Poem 203 – Before

Sep 9, 2023Sep 9, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

The lull before the storm, dark clouds are gathering
I’m waiting for the punch(line), my stomach’s tumbling
Holding my breath, as butterflies are swarming
I check my watch, anticipation’s clawing,
Its second hand is creeping, time is dawdling
It’s slowed right to a stop, and I’m left…
……………………………………………………………..dangling
The wait’s more painful than the actual happening

I suspect we all know what it’s like in the build up to a significant event: an interview, exam, funeral or moment of personal conflict. I don’t know about you, but usually I find the build up worse than the climax. I don’t usually rhyme like this, but this time it accidentally fell into that rhythm. Like most poetry, best spoken out loud.
(09.09.23)

Poem 199 – Greenbelt Portaloo Roulette

Aug 29, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

A midnight queue
to use the loo
the final act has faded.

Where could it be,
this lavatory,
on which my bum descended?

A Kettering field
in which we yield,
our hearts and minds upended

A place of grace
but a trial I face
‘cos without a trace
the toilet roll has ended!

Greenbelt Festival is home to me, a place I’m pulled back to year after year to meet friends, have my soul restored, and enjoy a thoroughly good time. This year was no exception. The combination of talks, music, camping, and yes, poetry, is good for me. Home now, I’m missing it all, all that is except the portaloos…. Here’s one written at the end of Saturday night.
(29.08.23)

© Ben Quant 2023

Poem 198 – Silence

Aug 17, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

Sometimes, the most eloquent prayer is silence.
It says I cannot feel your pain because
I do not walk the path you tread, it’s yours.
In ignorance, I have no words to give;
those I possess will not suffice, meaning
speaking belittles your experience.
And so, like Job, I hold my hand across
my mouth to offer you the best I can.

As a church minister, I frequently find myself with people facing suffering. I’ve learnt that the best thing to say is often nothing at all. The best thing is to simply be there with them.
(17.08.23)

Poem 194 – The Importance of Space

Jul 16, 2023 / BenDQ / 2 Comments

We gathered round and peered.
The husband said, ‘It’s deep,’
I nodded in agreement.
‘It’s deep so I can fit on top.’

I backed away to give
him space for thought. A moment’s
silence, and then, amen,
the hole was filled with prayer.

Leaving, I noticed that
his arms were full of nothing,
as was his car, and home,
his sentences left…

Sometimes the nothing hurts,
but not always. Sometimes
it takes familiar shape,
its contours reassuring.

I haven’t posted a poem for a while, partly because I’ve been distracted with other things, and partly because I’ve been grappling with this one. It started off as a poem about the importance of giving others space to be, but ended up as something else. I worry it’s a little glib, I hope not, but I don’t think I can take it any further right now.
(16.07.23)

Poem 192 – An Artist? Me?

Jun 23, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

I wonder if the street artist
who paints the lines along the road,
finishes with a signature,
a declaration: ‘This is mine!’

Or does the cashier get a credit
in recognition of the music
performed skillfully day by day
extemporaneously at their till?

And how about the office temp
who chisels out the perfect script
incisive words carefully cut
and sculpted on their laptop screen?

Or what about the manager
who orchestrates the staff,
conducts with policies and emails:
please take a bow for your performance!

There’s something in the way we’re made,
embedded deep within our soul,
that leads us to express ourselves:
the truth is everyone’s an artist.

A throw away joke over our church drop-in lunch about signing road markings got me thinking…
(23.06.23)

Poem 190 – Outside These Walls

Jun 7, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

Unmanicured, my garden dances,
a field of sunlike dandelions,
swaying to a salsa beat.
No doubt my neighbour thinks it’s wild.
It is. This is nature’s rhythm.
It’s raw, untamed, and improvised. Wild-life.
Inside, I ache. Fettered, I wish
to join them but it’s too late and so,
instead, I watch the sparrows flit
between their stalks in freedom songs.

I’m a lazy gardener, and so need little encouragement to join #NoMowMay, in fact I’ve strayed into #NoMowJune (sadly the alliteration isn’t as good…) It turns out that being lazy is good for our barren garden, now it’s full of life.
(07.06.23)

© Ben Quant 2023

Poem 189 – Who Am I?

May 23, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

Who am I?
I am how others see and shape me, friends
and colleagues, neighbours, enemies. I shift expression, slide to meet whoever stands
before me now. I am your husband, friend
and lover, sharing lives, and tears and dreams.
You’ve had my best and worst. I wonder what
you see, you who knows me best, who am I?
I am my work, my nine to five and more;
it’s how we catalogue and frame the other.
I am the teacher’s son, the scientist’s too,
designed by nature, nurture, chicken, egg.
Does anybody know the essential me,
the one beneath these morphing layers?
I don’t.
He is not there, he doesn’t exist. I am
only because this web creates, remakes me.
I am I and you and him and we.

Who is the real me? A counterpoint to my previous poem (Poem 188 – Exposed). Those of faith might spot another allusion and contrast.
(23.05.23)

Poem 182 – Scarred

Apr 10, 2023Apr 10, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

Our scars are pinned upon us,
a transcript of past hurts
inscribed upon our flesh
so that we don’t forget.
This catalogue of incident,
like DNA, describes us.

Below, a deeper inventory:
the scars torn in our hearts,
witnesses to past pains,
which also carved our character,
etching personality.

Easter morn and scars
still marked the risen Christ.
Incongruous wounds? Not these.
Without them he’s reduced,
Messiah undone, no victory won,
a shadow of a saviour.
They’re how we know it’s him.

One day we’ll also rise,
but will our grave-born bodies
enjoy disfigurement,
stigmata of past battles
displayed in celebration?
Or will our newborn skin
be left bereft and clean?
If so, I have to ask,
will we be recognisable?

An Easter poem. Will the life to come render our current experiences irrelevant, or do they count, even the tough ones. A sequel of sorts to Poem 181. I might come back to this; it’s not quite there, but close enough to express my thoughts.
(10.04.23)

Poem 181 – Good Friday

Apr 7, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

What does it mean, this scene so strange?
Darkness descends to shroud the skies
Creator enters creation to die
The pregnant earth gives birth once more
A way from heaven to earth is torn
Centurion spies the Son and mourns
In death, it seems, a kingdom’s born

A short verse inspired by Matthew 27:45-54.
(06.04.23)

Poem 177 – The End

Mar 27, 2023Mar 27, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

The closing chapter,
the final leg,
I’m almost home.

No longer looking
back but forward,
my destination
hoves into view;
the uneven creasing
of the spine
accompanied by
evasive wriggling.

Compelled I pick
up speed. I find
I’m skipping words
and tumbling over
myself to reach the
closing full stop.

But even as
I strive, inside
a simultaneous
braking competes.
Although my story
draws me on
I find I do
not want my journey’s
end. Not yet.

I’m currently reading Simon Armitage’s ‘Walking Home’, the account of his journey along the Pennine Way, enabled by the hospitality of strangers and poetry readings. Towards the end he recounts the unexpected feeling of not being elated at approaching home, having slipped into the habitualised routine of walking; a feeling not confined to walking.
(27.03.23)

Ode for the Day

An experiment in poetic doodling

Spirituality