Poem 463 – ‘Hannibal’ Moments

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Remember those sliding puddles?
I had one as a child. Too many
hours spent moving numbers back
and forth to get them all in order.
The temptation to prize them out
with a screwdriver was always present…

Often life can seem like that;
sliding a piece into the right
place causes others to drop out.
Occasionally, however, there are wonderful
A-Team moments when everything falls
into place and the plan comes together!

I’ve been fighting with the mix for the livestream of our services. Getting everything balanced and at the right volume has been a constant challenge. Today, however, it all dropped into place.
(23.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Image Micha L. Rieser, used with permission

Poem 462 – Missing

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All was quiet the first time we walked here –
except for the birds. The birds were singing loudly,
so loudly in fact that their melody hurt our ears.
Later, we learnt they were actually quieter than before, only now, devoid of cars and people,
their melody could actually be heard.

We walked this way again, today, without
the fear of meeting others. This time it was
the cars that shouted, roaring as they passed,
angry, desperate to be moving on.
I could see the birds were screaming but
their tortured song was muffled, faint and lost.

Five years on from the start of the pandemic, Spring is here, and with it the birds’ melodious song – if you can hear it, that is.
(22.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Tyler Jamieson Moulton on Unsplash

Poem 460 – Let Me Paint You a Picture

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The other night we gathered.
Not around a fire like
our predecessors but
around the table with
the plan of telling tales.

We started with the story
of our days. We shared frustrations
our triumphs, hopes and dreams;
wielding brushes to paint
the scene we wanted seen.

And then our make-believe.
A painting of a haunted house
investigated by
our alter-egos, bravely
searching for the truth.

Its strange, but when I hang
these portraits side by side,
there’s no denying that
the brushstrokes are the same.
Two different worlds connected.

Today the news, more stories.
A splash of colour here
a daub of darkness there,
all vying for opinion,
surreal, unreal or real?

Stories within stories.
Landscapes created by
our conflict. Colours clash
and mix, until we find
some truth emerging from them.

What is truth? I suspect that’s the question of our age. I’m increasingly aware of how we reveal and hide the truth within the stories that we tell.
(20.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ahmed Raza Kz on Unsplash

Poem 457 – Armed with Art

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My weapon is a melody,
My sharp sword is a verse,
My prayer a faithful missile fired
Across the universe.
Imagination changes lives,
And poems are armed with dreams,
Guthrie’s guitar killed fascists, yes
The truth will set us free.

The opening line came from today’s prayer meeting, which sparked off thoughts of Guthrie and The Notting Hillbillies version of The Weapon of Prayer.
(17.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Image: Al Aumuller/New York World-Telegram and the Sun (uploaded by User:Urban), Public domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Woody_Guthrie_2.jpg