Science, Technology & Medicine

Poem 547 – p=mv

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Sir Isaac Newton said momentum equals
an object’s mass times its velocity.
But where is time in that? Experience says
that time can have momentum, that driving force
that urges onwards, ever resolute.
Yesterday’s year becomes tomorrow’s week,
eighteen years a day, with time opposing
speed, becoming faster as I get slower.

We said farewell to a local minister today. It feels as if she’s just arrived, and yet it’s been 18 years. How does that work?
(15.06.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ahmad Ossayli on Unsplash

Poem 467 – Enforced Intermission

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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

Hear me read today’s poem

Poem 462 – Missing

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All was quiet the first time we walked here –
except for the birds. The birds were singing loudly,
so loudly in fact that their melody hurt our ears.
Later, we learnt they were actually quieter than before, only now, devoid of cars and people,
their melody could actually be heard.

We walked this way again, today, without
the fear of meeting others. This time it was
the cars that shouted, roaring as they passed,
angry, desperate to be moving on.
I could see the birds were screaming but
their tortured song was muffled, faint and lost.

Five years on from the start of the pandemic, Spring is here, and with it the birds’ melodious song – if you can hear it, that is.
(22.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Tyler Jamieson Moulton on Unsplash

Poem 453 – O+

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‘Your blood is precious’
But can I give?

A sharp quick prick on
my outstretched finger.

One bead of blood,
red, thick with life.

All hesitate,
will it descend?

The droplet falls,
a nod is given.

I donated blood today. My haemoglobin test is always borderline, I often fail, and so it’s always a trend moment when I’m tested.
(13.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by LuAnn Hunt on Unsplash

Poem 444 – Old Gods

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Psalm 19:1 NIV
The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.

Raising my smartphone to the skies I search
the heavens for their ancient inhabitants;
modern tech becoming a prayer calling
the old gods to be modern occupants.

Small Mercury, messenger to the gods,
flits faintly between the horizon’s distant flames,
hiding from sweet Venus’ advances
as she shines upon young lovers’ nocturnal games.

Above, King Jupiter reigns from his heavenly throne
causing me to crick my neck not bend my knee.
Finally, hawkish Mars asserts his strength
his face flushing in his angry fury.

This revelation thrills me as I learn
the identities of these distant glowing bulbs,
I revel in the glory of these prizes
as they’re poured from creation’s laden treasure vaults.

I was introduced to the Stellarium app recently. I took it out for a whirl at 6.30 this evening to discover I could see four planets in the sky with the naked eye. Amazing.
(04.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by isaac sloman on Unsplash

Poem 398 – Call Centre Blues

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Your call is important to us
So we’re placing you in a queue
And playing some lovely music
For you to listen to

Your call is important to us
So we’re recording every word
We’ll listen back to it often
To learn from what we’ve heard

Your call is important to us
Along with the other ninety-nine
We’re looking forward to speaking to you
When we finally have the time

Your call is important to us
We’ll hang onto every jot
We’re sorry to leave you waiting
But abruptly this call must

I’ve had the joy of feeling with a few call centres recently. Occasionally one comes along that is great (thank you Indra), but often it’s a nightmare.
(17.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by LumenSoft Technologies on Unsplash

Poem 395 – Installing Washing Machines

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It always sounds straightforward
in the manual. Simply
remove the packaging,
undo the bolts and then
attach the pipe and hose.
Turn on the water. Pray
(it doesn’t say this but
I find I always do).

It always sounds straightforward
but bolts stick then they snap.
Attaching pipes requires
amazing acrobatic
acts behind the units.
Despite how tight you tighten,
the water always leaks.
I swear then pray some more.

This evening I installed a new washing machine. I think it’s sorted, but I won’t know until we use it. Of course to check all’s good, I’ll have to get behind it yet again to look for puddles…
(14.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Leif Christoph Gottwald on Unsplash

Poem 379 – After the Flu

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That strange out of body feeling,
As you venture out for the first time,
To find the world has continued without you.

Peripheries blur in slow motion.
You float above your advancing steps,
Wondering if Armstrong felt like this.

Someone has switched gravity off,
Time is definitely running slow,
But being out? That’s one giant leap forward.

Having written a poem a day every day since the start of August, the momentum finally went last week when we all came down with the flu. Back into the fullness of life this week as we head towards Christmas.
(18.12.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by v2osk on Unsplash