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
Entertainment
Poem 89 – Death in Paradise
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
Poem 88 – Box Set Binge
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
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
Ode for the Day 