Month: Sep 2024

Poem 308 – On Meeting Neil Hannon

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Let’s get the obvious out of the way,
the biggies like thou shalt not kill,
or covert thou neighbour’s wife or ox.

(I’d like to think that surely now
we’d not equate a cow and a woman
or see them both as property).

And then there’s those that allegedly linger
Like not eating mince pies at Christmas
or providing a range to practice archery.

But what exactly is the etiquette
regarding bumping into one’s hero
in a queue for the urinals in the interval?

Is a nod of the head appropriate?
I would guess so. My quandary is,
what is our stance on autographs?

A real encounter at a Duke Special gig. None of us were knew how to respond to his presence.
(30.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash

Poem 307 – Sunrise (Revisited)

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All was dark in the moment beforehand
As if only we were abroad
But somewhere a whisper awakens
Bidding workers to attend to their chores

Stoke up the furnace ’til it’s ready
Then prize open its door just a crack
So a halo of pink might outline roofs
Now released, there’s no holding back

Its torrent boils over the floodgates
Pours into the skies in a flash
A writhing of rust and vermillion
Persimmon and cadmium clash

It’s urgency rages in anger
Like a blazing volcano erupts
It’s fierce stallions charge onwards relentless
Against night’s forces resisting its thrust

The darkness regrouping intensifies
Its blackness seems blacker than the grave
But nothing can hold back dawn’s progress
Triumphant its glories cascade!

As fast as the battle was opened
Dawn’s turmoil is over and done
Morning’s light is finally upon us
Its peace has been violently won

I enjoyed revisiting one of first poems the other day, and so decided to do it again today with ‘Poem 5 – Sunrise‘ from 12.10.21, again reworking its rhythm and trying some rhyme.
(29.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by kazuend on Unsplash

Poem 306 – By the Fitting Rooms

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Seeking solace in numbers, they flock together,
Perched on the edge of clefts and aisles and chairs,
Whilst down below their mates peck through the clothes.

Though close, they never acknowledge each other’s presence,
Except perhaps a brief shared nod between them,
In recognition of their mutual plight.

And as each female emerges to the flock,
They twitter, preening hair, and staking claims,
Puffing their chests and hoping that she’s theirs.

There’s always great people watching to be had in shopping centres…
(28.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Denver Saldanha on Unsplash

Poem 305 – Four Magic Words

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Some talk of those three magic words.
Don’t get me wrong, they’re great, and best
when followed by another two:
‘I love you’ echoed by, ‘You too.’

There are four more, their simplicity
childlike and plain, a single breath.
They too are words of promise pledged
to travel forwards hand in hand.

These words are words of invitation,
come let’s explore new worlds together;
four doors of glorious imagination,
opening, ‘Once upon a time’.

Looking back over some of my first poems, I thought today I might rework ‘Poem 12 – Magic Words‘ from 20.10.22 into a more regular metre.
(27.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Jan Tinneberg on Unsplash

Poem 304 – Those Eyes

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It took a while to see beyond the wildness;
those x-ray eyes that cut with lively looks
suggested something stern was brewing within.

To start, I turned away in self defence,
if I didn’t engage then I’d be safe,
but when you swung the battering ram walls fell.

It started with a song. You sang along.
Enthusiastically you raised your arms,
a crazed conductor rallying the troops.

By the end of the song the mood had changed.
The room that slumbered had now woken and
with dancing eyes you winked in my direction.

For an encore, you cracked a mildly rude
riposte then settled back into your chair,
retreating behind those glowering brows once more.

I sensed, those days, that gaze looked deep within.
Sadly, I never could reciprocate,
lacking the vision to penetrate beyond.

Once a month I take a service at a local nursing home. Today I discovered that since I was last there, they’d lost one of our regulars, one of the characters. I’ll miss him!
(26.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Mandy Henry on Unsplash

Poem 302 – I Will Never

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I shall never scale the heights of Everest,
explore the alien ocean depths beneath,
or skydive from the breathless edge of space.

I’ll never run the fastest 100 metres,
hop, step and jump into the record books,
or climb the podium of the Tour de France.

I will never win the Nobel Prize,
for scientific discoveries as yet undreamt,
or finally nailing down the theory of everything.

My paintings will not hang next to Van Gogh’s,
my verse be ranked with sonnets by the Bard,
or songs be played upon the radio.

My name will quickly fade from recollection,
there will not be biographies of me,
nor obituaries typed up in The Times.

But I will strive to love and that’s enough.
For love is all that’s truly asked of us,
and Love will be my harvest and reward.

Today I’ve been thinking about what it means to be fruitful as I’ve been planning various Harvest celebrations I shall be involved in. Paul’s words in Galatians 5:22 came to mind, ‘But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness and self-control’.
(24.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 301 – Mind the Gap

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Please mind the gap, tread carefully or
Risk falling through the grasping crack.
Beneath the step awaits unseen,
A doom which hides below the tracks.

You hear the scream of biting brakes,
But nothing is as it might seem.
That sound? A mighty creature’s roar,
As along the tracks it eagerly streams.

This beast that lurks unlit by light,
Over the eons has gone berserk.
And now its hand your ankle grasps,
To pull you down with just one jerk.

There’s not much time, so please act now,
Don’t hesitate, and you’ll be fine.
Don’t hang around, because you’ll find,
Upon your bones he’ll gnaw and grind!

I had a meeting in London today, and wrote this on the tube; the phrase ‘mind the gap’ demanded some form of comic verse. To be read out loud with expression!
(23.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Tim Hüfner on Unsplash

Poem 300 – Aaaargh!

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All this jostling and bustling,
My to-do list is hustling,
Tasks shoving and pushing,
To get the first look in.

The long-term and urgent,
Are scarily convergent.
They’re shouting, demanding,
Screaming, commanding.

They’re fighting and scrapping,
Wrestling and grappling.
Practising mad tricks,
With devious tactics.

I can take it no longer,
It’s driving me bonkers.
I swear there’s no doubt,
It’s time to scream out…

‘Form an orderly queue,
All you things to do,
There’s no need to run,
I’ll get you all done.’

But the truth of the matter?
The list’s getting fatter,
And by the close of each day,
The end’s further away!

For a whole variety of reasons, September to December is always the busiest time of year for me, with one thing following hot on the heels of the previous! Experience tells me I’ll get it all done, but there are days when it feels more than a little daunting.
(22.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Ryan Snaadt on Unsplash

Poem 299 – A Recipe for a Fantastic Childhood

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To start, prepare a base
of knights from Arthur’s Court.
and a dash of Robin Hood.
Stir with diced Norse legends.
Leave to simmer with a Hobbit,
thirteen dwarfs, a wizard
and an ancient dragon.
Add a sprinkling of Old Ones
and once the Dark has risen,
accompany with a garnish
of Garner, Brisingamen and owls.

Inspired by seeing a copy of Alan Garner’s brilliant Treacle Walker at my parent’s house. The owl is in their garden.
(21.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024