Spirituality

Poem 406 – Reaching for Heaven

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Picked out in Eden’s perfect white, you strain,
with necks outstretched, and reach for heaven’s doors.
Caught in between two worlds, your life is laboured
but here, serene in flight, as in the water;
gliding through the blue, God’s arrow shot,
an elegance outlined by morning’s sun.
Oh, that I could grasp a feather and fly
within this sky-born halo, but alas,
I fear my earth-bound fingers would find no purchase,
but slip right through to mourn what we have lost.

This morning a perfect V-formation of swans flew past our window, washed brilliant white by the sun. I pointed this out to my wife who said she knew what today’s poem would be about…
(25.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Mathijs de Koning on Unsplash

Poem 396 – A Time to Pray

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To speak of peace seems premature.
Don’t get me wrong, let’s celebrate
that shots might cease in Palestine
and missiles end and aid come in.
Let’s leap for joy at hostages’
release. However, that’s not new.
This land has known such ‘peace’ before.
True peace, shalom, salam is not
a lack of war, but no suspicion;
it isn’t tribulation’s end
instead its resolution.

News has been growing today of the long longed for ceasefire between Israel and Hamas.
(15.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dylan Shaw on Unsplash

Poem 388 – Farewell

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I’ll never forget the day you locked yourself
out of the house. You called for help – I came.
I broke into your bathroom by climbing onto
the garage roof and squeezing through your window.
Briefly, I hooked my belt around the latch,
which threatened to leave me undressed and hanging.

A deep sense of determination was written
on your face, reminding me of Mount
Rushmore, resolute and irresistible,
a pervading positivity that said
‘this can be done, let’s make the most of it’.
Pragmatic stoicism served you well.

But in your eyes I saw hidden emotion.
I saw your caring check of those around you
and presiding pride in friends and family.
You held my eyes, revealed intelligence,
weariness, frustration at all you’d lost,
until the last page was turned and Wordle done.

Setting out the chairs today felt wrong
as one was in your place – a weekly reminder,
as if one’s needed. Soon we’ll say goodbye.
Ever thoughtful, you’ve told us what you want.
Not wearing black, we’ll celebrate as one
a resolute life in story and joyful song.

Over Christmas we lost a long-term member of our weekly lunch at church. We’ll miss her. I met with the family today ahead of the funeral. These verses emerged from our conversation.
(07.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by 🇸🇮 Janko Ferlič on Unsplash

Poem 385 – The Christmas River

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Who knows what day it is this time of year?
With punctuation gone we wander through
The flowing hours, never changing gear,
And drift with nothing that we need to do.
The burbling moments trickle aimlessly
And wandering in their tide we meditate,
Sometimes parting to find some tributary
To idle in, then join to celebrate.
The space this absence gives is necessary,
Like sea around an island, it gives meaning,
Defining shape, allows us to be merry,
Highlighting that which lies behind the season.
And so with joy we join the angels’ mirth,
For Christ, God’s Son, our Saviour’s born on earth!

I originally got the date wrong when I posted my last poem. When this was pointed out I said ‘who knows what day it is this time of year!’ A good friend promptly threw down a gauntlet and challenged me to write a poem around that theme and he would do the same. Suspecting he would err towards something informal, I thought I’d go the opposite way and dive into the formal rhyming structure and second half twist of a sonnet!
(04.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 380 – Happiness

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The contented sound of bike wheels whirring
The lights remaining green
A slice of toast that’s browned just so
Remembering a dream

Predictive text that gets it right
Recalling someone’s name
A cup of tea that hits the spot
Unwrapping a new game

Holding an audience in my hands
The ridiculous neck of a giraffe
The sound of sparrows playfully squabbling
An innocent toddler’s laugh

A guitar that’s stayed in perfect pitch
Finding the end of the string
This is a list of some my
All time favourite things

Waking up before the alarm
And seeing your face smile
Realising there’s time to look again
And waiting there awhile

When Google reminds me of a memory
I actually want to see
A carefree day that’s spent with you
There’s nowhere I’d rather be

I’ve just finished Harry Baker’s poetry book, ‘Wonderful’. One poem is a list of things that bring him pleasure. Here are some of mine.
(19.12.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Nel Ranoko on Unsplash

Poem 374 – Christmas Streets

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There’s a certain symmetry
to walking the streets
delivering cards

These cards depict
the familiar scene
of Mary and Joseph

They’re kneeling beside
the only famous
manger known

Here the newborn
Christ-child lies,
come to walk in ours

I’ve been delivering the church’s Christmas cards around our local streets today, pondering the Christmas story as I did so (John 1:14).
(05.12.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Image by Andreas Böhm from Pixabay

Poem 370 – Advent

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A collective holding of breath,
the growing anticipation.
The draining down of sand
and dawning realisation.
A sense of something changing,
reversal of the tide.
The night is nearly over,
the day is close at hand.

It’s the first day of advent, the season when Christians look forward to the coming of Christ, both at Christmas and his return when he’ll make all things new.
(01.12.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Emmanuel Appiah on Unsplash

Poem 369 – The Advent Wreath

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The hedge was out of control,
its branches lined their vicious
spikes beyond the fence,
like medieval pikemen
stood ready for the charge.

There was but one reply!
I grabbed my shears and set
about their ranks with wild
abandon, sending limbs
flying in every direction.

Resisting, they made their mark:
my blood was shed, but alas,
for them, victory was mine
as fast they fell, and soon
lay scattered on the ground.

But this was not the end.
In remembrance I gathered the fallen,
twisting them into a wreath
and hanging them on the door;
a holly crown for the Christ.

I spent this morning pruning our hedgerow, including the holly bush. I’ve often pondered making my own wreath, and so today I gave it a go, at least the holly framework. Tomorrow, perhaps, I’ll add a splash of colour to go with it.
(30.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Poem 366 – Currently 2-0

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I should be writing a poem,
But it’s been a busy day,
Dealing with toddlers,
Shifting food,
Discussing the Bible,
Talking to church members,
Now the day’s done, and
Liverpool are beating Madrid,
So this will have to do.

Hopefully that’s game, set and match (to mix sports!)
(27.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Jannes Glas on Unsplash