Month: Aug 2023

Poem 201 – Genetic Verse

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

Your verse hasn’t faded,
just merely passed along
Watson’s famed double-helix,
finding a new voice in me,
your son. Your words still speak.

I may not have your humour,
my poems don’t twinkle like
yours do, so mimicking
your eyes as you read them.
They have a different accent.

But underneath they share
that same urge to be spoken,
to find a way to be
formed and found and so heard.
Nature and nurture guide me.

I write and hear us speaking
shared turn of phrase, and see
a familiar gesture.
I smile in recognition
and wonder whose turn’s next.

Dad has always written verse, verse that’s made me smile and groan and think. Recently he’s found his fading memory has militated against this. I think he’s felt the loss. Dad, your poems have inspired mine. I hope that in some way through them you speak on.
(31.08.23)

© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by Sangharsh Lohakare on Unsplash

Poem 200 – The Wedding Dance Floor

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

Last night I danced all night.
Today I have no voice
and blisters on my toes
to witness my exploits.
It may have been a case of
defiant dad dancing
but do I care? Do I?
No, not at all! For those
few hours I lost myself
within the moment.

Earlier this month I had the joy of attending the wedding of a couple I know through church. It was a wonderful day for a wonderful couple. The disco was great fun too – I only hope I didn’t put others off… I wrote this at the time and have finally dusted it off and made it presentable.
(30.08.23)

© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by Greyson Joralemon on Unsplash

Poem 199 – Greenbelt Portaloo Roulette

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

A midnight queue
to use the loo
the final act has faded.

Where could it be,
this lavatory,
on which my bum descended?

A Kettering field
in which we yield,
our hearts and minds upended

A place of grace
but a trial I face
‘cos without a trace
the toilet roll has ended!

Greenbelt Festival is home to me, a place I’m pulled back to year after year to meet friends, have my soul restored, and enjoy a thoroughly good time. This year was no exception. The combination of talks, music, camping, and yes, poetry, is good for me. Home now, I’m missing it all, all that is except the portaloos…. Here’s one written at the end of Saturday night.
(29.08.23)

© Ben Quant 2023

Poem 198 – Silence

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

Sometimes, the most eloquent prayer is silence.
It says I cannot feel your pain because
I do not walk the path you tread, it’s yours.
In ignorance, I have no words to give;
those I possess will not suffice, meaning
speaking belittles your experience.
And so, like Job, I hold my hand across
my mouth to offer you the best I can.

As a church minister, I frequently find myself with people facing suffering. I’ve learnt that the best thing to say is often nothing at all. The best thing is to simply be there with them.
(17.08.23)

© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by Kristina Flour on Unsplash

Poem 197 – 3 Slip, Chatham Docks

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

This vaulted canopy, cascading wave,
cathedral to the men who crafted ships.
Your hall of mirrors draws past scenes towards us
and paints them in an overlapping vision
so ghosts of shipwrights, echoes of the age
of sail, now walk with us beneath your cage.
Their sweat lined muscles stretch and strain in labour,
slipways delivering hard won art down birth
canals to Father Thames, whose eager arms,
outstretched, lap forwards to receive them.

We recently spent a happy day exploring the historic docks at Chatham. At the heart of them stands 3 Slip, this magnificent building in which the boats were built. It’s vast and glorious – ignore the floor in the picture, that’s a mezzanine level erected so you can view the roof. It didn’t take much to imagine the sights, sounds, feel and smells of the place as it was when it was open.
(16.08.23)

© Ben Quant 2023

Poem 196 – These Boots…

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

These boots were made for walking,
for crawling, breaking, brawling,
for stomping, splashing, stalking,
for marching and for talking.

These boots were made for posing
for goth and skinhead moping,
for teenage angst and pouting,
for kicking cans and shouting.

These boots were made for fighting,
for heavy metal striding,
for lasting and maturing,
for polishing, enduring.

I recently acquired my first pair of Doc Martens. As a teen I always fancied a pair, it’s taken a while… They’re quite wonderful, although as my blisters attest, they’re in need of breaking in. Not sure I’ll use them for fighting though!
(10.08.23)

© Ben Quant 2023