thousand
Poems now strewn all over his floor
It had to be done…
(11.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash
(Except it turns out I hadn’t… Misnumbering at some point meant this was not Poem 500 but 451!)
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
Ode for the Day 
