Poem 22 – Are We Not All Heroes?

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This summer we made pilgrimage
Briefly escaping Covid’s shadow
Blinking as we entered the light
Of Cardiff’s sun kissed halo

There with the tentative throng
We explored its proud sites
From the castle idiosyncratic
To mist veiled surrounding heights

We marched around it’s harbour
Leaning into the red dragon’s breath
That blew across boat filled waters
Our path encompassing its breadth

But as we walked we paused awhile
By a shrine with trinkets bedecked
Left in honour of a hero lost
By earnest admirers memory kept

Who was this man, what was his merit
The deeds that demand such respect?
Why Ianto Jones they did reply
Welshman of Torchwood, most adept

Puzzled I left for I knew of him
For he had graced my screens
A hero not of real life, you see
Concocted in another’s dreams

How can the death of one not living
Made up, existing just in story
Capture the imagination of those who watch
Achieving real life glory?

What of us I wondered as we left
Who battle daily to survive
Without such glamour yet endeavours true
Will our memories remain alive?

This summer we managed to take a holiday just outside Cardiff, a city I’d never visited before. I loved it, especially its castle whose eccentric internal decor was a wonderful surprise after its traditional outer shell. As a sci-fi fan I insisted on visiting Ianto’s shrine, a tribute to the character in the Doctor Who spin-off, Torchwood, who topically dies as a result of being exposed to a lethal virus. Seemed surreal that a character in a TV-drama should garner such respect when so many true heroes go unnoticed.

(02.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 21 – When is Good News Not Good News?

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The results are in
It was positive
This strikes me as strange
Not the result but
Terminology
Positive should be
A good outcome or
News to celebrate
But sad to say this
Affirmative means
Hiding away from
Friends and family
Hoping and praying
That each imagined
Symptom vanishes
Not grows and becomes
Something more than a
Whisper or hint of
A misplaced breath or
Momentary flush
A twinging back or
Misplaced taste or smell
None of this seems that
Positive to me

Alas my Covid test results weren’t as hoped, although thankfully I’ve not got it badly at all. Reckon this period of isolation should prove productive for poem writing though once I’ve got my usual activities all covered…

(01.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 20 – Testing Times

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Filtered faces disguise
Deep fakes deceive
Social media echo chambers
Brexit lies or frees

Fishing boats blockade
Protestors bar the way
Climate change deniers frustrate
Empty shelves just tease

Practise track and trace
Download the Covid app
Swab the tonsils jab the nose
Negative test please…

It’s been a confusing and tempestuous few years and to top it all I was just asked to take a Covid test...

(31.10.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 19 – Globe Spell

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To compose an ode in honour of The Bard
Whose famed lines ensnare hearts
From stages encircling this precious globe
As well as from upon it
Is a task too high to reach

Instead I shall write in praise of those
Whose mouths have uttered his enchantment
Weaving spells through speech inspired
To whisk us from this mundane life to
Distant islands, courts and faery realms

Owning this sacred space these mortals become
As gods with creator’s power to form
The world anew for a few brief acts
Transforming landscapes without and
Landscapes within

And here we dwell until the final cheer
Echoes from its stalls and as one
We rise in awe to praise before
Returning to our mortal homes
His lingering whisper remains


Shakespeare’s Globe is one of my favourite places, a haunt where magic still happens.

(29.10.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 17 – Finally, Time for Bed

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Past the pumpkin hour
And I’m dead beat
All day long
I’ve been on my feet
My bed is calling
A duvet treat
I’ll see you in the morning
Wash, rinse and repeat!

Day one of a three day conference I help run for our church movement. Always fantastic, an inspiring family gathering, but always full on…

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 16 – Swans in Transition

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Spying us across the verdant water
The transitioning signet swims urgently
Dragging a deep dart in its wake
Once brown it’s noble ark now speckled
Flattens, reaching, pleading
Demanding food with a desperate shush

Scattered pellets bob summoning
Mottled siblings and parents to join
The royal throng that turns and tussles
Graceful wings raised in display
Becoming fierce enforcers of superiority
Sharp snaps send snowy feathers adrift

With pecking order firmly fixed
The mature monarch rules the roost
Yet young usurpers yearn for their chance
Raising their wings and wrestling
Until food finished joining those forced to flee
Calming, becoming again the beautiful bank*

Most days we take a tub of swan food down to the River Lea. Over the last couple of days there have been a significant number of swans, including yesterday one parent taking its offspring for a dramatic flying lesson. Feeding them today created a fiercely fought frenzy, most unlike the peaceful demeanour they usually display.

* Bank here has a dual meaning referring to both the river bank and the bank of swans, one of their collective nouns.

(24.10.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 15 – First Post-Lockdown Gig (Reprised)

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Waves of nostalgia crash
Upon that human sea
Gathered in one place to sing
Beating in unity
Arms outstretched as one reach out
Rock and roll god on view
‘Radio’, our one last cry,
‘Someone still loves you’

The final song of Roger Taylor’s set from yesterday’s gig was Radio Gaga, which he wrote. To stand in the crowd clapping the signature clap is an awesome thing, looking around seeing a see of people clapping as one. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to do this as part of the crowd at Wembley. As I did so, I found myself wondering if this will be the last time I do so with a member of the original band playing in front of me.

(23.10.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 14 – First Post-Lockdown Gig

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Queues ensnare the theatre
A human lassoo, snaking
Jostling for position with nervous interrogation
Is this the right one?
Reassurance offered with a shrug
I think so
Friendships of proximity initiated
Transitory, later abandoned
Once settled the lull
Nothing to do but wait
Disturbed only by the request
To check bags or Covid passes
(A disturbing novelty still)
Hidden beneath the quiet
Starting positions are taken
Twitchy, false starts repeated
Until (on your marks)
The doors (get set)
Open (go!)
Then the sprint
Eventually lights drop
Music fades
Hush
An expectant pause…

Written whilst in the queue to see Roger Taylor’s solo show at The Shepherds Bush Empire

(22.10.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 13 – The Assembly

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What did the world look like
When I was one of them?
I summon lost memories
To return, reveal all
Alas to no avail
That world is far away

What do they see in me?
Am I to them a friend
To be received gladly
Or a stranger remote
An alien passing through
Merely tolerated?

But as I share my tale
Offered with laughter and
Perhaps a hinted tear
In return hearing theirs
A bridge is built between
Our two worlds divided

At that point between us
Common humanity
Is briefly discovered
Imaginations meet
What seemed so disparate
Brought together, complete

One of the joys of my job as a church minister is taking school assemblies, I love it. But often as I start to speak I realise their is a gulf between us, and that’s just me and the teachers! But isn’t making contact across such divisions one of the most rewarding things?

(21.10.21)

© Ben Quant 2021