Spanning the Avon, Brunel’s triumphant feat
Stands proud above the watery cleft below
Industrial muscles clenched it takes the strain
Delivering passengers safety across
Stone feet stand firm upon opposing banks
But this world in between belongs to neither
In this suspended realm we stand apart
A liminal existence ruled by none
This dreamy space is transient despite
His mighty toil in sweat and steel to hold
This is the place for wistful lovers’ strolls
Where free, hot air balloons do ride the sun
Studies have occupied my time this week, but promoted by WordPress’ wordpromt ‘bridge’, here’s an ode to one I’ve got to know over the last few years.
(12.03.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Author: BenDQ
Poem 103 – True Time Lord Science
It’s bigger on the inside
Each visitor exclaims
When entering the Tardis
That Time Lord miracle
Too quickly we dismiss this
As simply science fiction
The stuff of story not
Real life as we know it
But sorry, that’s nonsense
Just stop and think a while
Someone created all
Within that universe
This universe of wonders
They held within their mind
Compressed, proving the point
It’s bigger on the inside
The creative capacity of the human brain will never cease to marvel me. How can something so small be at the same time so vast.
(06.03.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 102 – Rooted
My weary inbox yawns, bored of
The soulless messages it circulates
But look, lurking amongst the drudge something
Deeper, my DNA results are in
This past geneticist is thrilled to find
The web of coded chains traversed
Binding in double-helix unity
Ancestral homes, ethnicity revived
I trace the paths along this oak’s branches
Running my finger past the unfamiliar
Whom suddenly belong to me and I
To them, my relatives, my blood unveiled
I now can claim with confidence that I
Stand on this ancient shore’s foundation
Its past and mine are spiritually entwined
My roots drink deeply, nourishing my soul
Whilst rooted in one spot its branches spread
Beyond as do its tendrils out of sight
To permeate Germanic past to reach
Beyond white cliffs to Scandinavian sands
My Ancestry DNA test findings have been released. Suddenly I have a lot more relatives.
(03.03.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 101 – Putin’s ’84
Is Poem 101
The verse where fears are found?
It feels appropriate
To write that at a time
When doublespeak is heard
I never thought that I
Would see Orwell’s nightmare
Realised, but ‘war is peace’
Is spoken now abroad
Does two and two make five?
Of course not but Putin
Pedals his lies as truth
Portraying tanks as sheep
Their ignorance his strength
They say truth is stranger than fiction. Today we see fiction beginning truth.
(02.03.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 100 – Hancock’s Disciple*
Queuing, I wait to offer up my pint
Of haemoglobin, ordinary, red
And wonder how do interest rates affect
Deposits made? What bank charges apply?
Eventually I pass through triage and
Am strapped into my seat, arm bared, a cross
Between a theme park ride and electric chair
Before being lowered horizontal.
Engaging with the nurse in idle chat
Helps to distract my focus from the needle.
She looks a little stressed, perhaps she needs
It too. I hope it brightens up her day.
The jab. I wince feeling intrusion, pain.
It doesn’t last. Quickly relaxing I
Unclench and flow, my fingers moving to
My heart’s strong calming beat. I find it both
A reassurance and concern to note
How fast I’m done. I’m glad someone is there
To close my running tap and plug the hole.
To celebrate reaching my hundredth poem, I gave blood.
* Tony that is, not Matt! (https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x5hjsjq)
(01.03.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 99 – 21 Goals
One arched iconic stadium
Welcomes two rivals to the pitch
With many in supporting roles
Holding up the thirty-two who play
The eighty thousand roaring on
Their hearts racing the ninety endless
Thrilling minutes then thirty more
Joyful, relentless and exhausting
And then as one they pause…
…breath held
As players line up one by one
In legal torture to decide
(this was always bound to be)
But surely none saw this ending
That after all those goalless minutes
The game would end with twenty scored
Leaving the goalies to decide
The outcome with a shot apiece
With trusted youngster shooting sure
And wily veteran striking high
It’s always tense being a Liverpool fan following a final, we never do it the easy way, but that was ridiculous(ly wonderful)!
(28.02.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 98 – Innocence
Do you recall those hazy childhood days,
Those lazy endless freedom days outside?
The den we made together in the hedge,
Found at the bottom of our road, our world?
Behind it stood a farmer’s field in which,
We used to scatter, hide within the grain.
I wonder if he ever saw us there,
And turned a blind eye to our escapades?
The pylons, alien, stood tall and strong,
Tempting investigation but warnings,
Upon ‘the box’ made us fearful. Likewise,
We never played with matches, afraid of death.
This was our kingdom, on our bikes we reigned.
The rules were ours, no adults interfered,
Until exhausted, dinner called us home,
Across the border full of tales to tell.
Was it really as I remember it, with blue skies all year and endless hours to play? Probably not, but the sense of that is strong.
(26.02.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 97 – Incomprehension
Today the sky is blue, a robin chirps
Flitting, his red breast skips into my view
And all is calm. Except it’s not. Somewhere
The tanks rumble forward. Missiles fire. Red stains.
How can this be? How can our world encompass
This contradiction? Why should I enjoy the sun
When members of my family unmet
Know only fear, uncertainty and try
To conjure up the bravery required?
To pour out verse cannot compare with what
Is asked of them, but what else can
I offer? I have no gun. Only prayer.
And so I call upon another who
Was subjected to unfair violence.
I cannot comprehend, but maybe he
Whose blood was also shed might understand?
The tanks rumble into Kyiv whilst here the sun shines.
(26.02.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 96 – Futility (or Breakfast with Putin)
I woke to hear of bombs
Rumours of war but not
Here. Elsewhere. Far away.
Eating my breakfast I’m safe
I think. I only hear
Vicariously. However
It still disturbs my meal.
I think how awful it
Would be to be woken
By such a bomb in person.
I tweet denouncing this
Then doom-scroll for a while
Thinking someone must do
Something. When finished I
Rise, hunger satisfied.
Sometimes, hearing the news feels a futile affair, desperate situations meet our inability to comprehend them or respond in a meaningful way.
(24.02.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 95 – The Scandal of Spring
Without our noticing, the velvet bud
Protrudes. This act of annual resurrection
From naked branch to clothed, a strip tease in
Reverse, so tantalising in modesty.
Before long, it will be scandalously dressed.
The bite of winter receding, our fruit trees are coming back to life once more.
(23.02.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Ode for the Day 