Spirituality

Poem 508 – All Out To Sea

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Too early and perhaps too young, she stands
alone and yet surrounded, hands outstretched.
All my attempts to make a difference fail;
my smiles are insufficient and my games
cannot cut through her tears. Only her carer’s
arms can placate her fears and anchor her.

Once, as a child I lost my way, turned right instead
of left. Before I knew it, I found myself
out by the flat horizonless fenland fields.
Realising what had happened, I backtracked,
quickly returning down the road I’d taken.
The waves of doubt lingered ’till I got home.

An adult now, I sometimes find myself
cast off and at the mercy of the deep.
I’m not the first to sail these waters, nor shall
I be the last. This does not stop the waves.
Aware of rocks, I scan the sea for signs
of you, knowing no peace until I’m home.

Inspired by a child at Toddlers today, who was inconsolable unless she was in her carer’s arms.
(07.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ryunosuke Kikuno on Unsplash

Poem 503 – Windows of the Soul

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He sits, intently fixing me
with ancient eyes that see and know.
They hold me not directly but
obliquely. Nevertheless, they have
the measure of me, weighing me up,
appraising character and work.
I wonder what he sees in there.
I also gaze into his soul
and find within familiar landscape,
a long lost brother clad in orange.

One of the highlights of our visit to Port Lympne Safari Park was the orangutans. Watching and being watched by someone so close to being a human was highly moving.
(02.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 501 – Upon the Cusp

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The husk rests dry and dead
within the dark cold ground,
and sleeps the winter through
until the warm spring’s tug.

The right conditions call
it forth; a conversation,
a word, a revelation,
that stirs and wakes potential.

A downward delving for
the deepest nutrient
and reaching for the light,
the outshoots of new growth.

And from Good Friday’s husk
comes Easter’s child, who reaches
up with outstretched hands
and tottering first steps.

A conversation earlier today reminded me of my first steps to faith.
(30.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dibakar Roy on Unsplash

Poem 495 – Seeking Faith

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Tonight, a room of strangers
Set out on an adventure
Not knowing where they’d end up
But setting out regardless

Guided by their questions
And listening to each other
They found a path together
Searching for some answers

Having different perspectives
They expected different opinions
But overlapping views
Lead to a richer treasure

Tonight was our first Alpha session, always an exciting exploration of faith. https://alpha.org.uk/
(24.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Felix Rostig on Unsplash

Poem 489 – The End?

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Time’s up
Run out
Lost cause
No doubt
Bitter end
No hope
Flat battery
End of the rope
Last orders
A closing chapter
Dying words
Killed in anger
The final nail
Struck in the rod
It is finished
The Son of God
The curtain ripped
The sky turned black
But have no fear
He will be back

A poem for Good Friday. John 19:30 meets Arnie Schwarzenegger…
(18.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Poem 488 – Missing Mary

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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)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Duc Van on Unsplash

Poem 479 – Home to Roost

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Each dusk they fly in flocks
Across the inky sky
A gathering murmuration

And as the starlings gather
Bats begin to flit
And weave their frantic patterns

This transit brings to mind
Another distant view
The passing of the sun

We gathered in your garden
Equipped with tinted glasses
To watch the solar eclipse

Back then, as now, the birds
Flew across the horizon
Going home to roost

But soon it’s time for you
To take to wing and pass
Go heading home to roost

Fly safely, my old friend,
Through this liminal place
And soon the sun will shine

The starlings are massing as night falls.
(08.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jan Haerer on Unsplash