Some people are larger than life.
They stride the planet, making
our lives a little bigger.
Knowing them enriches us,
and when they leave somehow
the world is a little less.
Goodbye Pam, thank you.
(02.07.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
RIP
Poem 914 – Mike
Thunderbirds are go,
or so you used to say
(unlike the trains you loved –
are those llamas on the track?!)
Ham sandwiches and mustard,
you waved me on my way,
with home made flags and cheering,
on my saddle-bound holiday.
(Remember the size of the restaurant
plates we ate from? So large
I thought we’d never make it
to the end. You did.)
Sniggering in meetings.
Inappropriate jokes
at serious moments. Laughter
invaded toil and lightened.
As a mentor in Salone,
generous in wisdom.
Gaps between meetings grow
but birthday cards still come.
Until this year. They stopped,
I fear, no more. We used
to pick up where we left off.
One day, I pray, we will.
We said goodbye to a dear friend yesterday. It isn’t a great poem and won’t make to much sense to others, but it’s been good to remember shared moments in the past.
(16.06.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Poem 488 – Missing Mary
When I arrived you’d shout my name, ‘Ben’,
and beckon me over with an insistent wave.
A kiss on the cheek, and an enquiry as to where
I live. ‘Near to your daughter’ I’d reply.
You gave everybody your attention,
knew all your neighbours names and how they were,
although you’d talk about them too loudly, and asked after us and our families, one after the other.
At some point in the service you’d break
into a rendition of, ‘Oh When the Saints!’ –
it didn’t seem to matter when or why.
Eventually, I’d find the key and play along.
We’d swap stories of Scotland, holidays,
and churches we’d attended in our times.
Marching above with your beloved saints
Are you still heckling beyond the pearly gates?
I learnt today that a friend at the local nursing home where I take services died recently. Goodbye Mary, and thank you.
(17.04.25)
Ode for the Day 