Author: BenDQ

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

Poem 309 – Two Worlds

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When two worlds collide
Just what is the solution
When the argument between
Defence and prosecution
Ignores what is offered
Ignores resolution
Is all about winning
Not peaceful conclusion
There’s no accommodation
And this generation
Remains stuck in the past
Follows the last
There’s no way out
No chance for doubt
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
Take out the doors
And blow off the roof
The victims the innocent
Along with the truth
The children are crying
Their parents are dying
Following the firing
Of bullets and bombs
Hope is undone
By the use of the gun
Can’t we please all step back
Get life back on track
Put down all our weapons
And stop the parading
And all the lie trading
There’s work to be done
If we are to find
Peace in our time
When two worlds collide
And help them align

A bit of a word splurge, this one. Definitely not my usual style at all, and probably a bit naff. A case of starting to write, following the flow, and seeing where it took me. And this is it.
(01.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Emad El Byed on Unsplash

Poem 308 – On Meeting Neil Hannon

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Let’s get the obvious out of the way,
the biggies like thou shalt not kill,
or covert thou neighbour’s wife or ox.

(I’d like to think that surely now
we’d not equate a cow and a woman
or see them both as property).

And then there’s those that allegedly linger
Like not eating mince pies at Christmas
or providing a range to practice archery.

But what exactly is the etiquette
regarding bumping into one’s hero
in a queue for the urinals in the interval?

Is a nod of the head appropriate?
I would guess so. My quandary is,
what is our stance on autographs?

A real encounter at a Duke Special gig. None of us were knew how to respond to his presence.
(30.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash

Poem 307 – Sunrise (Revisited)

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All was dark in the moment beforehand
As if only we were abroad
But somewhere a whisper awakens
Bidding workers to attend to their chores

Stoke up the furnace ’til it’s ready
Then prize open its door just a crack
So a halo of pink might outline roofs
Now released, there’s no holding back

Its torrent boils over the floodgates
Pours into the skies in a flash
A writhing of rust and vermillion
Persimmon and cadmium clash

It’s urgency rages in anger
Like a blazing volcano erupts
It’s fierce stallions charge onwards relentless
Against night’s forces resisting its thrust

The darkness regrouping intensifies
Its blackness seems blacker than the grave
But nothing can hold back dawn’s progress
Triumphant its glories cascade!

As fast as the battle was opened
Dawn’s turmoil is over and done
Morning’s light is finally upon us
Its peace has been violently won

I enjoyed revisiting one of first poems the other day, and so decided to do it again today with ‘Poem 5 – Sunrise‘ from 12.10.21, again reworking its rhythm and trying some rhyme.
(29.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by kazuend on Unsplash

Poem 306 – By the Fitting Rooms

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Seeking solace in numbers, they flock together,
Perched on the edge of clefts and aisles and chairs,
Whilst down below their mates peck through the clothes.

Though close, they never acknowledge each other’s presence,
Except perhaps a brief shared nod between them,
In recognition of their mutual plight.

And as each female emerges to the flock,
They twitter, preening hair, and staking claims,
Puffing their chests and hoping that she’s theirs.

There’s always great people watching to be had in shopping centres…
(28.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Denver Saldanha on Unsplash

Poem 305 – Four Magic Words

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Some talk of those three magic words.
Don’t get me wrong, they’re great, and best
when followed by another two:
‘I love you’ echoed by, ‘You too.’

There are four more, their simplicity
childlike and plain, a single breath.
They too are words of promise pledged
to travel forwards hand in hand.

These words are words of invitation,
come let’s explore new worlds together;
four doors of glorious imagination,
opening, ‘Once upon a time’.

Looking back over some of my first poems, I thought today I might rework ‘Poem 12 – Magic Words‘ from 20.10.22 into a more regular metre.
(27.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Jan Tinneberg on Unsplash

Poem 304 – Those Eyes

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It took a while to see beyond the wildness;
those x-ray eyes that cut with lively looks
suggested something stern was brewing within.

To start, I turned away in self defence,
if I didn’t engage then I’d be safe,
but when you swung the battering ram walls fell.

It started with a song. You sang along.
Enthusiastically you raised your arms,
a crazed conductor rallying the troops.

By the end of the song the mood had changed.
The room that slumbered had now woken and
with dancing eyes you winked in my direction.

For an encore, you cracked a mildly rude
riposte then settled back into your chair,
retreating behind those glowering brows once more.

I sensed, those days, that gaze looked deep within.
Sadly, I never could reciprocate,
lacking the vision to penetrate beyond.

Once a month I take a service at a local nursing home. Today I discovered that since I was last there, they’d lost one of our regulars, one of the characters. I’ll miss him!
(26.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Mandy Henry on Unsplash

Poem 302 – I Will Never

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I shall never scale the heights of Everest,
explore the alien ocean depths beneath,
or skydive from the breathless edge of space.

I’ll never run the fastest 100 metres,
hop, step and jump into the record books,
or climb the podium of the Tour de France.

I will never win the Nobel Prize,
for scientific discoveries as yet undreamt,
or finally nailing down the theory of everything.

My paintings will not hang next to Van Gogh’s,
my verse be ranked with sonnets by the Bard,
or songs be played upon the radio.

My name will quickly fade from recollection,
there will not be biographies of me,
nor obituaries typed up in The Times.

But I will strive to love and that’s enough.
For love is all that’s truly asked of us,
and Love will be my harvest and reward.

Today I’ve been thinking about what it means to be fruitful as I’ve been planning various Harvest celebrations I shall be involved in. Paul’s words in Galatians 5:22 came to mind, ‘But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness and self-control’.
(24.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024