Poem 272 – Bridging

This morning we broke bread with you.
This bread, freshly baked beforehand,
was tossed from one to another until
we all had enough to eat; a modern-
day feeding of the five thousand.

It was an unexpected twist,
this rugby ball distribution that
worked so magnificently, hilariously.
I laughed until I realised that
I could not toss Christ’s bread to you.

I could not toss it because of the wall
that stood between us, the wall from which
your enlarged face appeared and spoke.
I could not toss it because of the shrinking perimeter penning you in your home.

Remember the collapse of the Berlin Wall?
Walls can be bridged, dismantled, toppled,
but what can bridge the gap between us?
Only the outstretched bread of Christ,
the refusal to be enemies.

The biggest event at Greenbelt is the Sunday morning communion service. This morning it was supposed to be led by Daoud Nassar from Bethlehem. Sadly he could not join us, increased illegal settler activity around his farm, ‘The Tent of Nations,’ meant that he felt he had to stay. Instead he joined by live link, speaking from a large video screen. He and family refuse to respond to the threat with violence and instead seek to withstand peacefully, with the words ‘we refuse to be enemies’ emblazoned on their wall.
https://tentofnations.com/
(25.08.24)

© Ben Quant 2024



Poem 267 – Numbers

Numbers is found in the Jewish Torah,
the Christian Old Testament,
and the Muslim Tawrat.
It contains the lists of the living.

All three also share
an eye for an eye
and a tooth for a tooth.

Here are some numbers,
but this time the dead
not the living.

In Hamas’ attack
the 7th of October
1139 Israelis were killed.
251 taken hostage.
Each number a person.
Each person a family.
Each family a community.
Each one, one of us.

They say overall
more than 40,000 Palestinians
have died in response.
Each number a person.
Each person a family.
Each family a community.
Each one, one of us.

These numbers don’t scan
or make easy poetry
but that’s not the point.
They’re awkward.
They should be.

Now I don’t know
if these numbers are true
but I know that an eye for an eye
and a tooth for a tooth
was meant as a concession
and not an instruction,
a limit to violence
and not an extension.
I also know that each
one is too much,
that piling more on
won’t get us to zero.

Do call me naive
or say I’m simplistic
but to me it is simple:
violence breeds violence
and might isn’t right.
There’s only one way
we can stop this increase
and that is to stop.

It’s hard to know at a distance how reliable the numbers we’re hearing from this conflict are, but clearly they’re high. Sometimes the bravest and strongest response is to have the courage to ‘turn the other cheek’ as Jesus said in his commentary on ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’. Naive? Perhaps. Risky, certainly. But…
(20.08.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Emad El Byed on Unsplash

Poem 255 – 1,000

1,000 standing shoulder to shoulder,
a peaceful declaration that
enough’s enough, it’s time to stop

1,000 saying silently that
the rowdy aren’t the loudest and
their voices will be swamped by love

1,000 showing bravely that
our country isn’t built on borders,
false lines between the few and many

1,000 shouldering responsibility
for the nature of our land
and asylum seekers seeking safety

Inspired by the communities gathering in response to the recent riots.
(08.08.24 – edited 09.08.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 251 – Under Our Flag

Since when is stealing shoes,
burning bins or smashing windows,
a form of discourse rather than violence?

Since when is encircling hotels,
hurling abuse and chucking stones,
a form of protest rather than a siege?

Since when is wearing a balaclava
standing up to be counted
rather than hiding one’s guilt?
And spreading misinformation
not a barefaced lie?

If you have a legitimate reason to protest,
protest legitimately, not like this,
not under our flag.

Like many, I’m bewildered and shocked by the scenes in our country right now.
(04.08.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Pawel Janiak on Unsplash (representative image, not from the current situation)

Poem 222 – Christmas 2023

If Christ was born today
he’d not be manger bound
but laid within the dust.

This year there’d be no shepherds,
nor angelic song,
sirens will sound the welcome.

With Banksy grafitiing
four bombers on a stop sign,
no dreams are required to run.

