Last night we made plans
Virus ignored the memo
Swapped to crazy golf
Family cancelled our planned visit due to illness, a real shame. Gave us some time to do something a little different.
(27.12.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by Steven Shircliff on Unsplash
When I was little, time stretched out
but now I find the past, present
and future are condensed and tight.
From here, my former selves converge
just like a Doctor Who special.
I wonder how it ends?
Perhaps
it’s like a concertina flow:
relax, compress, relax once more?
What if, however, it’s a black hole:
relax, compress, compress, compress?
Is there a memory time horizon
past which our recollections are
so dense they can’t escape?…
When I was young the wars seemed so
far back, but now they seem so close;
my parents seemed so old, but now
I find they were younger than I am today.
A year is but a month, a month
a week, a week a day, time slides,
and like a fairground hall of mirrors
the path’s confused and found distorted.
Within the glass I see the man
that I’ll become, imposed upon
the timefree boy I used to be.
As Doctor Who once famously said that time isn’t linear, but actually is, ‘like a big ball of wibbly wobbly… time-y wimey… stuff‘. Maybe it’s something to do with having passed the half-century, but I’m certainly finding this to be increasingly true.
(18.09.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash
Two couples, groups of four,
arrange themselves upon
the floor to dance. Caller’s
instructions given, they walk
it through, counting their steps,
fierce thought performs on faces.
The music starts and now
they charge whooping; tonight’s
for plowing on regardless!
We were at a family barn dance this weekend. Happy Birthday Emeyle and Jade, thanks for a highly enjoyable evening!
(17.04.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by Joel Wyncott on Unsplash
Black ants process along the guide rope of
Our holy canopy, where angels throng
Joint pilgrimage, a quest for nourishment
Of souls and stomachs, set forth in hope and prayer
A lazy dragonfly flies by, whilst up
Above the sun beats down and walks amongst
Visiting us in chance relationships
Forged over camping gas and mugs of tea
A poet finds his voice once more, relieved
As with a T-Rex roar the crowd roars back
Priestly connections made between two worlds
In flesh upon the lawns, presence restored
Debating democracy and climate change
Reversing alarms sound out. Ironic
But can the church evolve, and should it?
Wake up! Jerusalem can be renewed
Advice is given, go and goof around with
Dead poets, the deader the better
Forgive and be compassionate to yourself
And don’t forget it’s not all about us
The mic is muted, accidental silence
The air is filled, its tense anticipa…
…tion breaks with cheers, the crew
Thrust unexpectant on the stage, our heroes
We sit and listen to those we disagree with
In hope that we might learn something we’d missed
By existing only in our echo chambers
And from this dissonance we reach for more
And then to end the boundaries blur, the stage
Dismantled means as one we lift our song
And bid farewell ’till next time when we gather
‘Cause, this field never fails or disappoints
Greenbelt Festival is an annual gathering centred around artistry, activism and belief, currently in the lawns of Boughton House, Kettering. For me it’s an regular retreat, a place I go to be refreshed, provoked and encouraged. It’s part of my punctuation and I’ve missed it the last two summers. In these verses I’ve tried to capture something of this year’s experience. Naturally, it will make most sense if you were there with me, as it references a variety of incidents and highpoints, and maybe the odd in joke. If you were there, you might spot some of them. Confession, some of the lines have been nicked…
(02.09.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
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
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
One cracks a joke
And in response
It gets slapped down
To rein us in
It used to be
Your eye for mine
But violence met
With more violence
Is twice the pain
A better way
Must surely be
To turn the cheek
This act of strength
Defies the bully
Without becoming one
Is violence the best response? An eye for an eye was only meant to stop us from escalating levels of revenge in the name of justice, but does it make things right? I’m not sure it does.
(29.03.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
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
Remember Freddie’s rhapsody
Nine classic minutes long to bring
Bombastic rock, triumphant pomp
The opera to the masses, darling
Before the storm a solo voice
With purity, soaring lament
In contrast with the bitterness
Contained within words of regret
Then crashing thunder interrupts
Violent vocals kaleidoscope
Inner turmoil, chaotic nonsense
Soundscape immense and intricate
Before Beelzebub attacks
The stargazer magnificent
Looks out beyond this racous gale
As finally the man repents
Be still cries out the axe wielder
And thus the storm is brought down low
Priorities fall into place
And whisper
…anyway the wind blows
This was going to be a poem about Storm Eunice, but slipped into something quite different.
(20.02.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
In an exotic isle he lies
A holiday conundrum, dead
Face down beside a nagging doubt
Beneath heaven’s blue skies overhead
The case confined to just four friends
An isolated situation
But none of them could be the murderer
An alibi by others given
Around in circles twisted knots
Until, eureka! Clarity comes
A strange coincidence occurs
Connections made, the puzzle done
They gathered in a tense circle
To hear the verdict boldly laid
Before them by the canny sluth
Who by deduction owns this stage
He walks them through it step by step
By paradise’s swaying palms
Revealing method, means and motive
Our Caribbean Sherlock Holmes
A family guilty pleasure, the murderer mystery set on St. Marie might be formulaic, but we love it.
(13.02.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Ode for the Day 