Outside the light began to fade,
as inside I was making tea.
Filling the kettle, I was arrested,
by the melodious sound of a lone
blackbird saying its prayers before
its bed. I stood in awe, enraptured,
moved to add my own amen.
A beautiful moment at dusk tonight.
(16.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Benjamin Balázs on Unsplash
Today I’ve been pruning a bush.
That is an understatement.
I’ve been chopping up remains
of vast swathes of branches culled
from overgrown hedges and bushes
and dumping them in our bin.
It’s been a battle, one man
with secateurs versus
Mother Nature gone wild.
Mother Nature is winning.
Eventually, Mother Nature
always finds a way,
but meanwhile, here I am,
trying to tame her excess.
Each piece recalls the past,
each snip a season gone,
and as the wheelie bin is
filled with trimmings, time flies.
Today I’ve been being pruned,
my sense of self stripped back,
perspective re-established,
the brambles will be back.
With winter gradually receding, I’ve been trying in vain to maintain garden order…
(12.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Setting out,
with trusted friends,
for mutual support.
Delving into,
the hidden motives,
for our deeds.
Taking risks,
with honesty,
a worthwhile cost
Travelling inwards,
our adventure,
of the day.
Today I met with colleagues to discuss our practice of ministry to learn and support each other. A stimulating and helpful exploration.
(03.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Nina Luong on Unsplash
Past.
The tree drank deeply of the earth’s dark soil,
its roots absorbing water from secret distant pools.
Stretching its wooden limbs it reached out branches,
all striving for the shining sun’s bright rays.
From sapling to its full grown majesty
it slowly grew, unfurling limbs then leaves.
Present.
This table’s dead; no sap or life flow here.
Its extendable leaves now lie in twisted pieces;
they’re warped by age and wear and wrenched by boots.
Redundant, I throw the separated branches
into the boot to drive it to the dump,
hurling them into the designated coffin.
Future.
The future is as yet uncarved, unknown.
Will it be pulped, transformed to card or paper?
Or maybe mulched, returning nutrients
back to the earth to nourish future roots?
Out of its greatness, greatness may return;
as earth to earth, from death comes life again.
From and afternoon spent taking old and broken furniture to the local ‘dump’ (recycling centre), sprang thoughts about the cycle of life.
(02.03.25)
The poet lifts his brush and, looking in
the mirror, examines himself with detailed care.
First stroke, a daub of colour describing appearance.
A skinny build, slim jeans, a preference for green.
Once full and dark, the hairline’s now receding
as eyebrows morph, becoming peppered white.
A patch of red upon the cheek that flares
and hazel eyes, that yellow when run-down.
The second stroke, lays down habitual hints.
Five calloused fingers from running down six strings.
Rubbing his back reveals the daily lifting,
or Sunday morning kit lugged from the car.
A tendency to slouch, a life of study.
Perhaps the knees should be more worn than this.
The third and final stroke stares deep within,
tracing beyond his stoic exterior.
A war of looming textures and clashing colours
explores the shades of grey, the constant tension
between the love of self and love of other,
that errs towards the one he knows it shouldn’t.
Laying down his brush, the poet ponders
just why it is we’re quick to catch the blemishes.
On a walk today I found myself wondering what a poetic self-portrait would look like. I suspect it would be more revealing than this, but I’m not sure I’m ready to do that yet!
(27.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ahmed Raza Kz on Unsplash
I’m not so sure she actually knew
Just why she smiled, but it didn’t matter.
Her smile said it was okay to continue,
Her smile revealed a connection,
Her smile said she was on my side.
I smiled back and carried on.
Afterwards we sat together over
A cup of tea and cake and talked
About large families and names.
She said she’s good with them, ‘I’m not’
I replied, ‘so tell me yours again.’
She laughed and smiled that smile once more.
Cups drained, ‘It’s time to go’, I said
She waved as she was wheeled away,
Smiling a farewell smile, ‘I’ve got
A large family you know’, she revealed.
It didn’t matter. The smile had told
Me all that I had needed to know.
I met K**** today at a service at our local nursing home. It was a chaotic affair as usual, with folk coming and going, and heckling or simply crying out. I don’t mind that too much, I’ve learnt to look for other clues that tell me that it’s worthwhile.
(06.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Lesly Juarez on Unsplash
I’ve sat here for a while and have concluded
that today I haven’t much to say.
I’ve answered emails, shared a lunch, and helped at
food bank. It’s been a fairly ordinary day.
The company’s been good, the job’s been done
but nothing to write home about, or write
a poem about. I haven’t had profound
thoughts or ecstatic moments but it’s been alright.
The everyday is not to be rebuffed,
sometimes the ordinary is enough.
It’s been a fairly standard day, and you know what? That’s fine.
(04.02.25)
I have been made complete, moulded by my maker.
I am an image bearer, bearing his image in my body.
With care my character will carry his within it;
reflecting the family face in my visage,
his will and wants within my walk.
But man is not the mirrored, only the mirror;
I must not imagine I am him,
for in imagining this I become an idol.
For I am not complete unless I live in him
for only in his affection can I finally find my home.
As local ministers we meet once a month to reflect together on a book. We’ve started with ‘The Unhurried Pastor’ by Brian Croft and Ronnie Martin, and our conversation today about being limited beings, who find completion in him and his provision, led to this alliterative verse.
(03.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Laurenz Kleinheider on Unsplash
A journey’s start is critical.
The way we start sets expectations,
The foundations on which we’ll stand,
When difficulties dampen spirits,
And doubts threaten to drag us down.
Lord, help me perceive the light in darkness.
Tonight at church we tussled with this difficult story in Acts 5. It always makes me wince. I sense there’s a way into reconciling myself to it in its context of being at the start of a journey.
(29.01.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Thanos Pal on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 