Author: BenDQ

Poem 35 – Interval

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Half past four
Night lowers its curtains
These dark navy drapes
Announce the act’s end
Accompanied by birdsong

Once enveloped
Orchestra and players
Can rest unseen
As they do
We too draw our curtains

Withdrawing
Affords the chance to stretch
Relax body and mind
Assimilate experiences
Be renewed

The alarm rings
Shrilly declaring interval’s end
Bleary we reclaim our seats
And wait for dawn’s revelation
Of today’s set

I love these late autumnal days when night comes so early, allowing us to close the curtains and shut out the world. Not so keen on it being dark when I rise however…
(14.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 33 – Our Voyage

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Our childhood heroes bid farewell,
departing to journey alone
Leaving us grasping in denial
snapshots of the view
These faded polaroid stills of seventies
sequins, flares and hair
Agnetha and Frida back to back,
Benny and Björn smiling on
Perfect harmonies as the crowd dance
to their Swedish lilt
From Waterloo to bittersweet
when all is said and done
Were we naively hoping the picture
would pick up where they left
Or did we believe them to be like us
as we deceive ourselves
Frozen in time when in truth all age
and those glamorous skinsuits
Might no longer look so good on
bodies that have travelled the years
Is the discovery anticlimactic that
they’re not Peter Pan
And whilst the voices clearly belong
something has definitely changed
But I for one will cheer as they
look back upon their voyage
Because the tide of time likewise
nibbles my being’s shore
I do not want to live regretting
its tender gradual erosion
But satisfied survey each step and
content embrace the view

Feeling a little wistful today having just listened to the new ABBA album, aware of both time passing and the richness that its passing can bring.

(12.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021
Photo By Anders Hanser – http://www.mynewsdesk.com/se/abba-the-museum/images/abba-the-museum-the-choir-250208, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=44782676

Poem 32 – Opportunities Lost

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I wish I’d asked but youth does not
Appreciate the finite opportunity possessed
By the time I realised time’s scarcity
Those doors were shut

What was it like as a youth yourself
Once island locked to bid goodbye
Leave familiar shores, be evicted abruptly
Those doors were shut

Sail to alien lands with brothers unknown
Fight famine, plague, war and face death
Grim conflict without, peace lost within
Those doors were shut

Finally coming home to family changed
Moved on in life without your presence
Faces altered but you’re the stranger
Those doors were shut

How could you cope with enduring such sorrow
Those vivid scenes secretly stashed away
A simple return to normality that couldn’t be
Those doors were shut

Armistice Day (11.11.21)

Edit: I reworked this overnight, not being completely happy with it before, especially the final stanza.

© Ben Quant 2021

Armistice Day (11.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 31 – Rain Spoils Play

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Photographic filter
Washing our colours
Not dressed for success
But draining vitality
Fine mist descends
Depressing the day

The swoosh of the surf
Succeeds every car
Not Bondai beach
But oil residue
Running in gutters
Raised by rubber

Persistent it penetrates
Seeping with ease
Damping through clothing
Collecting between shoulders
Coldness that shivers
Wrinkles our toes

Last day in self-isolation and looking forward to being released. Sat in my office, however, the view isn’t appealing with the fine drizzle looking set for the day. Hope it clears by tomorrow.

(10.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 30 – Pavement Picasso

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On the Millennium Bridge
Find the Pavement Picasso
Unlike his namesake
He doesn’t stand tall
In the pantheon of painters
But lies
Prone on the pavement
Stretched out amongst
Passers-by and litter
Blown by gritty city breeze
And exhaust pipes
Prostrate he takes
Flavour drained gum
Carelessly spat
Stuck in the cracks and
With care rarely afforded
To nonbiodegradable detritus
Achieves metamorphosis
Makeover not with
Eye shadow and lippy
But acrylic and lacquer
Turning trash
Into mini-masterpieces
A colourful protest
And through conversation
Community adhesion

One of my favourite haunts is The Globe. To get there we often walk across central London, approaching via the Millenium Bridge. If you’ve got your eyes open, you may spot as you cross, discarded chewing gum which has been painted by the amazing Ben Wilson, the ‘Pavement Picasso’ (see examples on his website: https://benwilsonchewinggumman.com/)

(09.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 29 – I Think?

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Where do my thoughts come from
Are they simply distillation
Of experiences lived and situations seen
A concept torn from conversation shared
Meme like infection spread
Is it true that there is nothing new under the sun
Were they never really mine
Merely a compilation of others’
Mashed, macerated and recompiled
Should I think therefore I am
(As someone once thought!)
Instead read
They think therefore I become
Uniqueness simply a statistical recombination
A regurgitation of what has been before
Is it not possible that in my being
Some organic Hadron Collider
Crashes borrowed insights
And from the impact sparks
Something new
Something me

Sitting down to write today having read a few poems online written by others and mulling over what to write, it struck me how hard it is to write something truly original. The words of the Teacher in Ecclesiastes came to mind:

What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.’

Eccles. 1:9

Is it true that we have nothing original to offer?

(08.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 28 – The Library

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A treasure trove full and bounteous
A time machine to find what’s been
A brewery kettle of faith beginning
A peek around future’s bend
A training ground forming bravery
A school in which to fire up brains
A laboratory of facts all bubbling
A dream one day freedom begins

I love libraries. They’ve always been one of my favourite places. Along with bookshops….

(07.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 27 – Silence

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It is not empty, so
Those in matured relationships
Need not feel obliged to
Fill every moment
With words

They can simply be
Not threatened by silence
Nor disturbed by
What is left
Unspoken

Content to be vulnerable
Before the other’s thoughts
Trust fills the gaps
And plasters over
The pauses

I’ve been married for 27 years. This week in isolation has underlined the simple yet profound pleasure of simply being in the same room together. Thank you K. As a Christian, this pleasure and these verses point towards the human-divine relationship too.

(06.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 26 – Stolen

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I lost my sense of smell today
Not misplaced, but silently taken
Stolen as I slept along with
Shower gel invigoration
The taste and satisfaction of
A freshly filtered fine coffee
And all that’s left’s a lingering hole
Olfactory fissure, fragrance flees

Thankfully my Covid symptoms have been mild, like a bad cold. Today, however, a big sniff of a pot of Vicks revealed the surreal truth, my sense of smell has gone. (Altered the second line today, 06.11.21, wasn’t quite happy with the rhythm before)

(05.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021