Remember when you had to wait
A week to catch the next part of
Your favourite show upon the box?
Now things have changed, diversified
There’s streaming, on demand, catch-up
And channels multiply, what choice!
The trouble is like a black hole
It pulls you in with the promise
That cliff hangers need not hang on
But now it’s late I ought to stop
As the alarm is primed to ring
But first, perhaps, another one!
We’d only meant to watch a single episode of Drop the Dead Donkey tonight, but somehow a while series had passed us by…
(12.02.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Entertainment
Poem 72 – Collateral Damage
To me this feels familiar and strange
Conflicting feelings jostle dissonant
It’s a relief to finally be back
Albeit we’re masked and social distant
Somehow, however, we’re now out of phase
Alternative dimensions are our homes
Like Schrödinger’s famous experiment
We’re both together and it seems alone
We watch each other from the corners of
Our eyes avoiding contact if we can
A living photograph doubly exposed
Collateral damage from Covid’s bans
Last night we went to see an episode of a sitcom being filmed (Andy Hamilton’s ‘Kate and Koji’). We watched a number pre-lockdown and it was lovely to be back, but noticeably the interaction in the queue and set was lacking, as if everyone else wasn’t really there.
(14.01.22)
© 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 63 – The Master Chefs
We traded favourite flavours
And swapped celebrity chefs
Compared inherited recipes
Until we had full sets
One trusted only Berry
Another Delia Smith
Some bish-bash-boshed with Jamie
But I like Nadiya best
A quick doodle today after over heating a conversation at foodbank about cookery.
(31.12.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 55 – Power Pick and Mix
If you could choose a super power what would you choose?
Would it be flight so you could soar above the clouds?
Unrivalled strength perhaps or maybe turn
Invisible for mischief, fun and games?
Alternatively opt for freezing breath
And make our Christmas dreams come true with snow
Or twist and turn with bendability
That stretchy flexi human miracle!
And yet it seems to me that none of these
Can solve the greatest problem that we face
In vast metropolis or village small
Of how to lift not weights but loneliness
Not seeing through with piercing x-ray eyes
But looking into souls with loving grace
Watched the first episode of Superman and Lois on BBC iPlayer today…
(10.12.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 51 – Flux
We like to think that time is constant
The regular tock of a ticking clock
But in night’s depth that rhythm is
Vandalised
Jarred
Disrupted in strange discomforting ways that stretch the hours until you fear they must have
Snapped
Whilst dark
It’s light enough to see the time
Its face shines from the bedside table
As laying I wrestle with surreal
Fractured thoughts that flit and tussle
Uncomfortable limbs that ache and toss
And tasks for urgent morning attention
Yet unlike mine it does not age
But gazes fixed upon my weary
Brain that cannot comprehend
Its strange nocturnal ways
Not the best night’s sleep last night and no real idea why. Watching Doctor Who’s Flux finale got me thinking about the nature of time and brought last night to mind.
(05.12.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 38 – A Hokey Cokey Time of Year
Tentative November’s a folk dance month
Unable to decide if it’s out or it’s in
Leaves bravely clinging to branches above
Fallen companions raked into the bin
The sun always rises but never quite makes it
Descending before it reaches the top
Fireworks shrill as Fawkes interrupted
But bombers press on and their plots do not stop
The eleventh we remember but still stand conflicted
Pushing and shoving to remain best of the lot
Decisions announced but next day rejected
Political turnarounds made on the spot
Superstore isles full of crackers and tinsel
Seasonal adverts promise festive fun
Christmas is here piped music’s proclaiming
But November’s not finished nor Advent begun
I always find November a confused month, a strange transition from one season to the next with Christmas looming large in the distance. This confusion seems to be seeping into our current affairs this year.
(18.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Photo by Bryan Ledgard – https://www.flickr.com/photos/ledgard/10254453475/, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=58259782
Poem 36 – Dominoes
Tiles shuffled and randomly selected
Balanced precariously, curved to conceal
A cheer reveals double-six located
Centrally placed, the game begins
Turn by turn our counters are chosen
Tension ratchets as silence descends
Only grunts of relief or tapping the table
Nowhere to go, delaying the end
Time ticking down
Furiously counting
Plans played out
Strategies discounted
Players passed by
Blows traded
Tiles running out
Sudden flurry
Hands crashing
Dawning realisation
I’ve lost and they’ve won!
Tuesday lunchtimes our church holds the ‘Drop-In’, inviting folk to come and share a light lunch and company. Once the meal is over the dominoes come out and the banter is replaced by serious competition…
(16.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 33 – Our Voyage
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 22 – Are We Not All Heroes?
This summer we made pilgrimage
Briefly escaping Covid’s shadow
Blinking as we entered the light
Of Cardiff’s sun kissed halo
There with the tentative throng
We explored its proud sites
From the castle idiosyncratic
To mist veiled surrounding heights
We marched around it’s harbour
Leaning into the red dragon’s breath
That blew across boat filled waters
Our path encompassing its breadth
But as we walked we paused awhile
By a shrine with trinkets bedecked
Left in honour of a hero lost
By earnest admirers memory kept
Who was this man, what was his merit
The deeds that demand such respect?
Why Ianto Jones they did reply
Welshman of Torchwood, most adept
Puzzled I left for I knew of him
For he had graced my screens
A hero not of real life, you see
Concocted in another’s dreams
How can the death of one not living
Made up, existing just in story
Capture the imagination of those who watch
Achieving real life glory?
What of us I wondered as we left
Who battle daily to survive
Without such glamour yet endeavours true
Will our memories remain alive?
This summer we managed to take a holiday just outside Cardiff, a city I’d never visited before. I loved it, especially its castle whose eccentric internal decor was a wonderful surprise after its traditional outer shell. As a sci-fi fan I insisted on visiting Ianto’s shrine, a tribute to the character in the Doctor Who spin-off, Torchwood, who topically dies as a result of being exposed to a lethal virus. Seemed surreal that a character in a TV-drama should garner such respect when so many true heroes go unnoticed.
(02.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Ode for the Day 