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Poem 635 – They’re Back!

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A torrent of toddlers teaming in,
A stream of squealing, screaming sound,
A shouting, shoal of shiny din.
Pouring past our open doors,
Abandoning bags and boots around,
And flowing onto every floor.
Playdough, crayons and other craft,
Friendships on a seesaw found,
Filling the church with fun and laughter.
After the break we’re back on track,
So look out folks, toddlers are back!

Our toddler group returned today after the summer holidays. It was wonderful to have them back.
(10.09.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by E Hillsley on Unsplash

Poem 557 – Revealed

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I’ve known you for a year or so.
But then you turn to look at me,
Your identity is still unclear,
Personality unknown.

What lies behind those searching eyes?
What thoughts are hid, emotions felt?
I can but guess, they dwell obscure,
Kept veiled behind a lack of words.

Until today, that is, for then
I heard your voice. It caught me by
Surprise; you are not who I thought
You were, but now at last you’re heard.

One of the toddlers spoke to me for the first time today. It’s always fascinating to discover how the person it reveals matches up to your expectation.
(25.06.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by 🇸🇮 Janko Ferlič on Unsplash

Poem 536 – The Catch

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She’s nearly two. Hiding behind her mother’s legs,
her eyes are like those magnetic links on wooden
trains, repelled when other eyes approach.
She risks a playful peak; it does not last.
Eventually she sees the toys surrounding her.
They call for her attention. She responds,
urgently dragging mum within her wake.
I see my chance and holding out a ball
I sit patiently, waiting for the catch.
She bites, I reel, and slowly draw her in.
Tentative fingers clasp the outstretched bait;
before she knows it’s happened we’re at play.

Toddler Group again today, and my regular quest to overcome their shyness.
(04.06.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Clark Young on Unsplash

Poem 520 – Caught In Dissatisfaction

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Between faith and doubt there lives a tension
that neither pulls towards belief or tugs
towards betrayal. It sits in hesitation.
The story that you tell me calls for action,
begat the growing urge to spring to help,
but something in my bones warns me to hold.
I stand, suspended; caught between the move
to love and the opposing withdrawal of suspicion. I’m trapped, arrested in dissatisfaction.

I’ve had a couple of calls from someone seeking help. They might be genuine, but I find myself hesitating. This sits uneasy with me.
(19.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Quino Al on Unsplash