Month: Oct 2024

Poem 319 – Northern Lights

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Last night the Northern Lights stepped out, came south,
a holiday for celestial phenomena,
illuminating skies with swirling swathes
of dancing reds and pinks and greens and yellows.

A one night only premier played out
to astonished audiences gazing upwards who,
gasping, reached for phones and cameras
to capture this extraordinary event.

It seems the entire country stood in rapture,
entire that is except for one, yes me.
I sat inside writing about heaven
oblivious to it prancing around my head.

As it says. Trust me to spend the one night they came my way inside writing sermons in blissful ignorance. Gutted.
(11.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Joshua Woroniecki on Unsplash

Poem 318 – Frustrated Dancer

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The band begins and feet instinctively
tap and bodies sway, a growing wave.
A primal urge, born in us from before
our mothers wombs. The pulsing of our veins.
This beating echo of Eden’s first heart,
quickens to music’s resuscitating breath.
Frustratingly, as the crescendo starts to swell
the rhythm stumbles and dies in self-awareness.

I went to see Joker: Folie à Deux at the weekend. Reading the reviews, I think I must be one of the few that buck the trend. I loved it (I wonder if not seeing the original makes a difference?) The soundtrack has been stuck in my mind ever since, and its swing makes me wish I could dance.
(10.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Fabian Schneider on Unsplash

Poem 317 – Yesterday’s Mystery Visitor

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I encountered a stormtrooper
standing at our food bank.
I wasn’t expecting that.

He stood expressionless as
they always seem to be.
Who knows what he was thinking.

Was he plucking up
the courage to ask for help?
It isn’t always easy.

Or was he on a fact
finding mission? A watching
brief to assess choices?

Perhaps he was simply lost.
Again, that’s not unusual,
but I’m not so sure.

I didn’t know what to
say and so I asked
if I could take a selfie.

I’d like to think he smiled
under his helmet. At least
he didn’t shoot me back.

It’s a long story…
(09.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 316 – Raindrops

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Bulbous bombs of water
explode on contact with
the ground, or windows, or clothes.
Penetrating cover
and piercing any armour,
they always find a way.
Skin momentarily holds them,
keeps them back, but in
the end even this is
futile and our bodies
become infiltrated.

It’s raining outside. We have a leak at church.
(08.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Eutah Mizushima on Unsplash

Poem 314 – A Life in Song

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Perhaps next time I head to town
I’ll sing spontaneous songs out loud,
Burst into a ballads on the bus,
Rap nursery rhymes whilst in the rain.

Rather than moan perhaps I’ll try
A love song waiting for the lift,
Or scream some skratt to skip through time,
Or hum a hymn in hopefulness.

To stop succumbing to cynicism
I shall just jump around to jazz,
And bounce my way through big band blues
And leap to looping Latin beats.

And then as night descends I’ll try,
Some mellow murmured soulful number,
A gospel grace before at last
A lullaby to light day’s leaving.

I had free tickets to see Joker: Folie à Deux, which recounts the lead character’s demise through song (incidentally, in contrast to most reviews, I thoroughly enjoyed it). This got me thinking.
(06.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Nadim Merrikh on Unsplash

Poem 313 – Restricted View

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Behind a post, up in the gods,
Feet by my teeth and knees tucked in.

Head near the ceiling, bag on lap,
I’m breathing fast, the air is thin.

Twisting hard to see the view
As music fades and lights are dimmed.

But I don’t care, as curtains rise,
A hush descends, the show begins.

In the West End tonight to see a show. This poem written in haste before we were told to turn our mobiles off.
(05.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 312 – We Won

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Tonight we quizzed,
Wore bread, threw tea,
Hung necklaces
Of shoes in glee.

Tonight we cheered
And did our best,
Played games with bread,
Bemused our guests.

Tonight we made
Ourselves complete
And utter fools
With spoons and feet.

Tonight we won,
Yes everyone had fun,
And when we left
We left as one.

Tonight we enjoyed our own version of Taskmaster at church as part of our harvest celebrations. Very silly. I hope the owner of the glasses forgives me!
(04.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 311 – Sheep, Sleep, Dream

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Counting sheep?
That’s what we do when
we want to summon sleep.
We close our eyes and count
That bundle of black and white.

1, 2, 3…

And soon the bleating fades
Becoming clouds that float
In a dreamy eyelid landscape.
That one resembles a friend
I used to know before,
In a school that used to be
Big but now is small.

4, 5, 6…

The red bricks reconfigure
Become our childhood home.
We gather, play that game
We invented once, one lazy
Summer holiday.
I count, you run. We argue.
We laugh and laugh and laugh.

7, 8, 9…

My kite drifts higher and higher,
Outlined crisply against
The blue. I join it, weightless
And fly across the fields.
I’m met elsewhere by someone
Who doesn’t belong, not here, not now.
This interruption passes
Unnoticed. For now it makes sense.

10, 11, 12…

I’m pedaling on my bike,
Feeling great and weightless.
Roaming at will. Freedom.
I absorb the neighbourhood,
Visiting its corners,
Extremities and folds.
Its blanket smothers me.

13, 14, 15…

The face of a first girlfriend,
Holding hands, first kiss.
Long hair, guitars, the band.
Aspirations that
One day I’ll find that note
And take it around the globe.

16, 17, 18…

That sheep reminds me of
The teacher who inspired me.
See, that plant he gave me
Is growing up and up
like Jack’s beanstalk, it
devours it all. We run.

19, 20, 21…

It’s funny how the faces
We revisit, are all
The old ones, childhood ones.
Black devours white
until the morning light
brings day, and all’s forgotten.

52 and counting…

It’s National Poetry Day, and the theme is counting. I set out to write a poem about the Parable of the Lost Sheep, which is all about counting, but the poem wouldn’t have it and instead took me elsewhere. Poems do that. Not so long ago I was reminiscing with my parents, I guess that’s partly where this poem comes from – I’m 52 by the way. The older we get, the more we seem to spend in our childhood.
(03.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Christopher Burns on Unsplash