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
Relationships
Poem 488 – Missing Mary
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)
Poem 487 – Old Eyes
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
Poem 485 – First Up
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)
Poem 482 – Pètanque
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
Poem 480 – Making Space
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
Poem 478 – The Price Of Experience
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
Poem 473 – Two Heads
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)
Poem 471 – Sailing Solo
Thirty years on and I’m still not bored
of being in your company;
we fit together you and I.
But sometimes I fancy some time to myself,
to do the things that you’re not into.
When those occasions come along
I make grand plans and varied lists,
and look forward to my solo adventures.
Perhaps I’ll ride my bike all day,
looking magnificent in lycra.
Or stay in bed and read a book,
from cover to cover, under the covers,
only emerging for food and drink.
Elsewise, I’ll grab my guitar, and cranking
up the volume to eleven, master
tricky licks and guitar god poses.
But when the day arrives, I find
myself unmoored, adrift in aimless
seas, wishing the silent hours
away, waiting for my rescue.
A restless weekend on my own.
(31.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Little John on Unsplash
Poem 467 – Enforced Intermission
For one afternoon
we had no internet.
The world didn’t end,
at least, not in real life.
No doubt the fires raged
on social media as
celebrities were cancelled,
politicians vilified,
and wild views justified.
Football pundits were stilled,
pop-up adverts burst,
and the only cookies crunched
had chocolate chips – no trolls
were fed today, just me.
Maybe Artificial
Intelligence took my place,
an algorithm wore
my face. I’d like to think
you’d spot the difference.
Our telephone
is still not working.
The silence lingers.
Oh what bliss…
Today we swapped broadband providers, and for one wonderful afternoon we were cut off.
(27.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Kristina Flour on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 