Interviews and in-laws
No time to type today
But perceiving poetry in
All its alliteration
A busy day with no time for more than a quick scribble.
(12.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Álvaro Serrano on Unsplash
Relationships
Poem 635 – They’re Back!
A torrent of toddlers teaming in,
A stream of squealing, screaming sound,
A shouting, shoal of shiny din.
Pouring past our open doors,
Abandoning bags and boots around,
And flowing onto every floor.
Playdough, crayons and other craft,
Friendships on a seesaw found,
Filling the church with fun and laughter.
After the break we’re back on track,
So look out folks, toddlers are back!
Our toddler group returned today after the summer holidays. It was wonderful to have them back.
(10.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by E Hillsley on Unsplash
Poem 633 – Signs of Life
Did you know a house can die? It’s true.
Our neighbour died and like a loyal pet,
his house began to pine, the peeling paint
its tears, and spreading weeds its growing grief.
As beams decayed its backbone bent all hunched,
and boarded up, sad eyes began to close.
But even then the faintest pulse remained,
the finest thread of life tied on to hope,
a flicker waiting for resuscitation.
Today that longed for life at last moved in.
Going for an evening walk tonight, we notice that we have new neighbours.
(08.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Untitled Photo on Unsplash
Poem 632 – Cocktail Maths
Can two and two make five?
Depends on who you ask.
A mathematician? No way!
George Orwell? Ask Big Brother…
A parent? Might seem so.
But me? I’m sure it can.
Mix two congregations
and stir to make a drink
tastier than the sum.
Or start a conversation
between two different lands,
and all will be enriched.
A single flag is good
but I prefer a mashup
of loads of different ones.
It’s been a good day! A joint service to start with, an afternoon conversation with friends from our Conversation Café, and praying for local asylum seekers to end the day.
(07.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Kobby Mendez on Unsplash
Poem 630 – A Chinese Moveaway
A few months into university
I’d got used to you being away.
The house was ours again and, during
the working day, just mine. I’d play my music
loudly without the risk of disturbing you
and watch whatever I wanted to at lunch.
Is it wrong to say that it was good?
But Covid called and back you came. And stayed.
Today you put an offer on a house
and I am so, so thrilled for you, I am.
But I find inside that I’m not so ready
to say goodbye. An empty house no longer
seems as liberating as before.
I’m sure that I’ll get used to it, I will,
but today just feels a little sweet and sour.
Change is on the horizon.
(05.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Erda Estremera on Unsplash
Poem 624 – The Loft
A day of archaeology in the loft
Peeling back the layers through the years
Past Christmas trees and bags of decorations
Old cardboard boxes kept in case of need
The children’s toys kept for the grandchildren
Memories of precious moments housed in tins
Cards, photos, school books and a wedding dress
Reminders of those now no longer here.
A random iron in a grimy box
A bag of gifts given in Sierra Leone
A stash of trash in need of sorting through
Or treasure trove of objects that we own?
A day spent doing a bit of ‘spring’ cleaning.
(30.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Trnava University on Unsplash
Poem 617 – Such As These*
A simple slip of tongue produced
A gem of wisdom, profound adage,
After the laughter let it sink in,
‘It takes a child to raise a village’.
It takes a child to raise a village,
A simple soul to teach the wise,
The joy of life to lift the spirits,
An open heart to make us nice.
The awestruck face that greeted me
Striped back the pretensions that I relied on,
When walking along the roadside verge,
We stopped to admire a dandelion,
Eyes wide with wonder woke the weary,
My cynicism drained away,
I saw again as I used to see,
I wish this innocence would stay.
Instantly, children come together,
From strangers quickly friendships form;
Covenants of grace are forged in fun,
And from the games new life is born.
It doesn’t matter who they are,
Their colour, creed or place of birth,
Collisions occur, but are quickly
Forgotten and replaced with mirth.
We’ve long believed the well trod lie,
That wisdom comes with age, until
Much to our surprise we found the truth,
It takes a child to raise a village.
I listened to the excellent Adjoa Andoh at Greenbelt today. A slip of the tongue inspired this poem, married to an encounter with a three year old friend on a walk over day. (*Matthew 19:14)
(23.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jochen van Wylick on Unsplash
Poem 608 – A Summer Walk in Lee Valley
A summer’s evening walk with friends,
a stroll into the golden glow.
Beneath the leafy archways of
the reaching trees (a guard of honour?)
we stumble on Lee Valley’s secret
pathways and hidden island treasures.
The wander slows us down, affords
a chance for idle conversation,
for forging stronger bonds of friendship.
And as the night turns monochrome
we walk backwards through the years,
straying upon the wartime barges
abandoned to the encroaching reeds.
And by the time we make it home
we find our lives have been enriched.
Spent a pleasant hour and a half on a church summer social in the local countryside.
(14.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 607 – Character Forming
Cut through time to take a look,
examine me under the microscope,
assess my passage from the start,
the journey taken, years of growth.
Like rings within an ancient tree
revealed in hindsight by the axe,
or brickwork courses growing taller,
each one stacking on the last.
Or painted walls, each layer giving
deeper colour, gaining richness,
our lives mature, as we grow older,
building on their early promise.
Look carefully, see the DNA,
the chemical chains that snake through years,
parental nurture shaping outlook
the constraints of our family tree.
The trail is present from our birth,
outcome foreshadowed from the start,
our final face beneath the first,
foundations shaping who we are.
A combination of decorating and a nostalgic trip through our children’s school records, led me to reflect upon how much of who we become is present in who we were.
(13.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Joel & Jasmin Førestbird on Unsplash
Poem 601 – Past/Present Identity
Yesterday we delved into the past,
Chasing ancestors down ancient Devon streets.
Today, instead of lost ancestors, we found
The present in your picturesque terraces.
A surprise collision in Appledore’s Market Street
With contemporary branches of our family tree,
Reminded us that the past begets the present,
That gravestones generate identity.
Someone reads my poems! Much to our surprise Kate’s cousins read my poem about Bideford and got in touch because they were also in the area. Today last and present met.
(07.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Ode for the Day 