Month: Nov 2024

Poem 369 – The Advent Wreath

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The hedge was out of control,
its branches lined their vicious
spikes beyond the fence,
like medieval pikemen
stood ready for the charge.

There was but one reply!
I grabbed my shears and set
about their ranks with wild
abandon, sending limbs
flying in every direction.

Resisting, they made their mark:
my blood was shed, but alas,
for them, victory was mine
as fast they fell, and soon
lay scattered on the ground.

But this was not the end.
In remembrance I gathered the fallen,
twisting them into a wreath
and hanging them on the door;
a holly crown for the Christ.

I spent this morning pruning our hedgerow, including the holly bush. I’ve often pondered making my own wreath, and so today I gave it a go, at least the holly framework. Tomorrow, perhaps, I’ll add a splash of colour to go with it.
(30.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Poem 367 – A Forest in Miniature

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Crouch down, zoom in, and you’ll find a quantum forest,
a reaching canopy in miniature splendour that
rises in vast and alien complexity.

This leafy spread isn’t formed of trees but lichen,
the mystical two in one and one in two,
fungus and algae cryptically combined.

Hidden in plain sight, these ecological
marvels stretch out, decorating graves
and bridges; nature the original street artist.

I noticed recently that, while I wasn’t looking, lichen has spread out its swathes across the railway footbridge at the foot of our road. It’s a weird and mysterious organism, a combination of algae and fungus, but what is the nature of their relationship and are they / is it one organism or two?
(28.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 366 – Currently 2-0

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I should be writing a poem,
But it’s been a busy day,
Dealing with toddlers,
Shifting food,
Discussing the Bible,
Talking to church members,
Now the day’s done, and
Liverpool are beating Madrid,
So this will have to do.

Hopefully that’s game, set and match (to mix sports!)
(27.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Jannes Glas on Unsplash

Poem 364 – The Atlantic

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The black rises and falls, like living onyx.
Immense and thick, it breaths and broods, an alien
being in whom we sit so small and vulnerable.
We steer, propelling ourselves forward, but know
our motions are inexorably tied to its.
One idle flick, one twitch, would see us thrown
and sink into its oblivious arms and folds;
so vast this creature knows nor loves us not.

Going out on our small boat to seek dolphin in the Atlantic was a humbling encounter.
(25.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Thomas Vimare on Unsplash

Poem 363 – 24th November

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In our family, I suspect like many others,
the night before Christmas Eve is Christmas Eve Eve,
but what about the night a month before?

By now I have compiled a list of all
the tasks, and services, and carol concerts
to be conducted within that month.

There are cards to write and gifts to find and pack,
a turkey, cake and pud to source and cook,
and house to tidy before the family come.

This wall of tasks stands seemingly impregnable,
demanding time and creativity,
an imposing rock face needing to be scaled.

It will be daunting, how can we do it again?
What can I find to say, when all’s been said
and done? The pressure builds and builds.

However, the reckless thrill of expectation
draws me on, the joyful promise of
a labour’s end, found in Messiah’s birth.

We might not have started Advent yet, but there’s no getting away from the fact that the countdown has begun…
(24.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Edi Bouazza on Unsplash

Poem 362 – In Honour of Leonardo Fibonacci

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This
Is
Not a
Nonet. It is
A Fibonacci verse, in honour of
Fibonacci Day. Get it? No? Check the date –
Unless you are British not American, in which case I fear it’s nonsense!

The Fibonacci sequence is a sequence in which each number is the sun of the previous two, starting 1,1,2,3 just like today’s date (ignore the year).
(23.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Original photo by Hans-Peter Postel, CC BY 2.5, via Wikimedia Commons

Poem 361 – Tomorrow…

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I will fly with the freedom of a soaring bird,
sweeping through the air with grace and speed,

Do somersaults down the high road,
leaping over fences and running along walls.

Jump up and down like an excited child
unable to contain their glee.

Touch my toes with my nose and
curl my torso impossibly tight.

Stand up and sit down because I can
and then do it all over again.

Pick my clothes up from where I dropped them
and hang them in their proper place.

Pretend I’m Usain Bolt and, with cocky confidence,
sprint down corridors and pull his pose.

Lift twenty crates of food with just one hand,
and juggle with them as if they were balls.

Tomorrow, I will do all these things and more,
but today I’m sitting still.

Unfortunately, the back is not so comfortable today, ah well, tomorrow….
(22.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Chris on Unsplash

Poem 360 – Seeking Form

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Wanted, one form for today’s poem:
Though villanelles are living hell
Limericks won’t do the trick
Sestinas are too mean
Haikus always lose
Pantoums confuse
But free verse
Is per-
verse

I had no idea what to write about today, so I thought I’d experiment with a new form and see where it took me – apparently to a poem about choosing form in the form of a nonet.
(21.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Javier Gómez on Unsplash