Month: Oct 2024

Poem 329 – Until

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The dying light briefly tinges treetops
with a bronze flourish, a terracotta tone,
suggestive of the summer past. Catching
the yellow leaves, it hints of a reprieve.

It is, however, only momentary,
a briefest farewell kiss before departure,
a passing gesture to sustain us through
the coming darkness, until Spring’s dawn.

Looking out of my window this evening, the sky turned the objects a slightly otherworldly colour tonight, just before darkness descended. A companion piece to yesterday’s poem.
(20.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Uta Scholl on Unsplash

Poem 327 – Selina

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For such a time as this
a woman placed perfectly
within the social web.

Restricted by her sex
but bold in faith and hope,
she rejected expectation.

Ensnared by Love she weaved
compassionately a net
to catch her wary peers.

With tea and conversation
she welcomed with her chaplain
noble and politician.

Meanwhile the miner, unschooled
children, the poor and sick,
also received her care.

And as this web was woven
a grace filled spell was cast
entrancing church and country.

I’ve been reading up on the finder of our church’s movement, Selina, the Countess of Huntingdon. What a remarkable woman, to me, the Esther of her age. She deserves to be remembered so much more than she is – and a better ode than this!
(19.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo: Selina Hastings, Countess of Huntingdon by Unknown artist oil on card, circa 1770 NPG 4224 © National Portrait Gallery, London. Used with permission.

Poem 326 – In My Shoes

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A pair of trainers. Comfortable.
Designed for action or
to signal aspiration.

Italian leather. Sharp.
Cut for the City worker.
Ready for business.

DMs. Scuffed, well-worn.
Also ready for business…
…but maybe not the same sort.

Flip-flops casually flapping.
Imagining lazing on
the beach or chilling out.

Precarious stilettos.
Ready to party, although,
they maybe removed to dance.

Bare feet. Also scuffed, well-worn.
Young, with many miles
already clocked. Tired.

(18.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Michael Wright on Unsplash

Poem 325 – As If By Magic

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Just thirteen episodes in all.
So few and yet their magic reaches
far beyond their number’s sum.

Familiar notes transport me to
a shop that bridges the gap between
my childhood and maturity.

A shopkeeper appears inside.
An enigma: his origin’s
unknown, as is his name and motive.

He passes a coathanger to me
upon which his choice of outfit
hangs each time, a dream ticket.

Accepting without question, we don
the outfit, another’s skin, and find
ourselves metamorphosised.

A red knight, a hunter, a clown,
balloonist, wizard, spaceman,
zookeeper, cook and caveman.

A frogman, cowboy, carpet flyer,
and at last a pirate, before
an encore as a gladiator.

Not surprisingly, Mr Benn was a childhood favourite. More surprisingly, I find myself talking about him at a Churches Together service tonight, asking with Two Monsters.
(18.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo Peloponnesian Folklore Foundation, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Poem 324 – Toddlers

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Putting out the tables,
hauling down the toys,
vacuuming the carpet.

Laying out a perfect
spread of fun before we
open up the doors.

Dodge incoming toddlers
running fast, heads down,
parents pulled in tow.

Others stand bewildered,
wondering why they’re here,
and who these strangers are.

Seek to find a way to
bring these lives together
and maybe learn to share.

Strive to turn a cry
into a smile and laugh,
and that’s just with the parents!

After clearing tables,
gather for refreshments,
rewind to the beginning.

Wednesday morning is Toddlers morning, when I get paid to work! Exhausting but wonderful.
(16.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Tanaphong Toochinda on Unsplash

Poem 323 – The Bite

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There’s a special kind
of osmosis which occurs when
children and adults are put
in the same room together.

To start with, all seem even
but gradually the children
begin to run and run,
swarming ever faster.

Meanwhile the adults flag.
Their life is drained and soon
the dessicated edges
fray, their clocks wind down.

Could it be that this,
a lusting not for blood
but life, lies hid beneath
the old myth’s genesis.

It never ceases to amaze me how children seem to have such relentless energy. Exhausting!
(15.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Image adapted from a photo by Igam Ogam on Unsplash

Poem 322 – My Diary

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Each day more was added,
excited, bubbly, gushing,
full of life and joy.
A drip,
a drop,
a splash,
until the water teetered
and flowed onto the floor.
There, creating puddles,
it demanded that
a health and safety sign
should be erected declaring,
‘Slippery when Wet’.

I’ve just walked back in the rain from a school assembly. It was great fun, in fact I had a whale of a time, however, my diary could have done without it – there are just too many competing good things going on right now.
(14.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Liu JiaWei on Unsplash

Poem 320 – Next Time…

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The annual attempt to represent
my life within the cellular confines
of an excel spreadsheet.

My comings in and goings out
laid down in stark columns of numbers
and totalled up for all to see.

It’s hard to get excited about
the number of cups of tea, and stamps,
and miles I have consumed.

And so as the deadline looms
I strain to recollect exactly
what I did a year ago.

There, it’s done. Click send and breathe.
Now it’s in the accountant’s hands.
Next time, I promise, I’ll do it earlier.

With the end of the tax year falling near Easter, despite good intentions, I never quite get around to filling in my tax returns when I know I should…
(12.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Olga DeLawrence on Unsplash