More than the sum of its days
A life is the strife endured
The joy experienced and
The problems overcome.
Its value lies in the web
Of relationships formed and
Love received and given.
Today has been a pastoral day, a day to reflect on what matters.
(13.01.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Mathew MacQuarrie on Unsplash
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
In our family, I suspect like many others,
the night before Christmas Eve is Christmas Eve Eve,
but what about the night a month before?
By now I have compiled a list of all
the tasks, and services, and carol concerts
to be conducted within that month.
There are cards to write and gifts to find and pack,
a turkey, cake and pud to source and cook,
and house to tidy before the family come.
This wall of tasks stands seemingly impregnable,
demanding time and creativity,
an imposing rock face needing to be scaled.
It will be daunting, how can we do it again?
What can I find to say, when all’s been said
and done? The pressure builds and builds.
However, the reckless thrill of expectation
draws me on, the joyful promise of
a labour’s end, found in Messiah’s birth.
We might not have started Advent yet, but there’s no getting away from the fact that the countdown has begun…
(24.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Edi Bouazza on Unsplash
Opening the covers,
the end seemed far away,
but now the pages turn
more quickly; the epilogue
is closer than the start.
I long to read your lines
more deeply, to understand
their meaning and import,
so that our entwining lives
may be mutually enriched.
When all is said and done,
when the story has been told,
let it be known that I’ve
known love and fully loved,
for love’s our one true end.
Following on from yesterday’s poem and The Cure’s latest album.
‘And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love’ (1 Corinthians 13:13).
(18.11.24)
Ode for the Day 