Poem 107 – An Angry Embrace

The storm did rage throughout that hateful night
Roiling, possessed by evil spirits’ anger
Tossing our ship about with frightful might

We prayed, the crew, in fear about our plight
Hoping our god might rouse from his deep slumber
The storm did rage throughout that hateful night

Naive, a cry, ‘I see a shining light!’
Giddy despite the gale becoming grimmer
Tossing our ship about with frightful might

Alas, this hope it seems was simply spite
The taunting glimmer just St. Elmo’s fire
The storm did rage throughout that hateful night

And those who climbed towards it felt its bite
The storm shredding once glorious sails to tatters
Tossing our ship about with frightful might

So I, the priest, read out our ship’s last rites
As to the deep, dark, depths it did surrender
The storm did rage throughout that hateful night
Tossing our ship about with frightful might

My son is doing a writing course at university and has been given the task of writing a ‘villanelle’. Thought I’d have a go. Villanelles have a formal structure of three line stanzas, where the first and third lines of the first take it in turns to be the last line of those that follow. The final stanza has four lines, with this alternating pair becoming the third and fourth lines here. The first, third and in the last stanza’s case, fourth lines rhyme, as do all the second lines. Got that?
(17.03.22)

© Ben Quant 2022

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 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

Coming Soon…

My poems may slow down a little bit going forward, at least for now. I’m in the process of rewriting my doctoral thesis, I’ve got a year to resubmit. This needs to be my main focus alongside work and family, but verse will provide a fun release and necessary diversion alongside it! I’m also playing around with a longer piece of poetry, in the form of medieval alliterative verse, based on the legend of the Black Dog of Bungay; a ghostly apparition famous for an appearance in the local church. Here’s the first stanza as it currently stands to whet the appetite…

Poem 83 – The Visitation of Black Shuck

Those faithful fellowships did meet that fearful eve
In prayer and praise they sat upon their usual pews
In Blythburgh they began and Bungay parish too
Not knowing the nightmare awaiting in the gloom

Abraham Fleming, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Poem 82 – The Magic Word

You’re wrong to say magic does not exist
How do I know? I’ve seen it for myself
I’ve seen it in the power of verse to change
An outlook with a skillful choice of words
A clever phrase or metaphor provokes
New meaning formerly concealed, unknown
Whilst written symbols move knowledge across
Invisible mind bridges out of view
Bold stories pluck our eyes, transplanting them
Imagination thus breeds empathy
Whilst in the theatre players exercise
Surgery, switching hearts and souls
So hesitate before inscribing views
Articulate your words aloud with caution
They’re incantations not just spoken sounds
True magic not fantastic fabrication

(30.01.22)

© Ben Quant 2022

Poem 66 – The Cardboard Prometheus

The lid slides off with satisfying heft,
Revealed within an array of precious parts.
Opened, the board becomes the table’s heart,
The pulsing centre round which we congregate.
The rules its brain which regulates carefully,
Instructing every thoughtful turn we take.
The tokens, hormones, eliciting response,
Conducting celebration, dealing pain.
But on their own these parts remain mere props,
Empty, devoid of life, like clay awaiting,
Prometheus to spark them into life.
So what impulse provokes initiation?
It’s those who in anticipation play,
Whose mutual endeavour generates.

I’ve tried solo boardgames and computer games, but nothing beats playing with others. For me, at least, it is the social aspect that brings them to life and makes them a life giving activity.
(03.01.22)

© Ben Quant 2022

Poem 65 – Tsundoku

The Japanese possess a word for when
You grow a stack of books to read one day
A day that constantly remains a day
Away from now. That word is tsundoku.
I guess there must become a point in time
When tsundoku flows into tsunami
A crashing pile that floods the room and pours
Ideas and plots across the polished floor.

This is a word that belongs in my house. I have many of them!
(02.01.22)


© Ben Quant 2022

Poem 52 – Word on the Street

The word on the street is a miracle
So common it goes unnoticed, hidden
In plain sight, plain text, undercover
It’s underrated, abused but profound
This simple tool is anything but, requiring
Magical transformation to turn thoughts
Into sounds, into squiggles, on the page
On the wall, on the screen and then in reverse
From squiggle, to sound, to brain, with meaning
Transferred and transposed from one to another
So recipient and creator can
Comprehend the same meaning, sharing thought

This poem arose whilst printing out my thesis in preparation for my viva later this month. The process of seeing the words on the screen becoming words on printed paper, set of a train of thought. There may well be a partner piece tomorrow, as the thought didn’t stop there.
(06.12.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 30 – Pavement Picasso

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