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
Author: BenDQ
Poem 125 – Before
A momentary pause
This quiet stillness
That waits, anticipating
The unborn day
A chance to gather up
My thoughts and being
Before the hands begin
To tick again
One of my favourite times of the day is the brief interlude between waking and work, when the house is mine and the clock has stopped. Once it starts, it doesn’t stop…
(09.05.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 124 – Hallowed Stands
The game’s afoot, it’s all still on
A thousand possibilities
That might transpire before this season’s
Last match is played and whistle blown
From hallowed stands the crowd embolden
Their vantage point affords them sight
Of opportunities and threats
Yes, passionately they roar us on
So keep your eyes upon the goal
Follow your humble captain, brave
Who leads the way in giving all
Know this, you’ll never walk alone
On Tuesday Liverpool FC rescued the chance of an historical quadruple, turning a 2-0 deficit to a 2-3 victory. Songs from the stands cheer us on.
(06.05.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 123 – May Day Morning
Today’s alarm did not ring out,
Instead the morning sun caressed,
My face, teasing me awake.
Did I feel guilty? Pleasurably!
With tasks postponed, time to relax,
Until the taste of warmed croissant,
And ritual brewing of our tea,
Contrived to lure me out of bed…
Lazy mornings are currently few and far between, but today we managed one. Lovely.
(02.05.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 122 – London Calling
A pigeon coo accompanies the cries,
Of urgent sirens wrestling for attention.
Although distant, their wail reaches across,
To where I sit in Euston’s Tolmers Square.
This serendipity, this place of peace,
A patch of green, affords some small respite.
Chairs rattle as a barman sets his tables,
Outside in preparation for midday.
I catch snatches of conversation from,
Engrossed commuters passing quickly by.
The Tube rumbles below my weary feet,
Whilst up above the whine of hybrid cabs.
No more the peel of oranges and lemons,
But still distinct the cry of London calling.
Today I headed into the capital to meet with colleagues. I arrived early. Exploring the local area, I found one of London’s many peaceful squares to spend a few minutes before heading in.
(29.04.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 121 – This Time
This morning’s prompt
A photo from this date
Taken a previous year
A smiling face looks out
I watch you past, eyes meeting
The younger you responds
This frozen moment lives
Superimposed on others
The album of our life
The weft and weave of time
The strands that cross the years
Entwining us together
Every morning my phone reminds me of photos taken this day in previous years. Today’s featured an arresting look at the camera as you walked past.
(28.04.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 120 – Memories of Salone*
I carry memories of this land,
It’s fingerprints impress upon me,
And looking back it springs to life,
With speed and vivid recollection.
Oppressive dense humidity,
Immediately dampens both my palms.
Salone’s sweet earthy scent invades,
My nostrils, dust my garment lines.
A grimy vulture perched nearby,
Awaits upon a skip hopefully.
It makes me nervous, is it me
It waits for? Shooing it away,
I hear across the rusty roofs,
The sounds of hustling street vendors,
And traffic, loud with horns forming,
Customary queues down Kissy Road.
Elsewhere a coastal paradise,
Untarnished white and vacant sands,
Where fishermen haul in their catch,
Dragging bright painted boats to land.
Enthusiastic introductions,
Their welcome offered up in song,
Loud ululations, fast drum beats,
With laughter loud and handshakes long.
Despite Ebola’s touch and times
Of bitter strife, this is a land
Where riches can be found but not
In stones, the people are its diamonds.
Sierra Leone is a special country for me. Despite its many struggles and traumas, it is also a country full of life. The latest Marillion album caught me by surprise with a track about it, bringing back all sorts of memories (listen below).
(25.04.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
*The affectionate abbreviation often used for Sierra Leone
Poem 119 – Changes
A jellied blob hangs in suspended spew.
Within, a dot becomes a growing eye,
That stares continually with many colleagues.
This froth, a stew of rich ingredients,
Together with the spark divine provides,
Impulse to life, wriggling in expansion.
A heart is born that beats the blood along,
The forming tail that from its cell propels,
The tadpole into water’s liberty.
This state is not its end, however, but,
A transitory phase. Before our eyes,
Impossibly it strains beyond, fingers,
Outstretched, extending from new reaching limbs.
New features grow as old ones fade, along,
With its truncating tail as with a croak,
The frog appears and fully free leaps skywards;
Yes, even greater than Bowie’s, this is
The miracle of metamorphosis.
Over the long Easter weekend we went looking around local ponds on the lookout for frogspawn. The journey from dot to frog never ceases to amaze me.
(22.04.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 118 – Queen of the Lake
In regal array the swan
Drifts serenely across the lake
With proud neck she stakes her claim
Outstretched wings proclaim her place
She rules all that she surveys
Usurpers swiftly subdued
In a bank holiday walk in Lea Valley we stopped to spend time with this majestic creature
(18.04.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Poem 117 – The Heron
The heron lumbers on
This prehistoric throwback
Envelopes with its wings
Turning the world to shades
Of grey forboding shadows
When passing overhead
Aloft it struggles to
Maintain its altitude
But on the river bank
Transformed and elegant
It perches, patient, wise
With poised anticipation
Its stillness is unmatched
The clock hand paused
…until
The moment of decision
The throwing of the dart
A single precise strike
Efficient in its catch
Walking home from our Easter service a heron flew over, its struggles a clear contrast to its normal elegance.
(17.04.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Ode for the Day 