Spirituality

Poem 732 – Our Twelve Days of Christmas

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Around the table the verses spin
Chaotically bouncing from side to side
Like a wounded bird upon the wing.
They start hopefully, flying with haste
Then hesitate, stumbling slowly,
Limping along the table settings.
At five gold rings they start to sing
A note of lifting melody
That somehow helps us to the end.

The highlight of the day was a hilarious rendition of The Twelve Days of Christmas at our Drop In Christmas lunch today. Magnificent.
(16.12.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Bob Frewin on Unsplash

Poem 731 – Mary’s Mum

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Why did you go and do that,
Are you out of your little mind?
A pea in the pod? You’re crazy!
A bun in the oven? You’re mad!

They’re saying you’re up the duff,
If not perhaps it’s the pole,
Or have you gone all old school
And are wearing your bustle wrong…

Knocked up – knocked out more like –
This isn’t the time for this.
Have you gone and got yourself pregnant,
For the sake of a hasty kiss?

I hope for your sake he’s special,
You’ve a life of pain ahead,
Don’t be telling me you did nothing
And this child was heaven sent…

This is the time to live,
Play hard, make friends, have fun,
Not sacrifice it all,
For the life of a single mum.

Inevitably the Christmas story is very much on my mind right now.
(15.12.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

Poem 729 – Prepared

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The lights are on,
The tree erected,
Nativity placed
Upon its ledge.

The cards delivered
And guests invited,
The talk is written,
Song sheets in place.

The car is packed,
Set list confirmed,
We’re ready for carols,
Our Christ has come.

Tomorrow afternoon it’s our carol service – come and join us! https://wormleyfreechurch.org.uk/2025/11/24/christmas25/
(13.12.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Owen.outdoors: https://www.pexels.com/photo/christmas-carol-sheet-music-with-decorations-29756511/

Poem 728 – Christmas Lights

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A chain of dancing lights effortlessly
pirouette across the darkened stage.
Full of childhood innocence, they search
us out, then smile and wave in recognition.
In that moment, our weariness subsides
and we return the smile with glowing faces.
But innocence must end, their moment passes,
and as the day begins they take their bow.

We decorated the church last night. Every year, the putting up of these lights officially signals the start of festivities, combining childhood memories and contemporary meaning.
(12.12.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 723 – Holding Our Breath

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A collective holding of breath,
growing anticipation,
the draining down of sand
and dawning realisation.

A sense of something changing,
reversal of the tide,
the night is nearly over,
two worlds will soon collide.

The earthly land of Adam
and heavenly realm of Christ,
by sin once torn asunder,
the terrible great divide.

But with the Light’s appearing,
the bridging of God’s Son,
his Word to flesh descending,
through love they’ll be made one.

To vulnerable skin he comes,
by human form confined,
it’s Immanuel we’re awaiting,
this hope-filled advent time.

So light a candle with me,
upon the advent wreath,
prepare yourself with prayer,
for the Christ-child to receive.

I was asked to offer a poem for a joint Advent service between my church and a neighbouring one (Rosedale Community Church). Mulling this over, I found an old one I’d written before and reworked it into this, changing the original last line and adding a number of new stanzas.
(07.12.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Alexandar Todov on Unsplash

Poem 722 – A Smaller Sofa

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It’s funny how the small things make a difference.
Our new sofa is smaller than the last;
it means we’re sitting closer. I think that counts.
There are too many things in life that pull us
apart to let soft furnishings join in.

When we were children the old cliché applied,
a cardboard box meant hours of fun ahead.
We’d play all day confined within its walls,
they kept us close and working out the rules
required for us to live our lives together.

We’re too sophisticated now within
our isolated bubbles. Arms’ length is safe.
Lurking behind a username we seek
community simply with those like us.
Perhaps it’s time to buy a smaller sofa.

A conversation this week reminded me of Ben Elton’s observation of the changing definition of community from living with those around you who are different from you, to it being seeking it those who think the same a you. And it’s true, we have a new sofa.
(06.12.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Pavel Boltov on Unsplash

Poem 720 – Someone’s Coming…

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Someone’s coming, yes, you know who,
He’s coming here for me and for you.
He has a list, it’s ever so long,
Which all of our names are written on.

Excitement’s growing, yes it is!
This isn’t something you’ll want to miss!
The wait’s so long, it’s got me in a tizz,
But when he comes, oh, it will be such bliss!

‘So has he been yet?’ my mother asks.
‘I don’t think so, but this wait can’t last,
I’ve been sitting here since night first fell,
Now my eyes are drooping, can’t you tell…’

I’m beginning to think that he won’t come,
I’m falling asleep, my plan’s undone.
But wait a minute, what’s this sound?
A shaking and a rumbling that’s growing loud.

A man in red? No, a man in white!
Suspended by wings, he hangs in flight,
A growing swell, a song of love,
The heavenly host, join in from above!

They say he’s coming, it won’t be long,
Mary’s contractions are growing strong,
You’d better not wait, no, get your skates on,
Dash out of the door, and to the manger run!

Someone’s coming, yes, you know who,
He’s coming here for me and for you,
So do not fear, there’s no need to be afraid,
God’s Son is born and in a manger laid!

I remember the excited anticipation of Christmas morning, and my mother’s annual question as we were eventually allowed downstairs, ‘Has he been yet?’, which led to a jubilant ripping open of Christmas presents. Today, I remain excited, but it’s about the arrival of someone else.
(04.12.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Addy Mae on Unsplash

Poem 718 – Journey’s End

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They say that life’s a journey, a pilgrimage
traversing the twists and turns fate throws at us.
Along the way our paths cross those of others,
and for a while we stroll in company.

These correspondences may be a time
of idle pleasure beneath the sun, strolling
along green ways and happy days of laughter,
with packs that are light and limbs both free and easy.

But other times the road inclines and rocks
and scree make traveling hard and insecure.
These days perhaps the laughter stops and talk
dies down, but still you stumble on together.

But when at last you find the chance to pause
and look back down the way you walked, maybe
you’ll realise the stories made, not told
(like Chaucer), are the journey’s point and treasure.

I spent tonight with friends who worked on the Winter Night Shelter project here, and it’s evolved continued support for homeless folk. An enjoyable evening reminiscing and remembering what we achieved together.
(02.12.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Toomas Tartes on Unsplash