We like to think that time is constant
The regular tock of a ticking clock
But in night’s depth that rhythm is
Vandalised
Jarred
Disrupted in strange discomforting ways that stretch the hours until you fear they must have
Snapped
Whilst dark
It’s light enough to see the time
Its face shines from the bedside table
As laying I wrestle with surreal
Fractured thoughts that flit and tussle
Uncomfortable limbs that ache and toss
And tasks for urgent morning attention
Yet unlike mine it does not age
But gazes fixed upon my weary
Brain that cannot comprehend
Its strange nocturnal ways
Not the best night’s sleep last night and no real idea why. Watching Doctor Who’s Flux finale got me thinking about the nature of time and brought last night to mind.
(05.12.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Science, Technology & Medicine
Poem 50 – Chaos Theory
The rivulets flow gently down the window
Pane, where they mix and combine randomly
Forming patterns that will not be seen again.
Each stream a unique moment in time that
Once gone is lost and replaced by something
Else, new and similar but changed in strength
And form, each flow departing further than
The one that came before. Eventually
Perhaps the permutations will complete
And finally begin again, but if
They do the order will not match
Such, is this world’s complexity.
I opened the curtains this morning to the sight of rain running down our windows, reminding me of the famous scene in Jurassic Park where Jeff Goldblum’s character explains chaos theory by dripping water on his companions hand.
(03.12.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 49 – Seeking Superpowers!
Remember how it took a spider’s bite
To transform Peter Parker into that
Amazing spinning, swinging superhero?
I wonder what that makes me as I’ve had
Not one nor two but three sharp needle bites
And antibodies flood throughout my veins!
Alas it seems I haven’t been transformed
There is no lycra suit in my wardrobe
Today my only powers are aching limbs
Yesterday I had my Covid booster. Although I’m glad to have had it done, and as a former scientist would encourage everyone to do so, it’s left me feeling a little grim today. A small price.
(02.12.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 48 – An Omicron Christmas
Uncertainty brings bitterness and breeds
This mental hesitation, leading us
To hover over plans and pause before
We press the button and maybe withdraw
Brand new unknowns confuse and cause unease
When experts disagree in their response
Are parties on or off this Christmas season
To hold or not to hold that is the question
Listening to the news tonight various experts were asked if Christmas gatherings should be cancelled. There was not agreement…
(30.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 29 – I Think?
Where do my thoughts come from
Are they simply distillation
Of experiences lived and situations seen
A concept torn from conversation shared
Meme like infection spread
Is it true that there is nothing new under the sun
Were they never really mine
Merely a compilation of others’
Mashed, macerated and recompiled
Should I think therefore I am
(As someone once thought!)
Instead read
They think therefore I become
Uniqueness simply a statistical recombination
A regurgitation of what has been before
Is it not possible that in my being
Some organic Hadron Collider
Crashes borrowed insights
And from the impact sparks
Something new
Something me
Sitting down to write today having read a few poems online written by others and mulling over what to write, it struck me how hard it is to write something truly original. The words of the Teacher in Ecclesiastes came to mind:
What has been will be again,
Eccles. 1:9
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.’
Is it true that we have nothing original to offer?
(08.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 26 – Stolen
I lost my sense of smell today
Not misplaced, but silently taken
Stolen as I slept along with
Shower gel invigoration
The taste and satisfaction of
A freshly filtered fine coffee
And all that’s left’s a lingering hole
Olfactory fissure, fragrance flees
Thankfully my Covid symptoms have been mild, like a bad cold. Today, however, a big sniff of a pot of Vicks revealed the surreal truth, my sense of smell has gone. (Altered the second line today, 06.11.21, wasn’t quite happy with the rhythm before)
(05.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 21 – When is Good News Not Good News?
The results are in
It was positive
This strikes me as strange
Not the result but
Terminology
Positive should be
A good outcome or
News to celebrate
But sad to say this
Affirmative means
Hiding away from
Friends and family
Hoping and praying
That each imagined
Symptom vanishes
Not grows and becomes
Something more than a
Whisper or hint of
A misplaced breath or
Momentary flush
A twinging back or
Misplaced taste or smell
None of this seems that
Positive to me
Alas my Covid test results weren’t as hoped, although thankfully I’ve not got it badly at all. Reckon this period of isolation should prove productive for poem writing though once I’ve got my usual activities all covered…
(01.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 20 – Testing Times
Filtered faces disguise
Deep fakes deceive
Social media echo chambers
Brexit lies or frees
Fishing boats blockade
Protestors bar the way
Climate change deniers frustrate
Empty shelves just tease
Practise track and trace
Download the Covid app
Swab the tonsils jab the nose
Negative test please…
It’s been a confusing and tempestuous few years and to top it all I was just asked to take a Covid test...
(31.10.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 8 – An Ode to the Harvest Festival
Why celebrate Harvest in our technological age
When food is sown, grown and reaped afar
Arriving prepared, cooked and packaged in film
Just 3 minutes at 800 watts and voilà
Is this an annual grasping of a lost idyll
A pastoral dream of bygone days
An imagined ‘Good Life’ where we’re all farmers
For one day without pressures and rain
Now we’re encased in our towns it’s irrelevant
Shielded by wifi and data and 4G
When a click of a button summons crates to our doors
Full of tins, plastic trays and our tea
Perhaps now our harvest is on Instagram
In a zoom meeting or on a stage
A harvest of ideas and creation
Of electricity, fears and dreams made
But hasn’t the last year exposed the fallacy
Of systems frail that quickly become fraught
Locked down in our home we can no longer see
The shortages that we’ve bought
The queues at food banks become longer
It seems that we’re all overdrawn
Is it time for us to stop and ponder
Is it because from its source we’ve been shorn
Have we learnt that our harvest is precious
Farmers, drivers and shopkeepers too
Perhaps after all this celebration
Is a relevant thing to do
As a Fen boy, the annual Harvest Festival seemed a natural thing to do, after all I grew up surrounded by fields full of corn and farmers complaining about the forecast downturn in the weather. But now I work just outside London and this world seems far away. Every year as I lead our Harvest Festival as a minister, I find myself asking the question, what does harvest mean here, and wondering if we need to broaden its definition to include all forms of fruitful endeavour. Perhaps this last year, however, with the pandemic, panic buying and pressures on supply lines has highlighted once more just how important our food and its harvest is.
(15.10.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 6 – To Boldy Go…
No longer has no man been before
Because he, our childhood’s captain, finally went
Taking off whilst nearing his final frontier
That common countdown which all approach
Strapped secure, he faced the black abyss
Before briefly free from bodily constraint
Knowing perhaps a foretaste of future bliss
Until mass once more became weight
Returning back toward the blue planet
And terra firma firmly beneath his feet
Ecstatic smile described upon our screens
Captain Kirk’s come home
Inspired by the journey into near space by William Shatner, the actor who played the part of Captain James T Kirk of the Starship Enterprise in Star Trek, at the age of 90.
(13.10.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Image by NBC Television – eBay itemphoto frontpublicity release, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16442606