Spirituality

Poem 363 – 24th November

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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

Poem 357 – The End

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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)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Mr Xerty on Unsplash

Poem 356 – Nothing Is Forever, But…

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SONGS can be sonic portals, dioramas,
OF youthful memories long forgotten,
A door through which, released, our senses tumble,
LOST landscapes wherein we dance with arms outstretched,
a WORLD of angst yet somehow hopeful.

I’ve been listening to The Cure a lot recently, especially their latest album, the terrific ‘Songs of a Lost World’. Despite Robert Smith’s obvious awareness of aging and mortality, and their classic gothic sound, I find so much of their music strangely uplifting. (And yes, that is me in the photo…)
(17.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 353 – The Tree

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This heart,
With reaching veins
That stretch out heavenward,
And arteries penetrating deep,
Births life.

A short one tonight. I discovered the cinquain poem form this morning, that has a pattern of 1, 2, 3, 4, 1 stresses in each line in turn, and thought I’d have a go. The shape suggested the content.
(14.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Brandon Green on Unsplash

Poem 349 – Remember

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Pin on the poppies
Line up the flags

Lay out the wreaths
Grieve for the past

Stand still in silence
Remember the dead

Hold onto our history
Learn from those left

I had the privilege today of speaking at our local Scout Group’s Remembrance Sunday event.
(10.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 339 – Ghosts

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I am haunted, accompanied by ghosts,
the shadows from my past that lived and laughed
with me, shared my life, my joys and struggles.
These shades have made me who I am, they are
my friends, my skin, my thinking and my guides.
They aren’t to be exorcised but celebrated,
recognised, remembered, invited in.

At Halloween I celebrate my friends and family that went before me.
(31.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Erik Müller on Unsplash

Poem 337 – Hopefully-Not-A-Talking Heads Haiku

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We’re on the road to…
Somewhere, but we don’t quite know
Exactly where yet!

The second day of our church movement’s annual conference is done, and so am I – I help run it and only ever make it through with a combination of adrenaline, caffine and prayer! We’re on a journey over the three days of thinking about where we’ve come from, where we are, and where we might be heading next.
(29.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQiOA7euaYA
Photo by rafa espada on Unsplash

Poem 334 – A Life Given

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‘O that I may be
more and more useful
to the souls of my fellow creatures.

I want to be every moment
all life, all zeal, all activity
for God, and ever on the stretch
for closer communion with him.’

A life poured out fully.
Every single
last
drop.

On Monday I’m giving a talk at The Connexion conference on Selina, the Countess of Huntingdon. In my preparation I’ve been struck and struck again by the way she dedicated her whole life to her work. The two opening stanzas are her own words.

See also Poem 327.
(26.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Portrait by John Russell, used with permission of Trustees of the Cheshunt Foundation, Westminster College, Cambridge.

Poem 333 – If Only

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If only could go back and remix my life
so that it sounded like it was always meant to.
I could boost the passion, dial back the doubts,
urge myself forwards, embrace life more deeply.

I remember one quip in the playground, spoken
in haste and forty years on I still regret it.
Perhaps I could bring it down in the mix, so quiet
its shame is no longer heard, its punch not felt.

A pause could be inserted, allowing me
to think before I wrote that thoughtless letter.
The words were driven by the selfish moment,
and didn’t really reflect my ongoing feeling.

I’d certainly turn up my decisions for you, get out
out of my comfort zone, increase the effort.
In hindsight the focus needs to be shifted, like all
guitarists I tend to make it all about me.

Queen have been the soundtrack to much of my life. They’re about to release a remix of their debut album, to make it sound as they always wanted it to at the time. Made me wonder what else we could remix to make it sound as we’d meant it to.
(25.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Joel Chavarría on Unsplash