Politics

Poem 818 – Them Foreigners

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Sometimes, I wonder who the foreigners are?
The ones housed in a nearby hotel I’ve come
to know, whose humanity has touched my soul?
Who had to turn away, with shuddering shoulders,
fearful for their family in Iran?
The ones who persevered, despite their stuttering
tongues, to find a way across the gap?
Who strove to get a job and contribute,
caring in ways that we cannot or won’t?
Or those celebrating its closing down
by insisting ‘them foreigners aren’t welcome here’?

The more I’ve got to know our neighbours, the more I’ve seen our shared humanity.
(12.03.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Lisa Marie Theck on Unsplash

Poem 808 – Embrace the Grey

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As I’ve got older I’ve noticed
That grey has invaded my eye brows.
They are not alone.
Increasingly I find
It in my politics
And streaking my theology.
Gone are the days of black
and white and hairlines,
And close up I don’t see
So clearly anymore.

It’s not that I have lost
The idealism of youth,
I remain a dreamer,
But I have learnt in this world
Sometimes options are messy,
Not simply right or wrong.
This isn’t a dreary dullness,
An insipid washed out life,
But an edgy place of risk
That forces thought and faith.

I thought when I’d grown up
I’d know, you know, but no.
The certainties have gone
And all that’s left is hope,
And living on the line,
And love and love and love,
And nothing’s riskier than that.
And so I think and pray
And act and hope and trust
That Love is big enough.

Honestly demands me to admit that the older I get the less I think I know. Thankfully, amongst the debates and decisions, the question gets simpler, what does love look like here.
(02.03.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 807 – I Believe in Tomorrow

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Tomorrow bombs of confetti will
be dropped on those we disagree with.
Campaigns of generosity will
be inflicted on our enemies
and joyful marches will take place
protesting love for the stranger.
Tabloids will express a welcome
and social media will be social.
During elections our politicians
will say nice things about each other,
and spam bots will be used to give
good gifts to naive recipients.
Tomorrow the lion will lie with the lamb
whilst all colours will dance together.
I still believe tomorrow will come,
I do, but for now we just drop bombs.

I refuse to give up but sometimes it’s hard to hold onto hope.
(01.03.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Erik Brolin on Unsplash

Poem 802 – A Word Out Of Place

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A word out of place is ….. awkward
It forces us to walk around it,
navigate its corners carefully
lest we should bump ourselves.

The temptation is to ….. shout,
ironic really when you think
about the reason for its angle.
But grace is difficult and costs.

Grace calls on us to be the ones
who ….. hold the tower up when things
begin to topple. This may be
against the rules we share but such is ….. love.

It’s such a shame that what should have been such a celebration of John Davidson’s work at the BAFTAS was turned into something else.
(23.02.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Michał Parzuchowski on Unsplash

Poem 801 – Four Years

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Four years of yearning, of young men sent to war,
since tanks on tracks raised trouble in the streets
and reason ran away as they rolled in.
Of mighty men who make games of all our lives,
who push people like pawns upon chess boards,
greedily grabbing land for their own gain.
Of tears that tear a track down mothers’ cheeks
and bombs that blow their boys to smithereens
and drones that down their unborn naive dreams.

On 24 February 2022 Russian forces entered the Ukraine marking the start of the current phase of the war between them. A poem in alliterative verse seemed an appropriate way to mark it, an ancient style to mark a modern conflict; somethings don’t really change.
(23.02.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Jade Koroliuk on Unsplash

Poem 761 – The Cultural Pot

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The circling critics mass with clicking keys,
headlines angrily declaring that,
the multicultural culinary dish is dead.
They clearly haven’t tried our bubble and squeak.

Today a Brit, a Turk and a Kuwaiti worked
together, serving food to English neighbours.
Their dishes? Cuisine cooked from diverse cultures,
a blend of ingredients derived from different nations.

And as they did they shared from a common pot
of love and conversation. Send them home?
If we did, we’d find we’re left with silence, vacant
plates and empty hearts; a menu of empty lines.

I had a lovely afternoon today working at our foodbank with two volunteers both of whom have come from our Conversation Cafe for those who speak English and a second language.
(14.01.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 737 – Ten Lines, Ten Minutes

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I only had ten minutes to trace the journey
from heaven to earth, the Word to flesh descending.
The Son becoming one with us for love
takes on our form, enters fragility,
and there is shunned. Pursued they flee,
the holy family, to Egypt’s bosom.
Asylum sought, by strangers saved, until
at last they can return. Can time compress
this sacrifice? Ten minutes can’t suffice,
but asks us if we’d welcome them today.

I had the privilege of preaching at a local church’s carol service today, and the challenge of compressing the awe and challenge of Christmas into just ten minutes. I thought I’d try again in ten lines.
(21.12.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Kevin Bückert on Unsplash

Poem 722 – A Smaller Sofa

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It’s funny how the small things make a difference.
Our new sofa is smaller than the last;
it means we’re sitting closer. I think that counts.
There are too many things in life that pull us
apart to let soft furnishings join in.

When we were children the old cliché applied,
a cardboard box meant hours of fun ahead.
We’d play all day confined within its walls,
they kept us close and working out the rules
required for us to live our lives together.

We’re too sophisticated now within
our isolated bubbles. Arms’ length is safe.
Lurking behind a username we seek
community simply with those like us.
Perhaps it’s time to buy a smaller sofa.

A conversation this week reminded me of Ben Elton’s observation of the changing definition of community from living with those around you who are different from you, to it being seeking it those who think the same a you. And it’s true, we have a new sofa.
(06.12.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Pavel Boltov on Unsplash

Poem 692 – Under Atatürk’s Gaze

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A rumble of thunder rolls across the bay.
A portent of trouble? Uncertainty ahead, and
before too long rainfall joins the fray.
Thankfully with rain coats packed we’re ready
and soon it stops, the sun returns, the grey
clouds drift away. We’re not deterred, instead
we step on out, we’re hopeful for the day
and making the most of being by the Med.
The sun emerges, shadows mark our way.
We walk past golden Atatürk the head
of modern Turkey, tall and proud, today
a statue under whose purview we tread.

A dicey looking day turned out well with a lovely walk into Marmaris along the coast.
(06.11.25)

© Ben Quant 2025