Joining the refugee train
I find myself pleading
where have the wise men gone…

This poem was inspired by the photo, a nativity scene outside Christmas Lutheran Church, Bethlehem in the occupied West Bank. Exploring the Christmas story with the events unfolding in the Palestine/Israel this season has had quite a different feel to it.
(25.12.23)

© Ben Quant 2023

Poem 207 – Stranger-Danger (or ‘To Peddlers of Fear’)

It started with a journey on
the road to Jericho,
a dangerous route through dark shadows
that gathered down below,
where gruff bandits would grimly wait
to bring brave travellers low.

One cudgel swing is all it took
to land a stunning crack.
It sent our traveller spinning round
and landing with a thwack.
They stripped him of his clothes and riches
ripped them from his back.

It’s time to turn the inside out
and bring the outside in,
to learn that God sees everyone
with love despite our sin.

But do not fear he’s not alone
behind him comes a priest,
the highest in the hierarchy
the first at any feast,
you’d like to think that he would stop
and offer hope at least.

But no, he crosses over to
the far side of the street,
then hurries past without delay
propelled by hasty feet,
you see, he fears that blood’s unclean
and he could be deceased.

It’s time to turn the inside out
and bring the outside in,
to learn that God sees everyone
with love despite our sin.

Next up a Levite walking fast
to catch up with his friend.
They both work at the temple and
he’ll meet him round the bend,
but look, he spies the battered body
and I guess, you guess, the trend!

His mate has made his mind up for him
not stopping to assist,
a guilty grin then moving on
he did not want to miss,
the chance to make their rendezvous
their plans, his needs, dismissed.

It’s time to turn the inside out
and bring the outside in,
to learn that God sees everyone
with love despite our sin.

So who’s up next in this our list?
You’d guess an average bloke,
someone who had a normal job,
one of the common folk,
but no, it’s stranger-danger time,
take care, this is no joke.

You see the next to come along
is not from round these parts,
he’s one of ‘them Samaritans’
no, he won’t have a heart,
’cause they’re a bunch of heretics
From true faith they depart.

It’s time to turn the inside out
and bring the outside in,
to learn that God sees everyone
with love despite our sin.

Without a moment’s hesitation
he stoops to check him out,
to wash his wounds and bind them up
without a single doubt,
then tenderly he lifts him on
his donkey strong and stout.

From there he risks a journey to
a nearby Jewish inn.
He gives the host two coins to start
if they would care for him
and promises that he’ll return
to ensure that they’re quids-in.

It’s time to turn the inside out
and bring the outside in,
to learn that God sees everyone
with love despite our sin.

This story ended with a question
to an expert in the law,
‘which one was like a neighbour
to the man left on the floor?’
He found it hard to say although
we know, he knew, for sure

‘The one who showed him mercy’ was
the most he could reply.
It’s easy to see good in those
we love, but hard to try,
to see it in the ones we hate
the ones we’d rather die.

You peddlers of the politics
of fear and hate and lies,
who spread a gospel telling us
who we must all despise,
I’m sure that Jesus would cry out
‘Please go and do likewise!’

It’s time to turn the inside out
and bring the outside in,
to learn that God sees everyone
with love despite our sin.

A couple of years ago I discovered the joy of Bob Hartman’s Rhyming Bible. Having explored the parable of the Good Samaritan at church last Sunday, I thought I’d have a go at rendering it along similar lines, although mine comes with a little bite at the end, as befits Jesus’ parables and, dare I suggest, politics. It has a refrain, meant for everyone to read along to.
(30.09.23)

© Ben Quant 2023

Photo by Ggia, dust spots/scratches removed by Kim Hansen. Edges cropped due to scan. Further restoration improvements using masks by Ggia., CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Poem 174 – Fusion Cooking

Ingredients:
blend together
two unrelated
cuisines or musical
languages

Outcome:
a fusion dish
of novel taste
an auditory
revelation

Ingredients:
two particles
accelerated
at speed into
a forced collision

Outcome:
explosive wave
of energy
reveals sub-
atomic secrets

Ingredients:
grab unrelated
ideas and hurl
together hard
to see what happens

Outcome:
metaphorical
generation
conceives surprising
ideas and insights

Ingredients:
a man, a woman
heat up their hormones
stir DNA
and leave to sit

Outcome:
new life erupts
through pain and joy
familiar yet
distinctly different

But still…
we build
our walls
close down
the channels
shut down
surprise
take cover
behind
our slogans
fearful
of what
might be
and be
discovered

