Yesterday it rained,
Today it’s raining,
I feel responsible…
Tomorrow’s assembly?
Noah and the Ark.
It’s damp outside…
(14.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jose Fontano on Unsplash
Spirituality
Poem 638 – Cycling in the Rain
Back at the very start,
The rain no longer matters.
I smile because the miles
Are done, the hills are past,
The churches all ticked off.
Somehow, the heavens opening
Seems appropriate.
I jump for joy in puddles
Thinking, there should be
A lamppost standing by,
For me to dance around.
I took part in the Bike ‘n’ Hike today, raising funds to maintain local historic churches. 24 churches visited over 34 miles, over 2.5 hours on the move. I’m out of practice, the legs turned to jelly after a bit, but thoroughly enjoyed myself.
(13.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 634 – Redeveloping Faith
Another grant sought
Moving forward step by step
Believing in God
Another busy day seeking grants for the church redevelopment project: https://wormleyfreechurch.org.uk/redevelopment-project/
(09.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poems 629 – Action Hero Gospel
Opening the cover marks the start
Of an adventure into the unknown.
Who knows what waits between its sheets?
Entire countries lie within.
Like contour lines the black and white
Align to mark its ups and downs.
The turns and bends we find therein,
Those tricky twists, guide and surprise us.
The pace leaves us breathless in wonder
We struggle to keep up with the action.
Turning the page, we find that Christ
Has roared on to the next horizon.
We started a series of evenings tonight exploring Mark’s Gospel with a group of church-goers and non-church-goers. A great conversation with valuable insights from everyone.
(04.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ales Krivec on Unsplash
Poem 623 – Trapped
The sound invades the street, a bitter echo.
Its chants catch in my clothes and tangle
in my hair, the hatred harries me
along the street. I feel defiled and lost.
Dislocated, this isn’t the home I knew.
I want to wash my hands of it with tears,
to wash away the anger and the fear,
but Pilate comes to mind disowning Christ.
Like him I long to act, to turn the tide
to shout a better case, scrub it away,
adorn the posts with love and streets with welcome,
but what to do that will not make it worse?
Walking past, am I guilty of collusion?
Like him I’m helpless, caught in indecision.
Tonight we walked past the growing protests outside a local hotel used to house asylum seekers. I long to get across that this isn’t how everyone feels, how I feel, but how to do this constructively?
(29.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Sean Horsburgh on Unsplash
Poem 621 – St. George
I’ve been away for several days.
Returning, I found our roundabout
adorned in red, the cross of St. George.
What joy to find this Turkish knight
beloved and buried in Palestine,
defender of the vulnerable,
venerated around the world,
witness to the compassion of Christ,
admired by Cross and Crescent alike,
adored in this my neighbourhood.
Our neighbourhood has become adorned by red crosses. I’m not convinced they stand for the same things as St. George…
(27.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 619 – After the Field
Back home, unpacked,
clothes in the wash,
me in the wash,
kit stowed away,
crashed out upon the sofa.
After five days
outside beneath
the big blue sky,
inside feels strange,
confined, cut off, unnatural.
And yet I know
I’ll soon adjust,
quickly revert,
freedom exchanged
for familiar shackles.
Back from Greenbelt, it’s lovely to be with family again, but being inside feels odd.
(25.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 618 – Over?
The last song is done
The stage will be dismantled
Your presence lingers
I wrote another poem today, but I’m not so sure about posting it, so here’s an end of Greenbelt haiku.
(24.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 617 – Such As These*
A simple slip of tongue produced
A gem of wisdom, profound adage,
After the laughter let it sink in,
‘It takes a child to raise a village’.
It takes a child to raise a village,
A simple soul to teach the wise,
The joy of life to lift the spirits,
An open heart to make us nice.
The awestruck face that greeted me
Striped back the pretensions that I relied on,
When walking along the roadside verge,
We stopped to admire a dandelion,
Eyes wide with wonder woke the weary,
My cynicism drained away,
I saw again as I used to see,
I wish this innocence would stay.
Instantly, children come together,
From strangers quickly friendships form;
Covenants of grace are forged in fun,
And from the games new life is born.
It doesn’t matter who they are,
Their colour, creed or place of birth,
Collisions occur, but are quickly
Forgotten and replaced with mirth.
We’ve long believed the well trod lie,
That wisdom comes with age, until
Much to our surprise we found the truth,
It takes a child to raise a village.
I listened to the excellent Adjoa Andoh at Greenbelt today. A slip of the tongue inspired this poem, married to an encounter with a three year old friend on a walk over day. (*Matthew 19:14)
(23.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jochen van Wylick on Unsplash
Poem 616 – We Believe
As starlings start to murmur
We party under the watchful
Eye of the Gazan Lighthouse
Dreaming of a day
When all can dance together
Flocking from all nations
One human family
It’s been a cracking first full day in the Greenbelt field.
(22.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
