The conductor lifts his baton
The audience falls silent
.
.
.
.
.
A stifled cough
.
.
.
.
.
Rapturous applause!
My head is full of other matters today, and empty when it came to writing. Got me thinking about a poetic version of John Cage’s silent orchestral piece.
(11.01.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Kristina Flour on Unsplash
Take:
A tumult of toddlers
A cacophony of carers
A muddle of mothers,
Disappearance of dads
A greatness of grandparents
A legend of leaders*
A twinkle of stars
And a riot of rhymes.
Mix to taste.
A collective Toddler Christmas party
*Apart from the poet!
It was the glorious madness of our toddler group Christmas party today. Great fun, as always.
(17.12.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by leoni fleming on Unsplash
Our eyes snagged across the crowded room
Like velcro strips, we were hooked on each other
A quick one today, a couplet about a couple that sprung to mind as I walked to an engagement today.
(09.12.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash
Remember, remember, the fifth of December,
Allen keys, flat packs and screws,
Just follow the instructions one at a time,
Considering using glue!
Silly one at the end of the day. We’re gradually updating our furniture at home. Finished the evening with assembling a new coffee table.
(05.12.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by OPPO Find X5 Pro on Unsplash
Someone’s coming, yes, you know who,
He’s coming here for me and for you.
He has a list, it’s ever so long,
Which all of our names are written on.
Excitement’s growing, yes it is!
This isn’t something you’ll want to miss!
The wait’s so long, it’s got me in a tizz,
But when he comes, oh, it will be such bliss!
‘So has he been yet?’ my mother asks.
‘I don’t think so, but this wait can’t last,
I’ve been sitting here since night first fell,
Now my eyes are drooping, can’t you tell…’
I’m beginning to think that he won’t come,
I’m falling asleep, my plan’s undone.
But wait a minute, what’s this sound?
A shaking and a rumbling that’s growing loud.
A man in red? No, a man in white!
Suspended by wings, he hangs in flight,
A growing swell, a song of love,
The heavenly host, join in from above!
They say he’s coming, it won’t be long,
Mary’s contractions are growing strong,
You’d better not wait, no, get your skates on,
Dash out of the door, and to the manger run!
Someone’s coming, yes, you know who,
He’s coming here for me and for you,
So do not fear, there’s no need to be afraid,
God’s Son is born and in a manger laid!
I remember the excited anticipation of Christmas morning, and my mother’s annual question as we were eventually allowed downstairs, ‘Has he been yet?’, which led to a jubilant ripping open of Christmas presents. Today, I remain excited, but it’s about the arrival of someone else.
(04.12.25)
Taunted by a cold
I am playing hide and seek
Trying to escape
Taking it easy tonight ahead on a rare evening off right now.
(03.12.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Towfiqu barbhuiya on Unsplash
Filling in the blnks,
Personalising the crwd,
Identfyng objects
Hgh in the gathering clouds.
Forevr seeking patterns,
Our brains instinctivly,
Fill in all the gaps, to mke
Snse of what they see.
This is our superpowr,
Our mnd’s great party trck,
Unless there’s no connecton,
And then we come unstck.
All that said, I’ve never been good at the missing vowels round in Only Connect…
(24.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash
I’m a poet and I know it,
There’s 700 poems to show it,
And I’m not going to blow it
By missing out tonight.
But today I’ve given all.
And I’m running out of juice.
I’ve nothing left to offer
Only the stubborn wall
That I’ve run into,
That says I’m done,
It’s time for bed.
My head is blank
And yet there’s more to do.
I’m a poet and I know it,
And that will have to do.
I’m at our denomination’s annual conference which I help run. I love it and enjoy throwing myself into it, but there’s little capacity for anything else when I’m here… (If you’re wondering why I say 700 poems when this is number 416, that’s because of a numbering error that means I’ve gone back to full in a gap!)
(27.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Tim De Pauw on Unsplash
I nearly bumped into Nigel Havers once.
He was leaving the Tube on a raining Notting Hill
evening, collars upturned to hide his face.
Another memorable night, I found myself crushed
against the seat of Terry Gilliam. I waited
for something completely different, perhaps a giant
foot, to descend upon my cartoon head.
It never came. And then one time we walked
across a Cambridge park. A familiar figure
passed the other way. We said, ‘hello’.
He nodded and walked on by without a word.
With a blush we realised we only knew him from
the telly. There were others, comedians on
theme park rides, news readers on the streets,
soap stars at outdoor concerts; so many famous
faces. It raises the question, when they meet,
do they discuss the time that they met us?
Sparked by a conversation today with Dad when he asked if I knew anyone famous.
(07.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Eduardo Unda-Sanzana from Antofagasta, Chile • CC BY 2.0
Tonight I lie to sleep in my parents’ house
having defeated the attempts of the sofa bed
to prevent me from doing this horizontally.
Head bolt upright? I don’t think so! Neither
my feet to the floor. In increasingly frenzied moves
our engagement played out, a midnight wrestling bout,
featuring twisted limbs, contorted faces,
until at last, it finally yielded its secrets.
Just wrestling in a poem before midnight…
(05.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Krista Mangulsone on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 
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