This started life as a poem about poems and metaphors for World Poetry Day, but finished up as something quite different as I combined not just this and other interests of mine whilst reflecting on a local hotel housing asylum seekers.
(23.03.23)

© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by John Legrand on Unsplash

Poem 168 – The Week’s Weft & Warp

Weft
The Ayatollah screams, in ’89,
his cruel fatwa over Rushdi, judgement
upon his blasphemous work. In contrast,
proud fist raised in 90, Mandela stands
defiant, tasting freedom. His smile disarms.

Warp
Go back. In ’83 bold scoundrels snatch
Shergar from underneath our noses, boldly
driving their horsebox to his door. Go further.
In ’52, the King is dead. A princess
is lost in Kenya, long live our new found Queen.

This week winds back and forth, its tapestry
an intertwining web. Created by
its stitches, we’re not free but bound and shaped,
informed and influenced, held by its threads.
However, choice exists; we choose which strands
to trace and which to weave for those to come.

Inspired by the BBC’s ‘This Week in History’ earlier this week (8-14th February).
(11.02.23)

© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by hp koch on Unsplash

Poem 142 – An Ode to Greenbelt ’22

Black ants process along the guide rope of
Our holy canopy, where angels throng
Joint pilgrimage, a quest for nourishment
Of souls and stomachs, set forth in hope and prayer

A lazy dragonfly flies by, whilst up
Above the sun beats down and walks amongst
Visiting us in chance relationships
Forged over camping gas and mugs of tea

A poet finds his voice once more, relieved
As with a T-Rex roar the crowd roars back
Priestly connections made between two worlds
In flesh upon the lawns, presence restored

Debating democracy and climate change
Reversing alarms sound out. Ironic
But can the church evolve, and should it?
Wake up! Jerusalem can be renewed

Advice is given, go and goof around with
Dead poets, the deader the better
Forgive and be compassionate to yourself
And don’t forget it’s not all about us

The mic is muted, accidental silence
The air is filled, its tense anticipa…
…tion breaks with cheers, the crew
Thrust unexpectant on the stage, our heroes

We sit and listen to those we disagree with
In hope that we might learn something we’d missed
By existing only in our echo chambers
And from this dissonance we reach for more

And then to end the boundaries blur, the stage
Dismantled means as one we lift our song
And bid farewell ’till next time when we gather
‘Cause, this field never fails or disappoints

Greenbelt Festival is an annual gathering centred around artistry, activism and belief, currently in the lawns of Boughton House, Kettering. For me it’s an regular retreat, a place I go to be refreshed, provoked and encouraged. It’s part of my punctuation and I’ve missed it the last two summers. In these verses I’ve tried to capture something of this year’s experience. Naturally, it will make most sense if you were there with me, as it references a variety of incidents and highpoints, and maybe the odd in joke. If you were there, you might spot some of them. Confession, some of the lines have been nicked…
(02.09.22)

© Ben Quant 2022

Poem 110 – Adam’s Drums

That old drum beat begins to sound once more
A pounding that propels the soldiers feet
Forward despite their tightly tied blindfolds
Momentum that once built is slow to stop

Is this an echo of a former rhythm?
A conflict of two dominant worldviews
Or is it deeper, hidden, our hardwired
Propensity to tend to selfish interest?

Across Ukraine the battle blunders on
And protests rise against the perpetrators
But when I look inside I sadly see
Those same old seeds do germinate in me

Whilst some may cite our finite human nature
Others the doctrine of original sin
Which one of us has never wanted to
Snatch what we could or lash out in our fury

So whilst I pray for peace in Putin’s war
And angry ask for his just punishment
I also seek forgiveness for myself
A hope that’s hypocritical I’m sure

I caught Jeremy Bowen saying something about the drum beat of the cold war in the current conflict in Ukraine. Got me thinking about the different drums we respond to
(26.03.22)

© Ben Quant 2022