An evening out
With my best friend
A Sunday roast
With idle chat
A glass of red
Obligatory pud
Home for coffee
In time for bed
Our son’s had friends around for dinner, a perfect excuse to make ourselves scarce and to enjoy our own.
(04.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Roppo Baker on Unsplash
I hear the breathing of this house,
it’s silent yet it’s full of noise.
The creaking of its ribs as lungs
flex in and out. A clock, its pulse,
as blood pumps through its corridors.
The freezer’s drone denotes its thought.
The walls it wraps around me, an
embrace, to hold me tight and safe.
Later, I’ll hear creaking springs,
as it relaxes next to me
and dreams.
I realised late this morning, that I’d been home in silence since first thing, except it wasn’t silent, and I wasn’t truly alone.
(01.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Sifting through old tapes
Memories resurrected
Fitting for today
After a packed morning service this morning, I’ve enjoyed a day with family, so only a short one today.
(20.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Josh Chiodo on Unsplash
When I arrived you’d shout my name, ‘Ben’,
and beckon me over with an insistent wave.
A kiss on the cheek, and an enquiry as to where
I live. ‘Near to your daughter’ I’d reply.
You gave everybody your attention,
knew all your neighbours names and how they were,
although you’d talk about them too loudly, and asked after us and our families, one after the other.
At some point in the service you’d break
into a rendition of, ‘Oh When the Saints!’ –
it didn’t seem to matter when or why.
Eventually, I’d find the key and play along.
We’d swap stories of Scotland, holidays,
and churches we’d attended in our times.
Marching above with your beloved saints
Are you still heckling beyond the pearly gates?
I learnt today that a friend at the local nursing home where I take services died recently. Goodbye Mary, and thank you.
(17.04.25)
A thousand faces stacked upon the desk.
Rewinding back in time, their faces flux,
the layers peel, year after year, devolving
to disclose the child back at the start.
Upon the floor I see myself, only,
at first I do not recognize this stranger.
The face looking up at me there is not
the face I wear today, its features shod.
But it’s always the eyes that give the game away
as eye to eye we size each other up,
mirrors of the soul reflecting upon
each other in perpetual recognition.
Whilst I’ve been working, my wife has been sorting through old photos next to me. Quite a trip down memory lane.
(16.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
A book, a cup of tea,
Bird song for company,
And the breathing silence
Of a sleeping house.
The silence is alive.
Listening, I take stock,
Take note of vital signs:
The rhythm of its clock,
The creaking of its ribs,
Airflow through passages.
Slowly she starts to stir;
Occasional murmurs grow
In frequency and strength
Until a final stretch
And up, at last, it gets.
I was up first today, and had my breakfast on my own. This poem started then, both as a reflection on the quietness, but also a chance to play around a little with rhyme.
(14.04.25)
SMACK! Smashed gravel flies.
A shower of shards are scattered
as the boule descends.
Crashing into its target,
it sends it scything across
the crunching gravel court.
With pumping fists, the players
cheer, opponents groan,
their pole position lost.
One final fling, all hope
is pinned on nicking the nearest
boule placed by the jack.
A pause for silent prayer
before the bending player
looses their last chance…
Today we spent a lovely sunny time with friends, culminating in a tight hand of petanque. We lost, joy won.
(11.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Caroline Hernandez on Unsplash
Today, I’m making space for conversation
Pushing back the barriers to speech
Setting out the chairs around the table
Ensuring everybody has a place
Putting on the kettle, making tea
Meeting everybody with a smile
Whiling away the hours with open questions
Offering our guests the gift of time
I’ve been reflecting on the impact of our foodbank layout on our visitors, and have decided that it’s time to ring the changes.
(09.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Aditya Kulkarni on Unsplash
The foal sleeps;
its newborn mind
a blank canvas
that only knows
this present peace.
Experienced,
love stands on guard;
the mother finds her
peace in the breathing
of its child.
Another take on yesterday’s scene/poem
(07.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Fabien Maurin on Unsplash
An honest conversation,
A sharing of opinions,
Through letting our guards down,
And trusting one another.
Revealing ignorance,
And asking searching questions,
Opening to the other,
Two heads better than one.
I’ve had a day of activities and meetings today. A common thread has been a series of cracking conversations where we’ve genuinely learnt from each other.
(02.04.25)
Ode for the Day 