Tonight we faced off
Like David and Goliath
Like David we won
Tonight we hosted a Graham Kendrick gig, and together wrestled the PA into submission.
(27.10.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Music
Poem 888 – Beats
My ear drum’s drumming,
A throbbing pulsing
Beat that thrums
More loudly as
The evening calms
Its disco’s happening,
How can’t you hear
They’re tunes, they’re banging!
I seem to have developed a low grade ear ache…
(21.05.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Josh Sorenson on Unsplash
Poem 834 – St. Paul Songs
Voices awaken London’s chilly streets,
A rousing swell of sound announcing life.
Their notes disperse upon the swirling wind
each one a seed of joy. They scatter through
the city stirring statues from their sleep.
Their vigil ceased they stretch and smile with us.
It was wonderful to watch our daughter’s choir, Bristol Show Choir, performing outside St. Paul’s today.
(28.03.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Poem 830 – Rehearsal
The hi-hat drives us
Searing guitar, popping bass
My ears are ringing
Rehearsing for our Good Friday ‘gig’
(24.03.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Josh Sorenson on Unsplash
Poem 822 – Lost and Found
I’m lost within the weft and warp.
My fingers follow strings to pick
a path within its maze, a trail
within the tapestry of sound.
I strive to see the exit but
each harmony arrests and holds
me in its grasp. I squirm and dance
from line to line with no avail.
Each strand becomes a constraining bar
that holds me tight. I fight and strive but
its only when I stop that freedom
comes, the harmony of the whole.
And here, as I submit myself,
my soul taken and woven deep
within, the picture finally forms
as lines combine and grow and sing.
As a musician I long for those precious moments when you’re able to let go and let the music take over and transport you.
(16.03.26)
Poem 772 – Cyberbarn!
It was only the size of a postage stamp,
a pixelated blur that came and went
with sound that didn’t match the picture,
but it was a kind of magic back then.
Transported to your Surrey garden,
six-hundred thousand strangers streamed
down phone lines crossing continents
into this tiny buffering barn.
We held our breath and squeezed into
that distant doorway, willed the image
to appear until its spluttering
sounds and colours burst to life.
In awe we cheered distorted sounds,
squinting to make you out across
the many miles that lay between us,
clapping, we hoped, in unison.
Could we be hyperlinked? Connected
through our screens? It seemed surreal.
But now HD, the wonder’s leeched
become mundane and yesterday.
I’ve been working on a painfully slow internet connection today. This reminded me of watching Roger Taylor’s record-breaking concert ‘Live at the Cyberbarn’ on dial up internet. How quickly things have changed!
(See: https://www.rogertaylor.info/facts-and-trivia/accolades/the-guinness-book-of-records/)
(25.01.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Poem 758 – Ode to 4′33″
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
Poem 739 – Chris Rea
The sound of flowing blues,
And slide of molten gold,
Those tapping dancing shoes
And notes of aching soul.
An humility of sound,
All time and never show,
The understated master,
Has finally made it home.
Another of my guitar heroes has left us. That slide guitar and gruff vocals.
(22.12.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Burak Erenoğlu on Unsplash
Poem 714 – Stumpf Fiddles & 78’s
The Duke takes to the stage,
Two suits and greying dreadlocks,
In hobo-chic and whimsy.
He owns it, we are his.
Beside him Chip, sidekick
In gramophone adventures,
An ever growing assembly
Of percussive curios.
Stumpf fiddles & 78’s,
Together weaving dreams,
They lead us through forgotten
And delicate shades of rhythm.
And as the applause begins
To fade, we find ourselves
Returned enriched, released,
We find, by a poet’s vision.
Thursday night we spent the evening in the company of the wonderful Duke Special and ‘Temperance Society’ Chip Bailey in an intimate gig in Colours, Hoxton. What a night.
(28.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 677 – As One
Making contact when conversation
doesn’t work, when words are sounds
that don’t come back, a look remains
ambiguous, devoid of meaning.
The simple joy of nursery rhymes
sung in a circle, face to face,
that bridge the gap, enliven souls,
provoke a smile and joining in.
The thrill of holding toddlers in the
palm of your hands, provoking laughter,
and drawing those who played apart
together into unison.
One of the joys of my week is doing time at Toddlers. It’s a magic moment when we caught up together as one.
(22.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash
