Author: BenDQ

Poem 672 – Trapped

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The sound invades the street, a bitter echo.
Its chants catch in my clothes and tangle
in my hair, the hatred harries me
along the street. I feel defiled and lost.
Dislocated, this isn’t the home I knew.
I want to wash my hands of it with tears,
to wash away the anger and the fear,
but Pilate comes to mind disowning Christ.
Like him I long to act, to turn the tide
to shout a better case, scrub it away,
adorn the posts with love and streets with welcome,
but what to do that will not make it worse?
Walking past, am I guilty of collusion?
Like him I’m helpless, caught in indecision.

Tonight we walked past the growing protests outside a local hotel used to house asylum seekers. I long to get across that this isn’t how everyone feels, how I feel, but how to do this constructively?
(29.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Sean Horsburgh on Unsplash

Poem 671 – Carpe Diem

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A moment of opportunity
presents itself, an open door,
a chance for frontier exploration.
A skuttle and leap, the gecko ascends,
quickly seizing it’s golden moment.
A flick of searching tongue reveals
a sensory map of smell and texture,
an alien landscape full of mystery.
It pauses, drinking it in before
refuge is sought within a sleeve.

Pascal, our new crested gecko, took the chance to explore our sitting room for the first time this evening.
(28.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 670 – St. George

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I’ve been away for several days.
Returning, I found our roundabout
adorned in red, the cross of St. George.
What joy to find this Turkish knight
beloved and buried in Palestine,
defender of the vulnerable,
venerated around the world,
witness to the compassion of Christ,
admired by Cross and Crescent alike,
adored in this my neighbourhood.

Our neighbourhood has become adorned by red crosses. I’m not convinced they stand for the same things as St. George…
(27.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 669 – Flat Pack Politics

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A week or two has passed
and all is as we left it.
The TV hasn’t fallen,
or damp stains reappeared,
or furniture collapsed.
My DIY has lasted
longer than Liz Truss.
I can announce I have
a strong and stable cabinet!

Much to my relief, returning after Greenbelt, the DIY is as I left it.
(26.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 668 – After the Field

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Back home, unpacked,
clothes in the wash,
me in the wash,
kit stowed away,
crashed out upon the sofa.
After five days
outside beneath
the big blue sky,
inside feels strange,
confined, cut off, unnatural.
And yet I know
I’ll soon adjust,
quickly revert,
freedom exchanged
for familiar shackles.

Back from Greenbelt, it’s lovely to be with family again, but being inside feels odd.
(25.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 666 – Such As These*

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A simple slip of tongue produced
A gem of wisdom, profound adage,
After the laughter let it sink in,
‘It takes a child to raise a village’.

It takes a child to raise a village,
A simple soul to teach the wise,
The joy of life to lift the spirits,
An open heart to make us nice.

The awestruck face that greeted me
Striped back the pretensions that I relied on,
When walking along the roadside verge,
We stopped to admire a dandelion,

Eyes wide with wonder woke the weary,
My cynicism drained away,
I saw again as I used to see,
I wish this innocence would stay.

Instantly, children come together,
From strangers quickly friendships form;
Covenants of grace are forged in fun,
And from the games new life is born.

It doesn’t matter who they are,
Their colour, creed or place of birth,
Collisions occur, but are quickly
Forgotten and replaced with mirth.

We’ve long believed the well trod lie,
That wisdom comes with age, until
Much to our surprise we found the truth,
It takes a child to raise a village.

I listened to the excellent Adjoa Andoh at Greenbelt today. A slip of the tongue inspired this poem, married to an encounter with a three year old friend on a walk over day. (*Matthew 19:14)
(23.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jochen van Wylick on Unsplash

Poem 665 – We Believe

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As starlings start to murmur
We party under the watchful
Eye of the Gazan Lighthouse
Dreaming of a day
When all can dance together
Flocking from all nations
One human family

It’s been a cracking first full day in the Greenbelt field.
(22.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 664 – Expectation

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I’m sat beneath the trees,
surrounded by a throng
of glorious angels, waiting
to forge hope together.
Something special’s brewing,
As heaven becomes unveiled;
It isn’t as far away
As we used to think it was.
Martyn Joseph sings and
A young girl dances,
Lost in the melody
Our hearts become conjoined.

Greenbelt. The tent is up, dinner eaten, and I’m at the Angels’ Reception (those committed to giving regularly to Greenbelt). It’s going to be good.
(21.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 663 – Pilgrims in Lycra

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A modern pilgrimage
by pedal not by foot.
Progressing on the path
we paused to pray in churches
long permeated with worship.
Our penance? Uphill slopes,
battling punishing winds.
But piousness brings reward:
the company of friends
along with cake and coffee.

Today I enjoyed a ride along a section of the London Walsingham Camino, catching churches between Waltham Abbey and Ware/Hertford.
(20.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025