This blue police box
Appeared upon
My step
Where did it come from?
Who put it there?
I do not know
But whilst it seems
So small compared
To its surrounds
They say, don’t they,
It’s bigger on the inside
I wonder what
I’d find within
If only I
Could find a way
To open up
Its doors
It’s true, I opened up my fits to find the TARDIS on my doorstep. Quite surreal.
(28.06.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
It isn’t long until you tie the knot
Exchange your rings, say vows that bind you tightly
I hope you find them not constraining chains
But liberating promises, security
Like tape that holds a graft firmly together
Until the two infuse becoming one
Releasing you to look ahead not back
To check your knots have not become undone
In just a few week’s time I’m conducting a marriage. This is always a privilege, but even more so this time as it is my daughter’s! Not surprisingly, I’m mulling over the question of what to say and pass on.
(23.06.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Photo by Jeremy Wong
So No Mow May slipped into June
Kneehigh the grasses swayed
And under summer’s sun turned brown
Before I’d turned a blade
I’d hoped for some exotic meadow
An array of blooms
Instead a field of hay fever
And stinging nettles grew
So finally I grabbed the mower
To try and tame this beast
But left it growing at the back
And planted some wild seeds
I’ve always fancied a wild flower meadow and a garden that’s more attractive to wildlife. Alas, it turns out that laziness doesn’t create it…
(21.06.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Let’s all keep mum, keep schtum
‘Cause careless talk costs lives
So cross your heart and hope
To die, don’t let the cat
Out of its bag
Please keep it under wraps
Don’t tell a soul, just tap
Your nose with knowing look
A wink perhaps no more
I plea, than that
And if not wraps, perhaps
A hat will do the job
Along with poker face
To keep it in its place
Our secret, shhh….
Work has kept me occupied of late, diverting creative juices, but when my Dad announced the theme of his next poetry groups meeting, I couldn’t resist.
(16.06.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Photo by Kat Smith: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-placing-her-finger-between-her-lips-568025/
The needle drops, its solid clunk,
Precipitates familiar crackles,
Vinyl’s weakness? Perhaps, or character,
But compensating with more soul.
The sax begins, transporting us,
To smokey bars where bourbon’s poured,
In black and white, and couples sway,
And nodding men are lost in jazz.
The snare’s shuffle entrances as,
Crisp cymbal strikes entice and take,
Our arms to stroll with walking bass,
And trumpets dance their singing scales.
Too soon the groove reaches its climax,
The side completed but not ended,
Repeated coda, beating on,
Until the arm is lifted home.
A discussion on Twitter about jazz recommendations led to acquiring some new records, and in turn to this verse.
(09.06.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Walking beneath the canopy above,
I stop and listen. Slowly I begin,
To hear it breathe, the branches rise and fall,
And in its breeze, translucent leaves make play.
A bee drones past ignoring my intrusion,
Whilst down below the moles dig on unseen
Their earthy mounds the only indication,
Of their lightless subterranean dreams.
A flap and avian caw as something falls,
And ricochets, until the undergrowth,
Receives it with its eager spiky arms,
Concealing it within a dense embrace.
The trees begin to stir, swaying in slow,
Rhythm to a beat that sounds unheard.
Even the elders join their patient dance,
Their ancient limbs cracking as they flex.
A cole tit reassures his youngsters whilst,
He flits around the local bounds, with loud,
Beeping that finds an answering call,
Cried proudly, deep within their concealed nest.
Somewhere a stream trickles its way across,
The wood, its flow, the artery that serves,
To nourish this green creature I stand within,
Alive and other, beyond our frame of reference.
Exploring woodland in Hertford the other day, I stopped alone for a moment, and realised I was anything but…
(30.05.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
This hidden paradox
Lies deep within the valley
Forgotten but persisting
How can a door remain
A door without its walls?
But here one stands before me
I wonder if I turned
Its rusty red handle
What vista it would reveal?
A road of yellow bricks?
A land of lingering snow?
An ancient path to follow?
I reach and take the handle
In trembling anticipation
And opening, I step through…
This door can be found in Lea Valley on the route of one of our many local walks. I’d love to know what it was for. The diet of fantasy I grew up on fills the gaps until someone provides a probably more mundane answer…
(26.05.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
I intervene before the kettle boils
Just as the pitch begins to shift I lift
And pour its contents on the roasted beans
A bed, that’s waiting to be stirred to life
A dash of white completes the conjured spell
Awakening its swirling velvet darkness
Its rich fragrance assaults and tastebuds cheer
As finally… anticipation ends
A mid-morning coffee. Perfect.
(16.05.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
The unmown grass glistens. It’s chains of pearls,
Now celebrated by the avian choir,
Capture the morning’s fresh baptism of
Revitalising light and tender water.
Here briefly, under the sun’s hazy, gaze
Lost Paradise breaks through once more.
I drink deeply and drain my glass in prayer
And linger whilst I can before it fades.
It was a delight, this morning, to fling open the doors during my morning cup of tea.
(12.05.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
I possess a thousand faces
That’s one for every relationship
One for each time and mood and place
The one you know me by is not
The one recognised by my wife
Or friends or even enemies
The one I wear today is not
The same as yesterday, not quite
Experience has shaped, eroded,
And flexed it, making something new
But which of these is really me?
Are they all? Or none at all?
Is there throughout an essential core
Coded within, like human rock?
Or am I simply jetsam, washed
About by random tides of life
The announcement of the new Doctor got me thinking about the different faces we all wear.
(10.05.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Ode for the Day 