Poem 412 – Conversation Cafe

We meet on Friday’s, one o’clock;
foreign faces, different tongues.
Talking with stumbling voices and
a trowel, each time we lay another
brick. Slowly a bridge is built
until at last we finally meet.

One of the highlights of the last year has been our Conversation Cafe at church. Each week we meet a group of Kurdish women, who want to improved their conversational English. We’ve gained as much as they have as we’ve got to know them and their culture.
(31.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by LinkedIn Sales Solutions on Unsplash

Poem 411 – A Moment In The Sun

Like a languid river, the golden fox lay
outstretched and bronzed under the winter sun.
Sheltered by the fence, she took the time
to rest from foraging for food. Carefree,
she seemed to be unaware of me watching her,
only the occasional twitching of her black-
tipped ears indicated otherwise.
In this lazy moment her life appeared
idyllic. I reached round for my camera,
to see if I could capture a piece for myself,
but as I did she softly slipped away.

I spent my lunch today watching a fox enjoy a half moment of peace and quiet, secure under the sun’s rays in our garden.
(30.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dušan veverkolog on Unsplash

Poem 410 – Ananias and Sapphira

A journey’s start is critical.
The way we start sets expectations,
The foundations on which we’ll stand,
When difficulties dampen spirits,
And doubts threaten to drag us down.
Lord, help me perceive the light in darkness.

Tonight at church we tussled with this difficult story in Acts 5. It always makes me wince. I sense there’s a way into reconciling myself to it in its context of being at the start of a journey.
(29.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Thanos Pal on Unsplash

Poem 407 – A World in a Word

Sometimes a simple name can conjure a sound,
produce a tone or mood, or evoke a colour.
Try John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock,
Cannonball Adderley, Wayne Shorter, Charlie Parker.
Say them out loud to enter a world now gone,
where bands chase the elusive rhythm of
adrenaline beating, coloured black and white,
and tinted blue.

Spent this afternoon working to a soundtrack of Blue Note Jazz.
(26.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo William P. Gottlieb, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Poem 406 – Reaching for Heaven

Picked out in Eden’s perfect white, you strain,
with necks outstretched, and reach for heaven’s doors.
Caught in between two worlds, your life is laboured
but here, serene in flight, as in the water;
gliding through the blue, God’s arrow shot,
an elegance outlined by morning’s sun.
Oh, that I could grasp a feather and fly
within this sky-born halo, but alas,
I fear my earth-bound fingers would find no purchase,
but slip right through to mourn what we have lost.

This morning a perfect V-formation of swans flew past our window, washed brilliant white by the sun. I pointed this out to my wife who said she knew what today’s poem would be about…
(25.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Mathijs de Koning on Unsplash

Poem 405 – Rhyme Around The Clock

Better late than never,
My daily attempt at rhyme,
This stab at wordsmith rhythm only
Squeezes in on time.

A jazzy slate of syllables,
Alliteration rock,
It finally makes its debut on
The last seconds of the clock.

The metronome helps meter
Iambic beats combine
And with a crash of consonants
We make the end bar line.

Home alone, I got distracted playing my guitar, and almost forgot my daily poem…
(24.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Kobby Mendez on Unsplash

Poem 404 – Fragments From a Forgotten Saga

Thrashing its shiny tail from side to side
in raging rancour the rising dragon roared;
a cry that caused the cavern walls’ collapse
and, harrowed, our heroes’ hearts to pause.

With a weighty stamp the beast made wave
the floor most furiously, causing them to fall,
but rallying they raised their righteous spirits;
emboldened by belief in their beautiful call.

The pious paladin picked his spot with prayer,
and grasping his glaive he struck a grevious blow;
but such its size, the serpent barely felt,
the piercéd pupil pricked from down below.

With furious vapours it fought to seize control,
enfolding its foe in flames from gaping doors
formed by its mighty jaws made red and wide,
that reached from rising roof to hardened floor.

Aiming at the arrogance he’d heard
may leave a learing lizard lying prone,
a doughty sea-dog sought to deal him doubt
and at his hardened heart his words did home.

And did the dreadful dragon hesitate,
distracted or entranced by tricky terms?
It must be so because, somehow,
the flame-licked fighter fought despite the burns.

These alliterative verses emerged from the tremendous evening’s party that formed the first half of the finale to a highly enjoyable role-playing game campaign. More may follow…
(23.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by raquel raclette on Unsplash

Poem 403 – Childish Delights

Winding in the lead on a Henry vacuum cleaner;
its silky movement reminiscent of
a whipping snake or spiralling whirlpool.

The satisfying pleasure of plunging the plunger
on a cafetiere, believing that this triggers
a dramatic chimney stack collapse.

The mutual suspense and thrill when casting a handful
of dice upon the table with a group
of friends and waiting for the outcome.

Cooking porridge in the microwave
and, like the bear in the fairy story, getting
the delicious texture ‘just right’.

A line of verse falling on the page
and landing poised and perfectly rhymed from birth.
It rarely happens but when it does…

So often childlike eyes, like Narnia’s wardrobe,
can unlock the doors to a world that otherwise hides
hidden behind our hanging coats.

Vacuuming after foodbank today, we discovered the shared joy of winding in the vacuum cleaner lead. I was challenged to write a poem about it… This one’s for you Jasmine!
(22.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Pete from Liverpool, UK – Project 365 #170: 190613 A New Arrival, Public Domain, Link