Poem 424 – Silent Echo

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Stepping outside, the valley dampens sound.
Beyond the cry of geese the air is still
and heavy on the lake, subdued, breath held.

The trees are layered green with moss and fern.
A deer stalks by. I sense the world is his
not mine, we are the interlopers here.

And in this distant moment the earth rewinds
in recollection of its ancient past, remembering
Eden before we walked upon its lawns.

Talking a break within a busy church conference today, we took a walk in Ashburnham’s grounds and stepped briefly into another world.
(12.02.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 423 – Driving Through 1066

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‘The Norman horde must be holding us up ahead,’
I laughed out loud, as we languished in the lane.
And so imagine my surprise when, making
it around the roundabout, we ran into
a fearsome figure fighting on a horse!
Before him fought on foot a Saxon armed
with axe and anger, armour dulled by blows
so skillfully cut by William’s swiping sword.
Thus trapped, the tortured troops of Harold stand,
eternally caught in conflict with the Conqueror.

Driving to a conference today, we were held up in the Sussex town of Battle…
(11.02.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 421 – Fourth Round

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Here’s to the underdog,
For taking your chance,
For standing up straight,
And repelling the advance.
For keeping your heads,
Despite losing your teeth,
Miraculous saves,
As the fans start to scream.
Here’s to the underdog,
On overcoming the trial,
And ending on top,
The great Plymouth Argyle!

As a Liverpool fan, it pains me to say it, but hats off to Plymouth today – especially their two new defenders and goalkeeper who were brilliant. I loved the celebrations at every tackle made, it said a lot about the spirit that the new manager has brought to them.
(09.02.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Daniel Norin on Unsplash

Poem 419 – Eyes

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I have two eyes.
They’re the only eyes
I’ve ever had.

My eyes are hazel.
My eyes are white,
My eyes are male,
And middle class.

I wonder what
I’d look like with
Two different ones?

I wonder how
I’d see the world
And how the world
would see me if

My eyes were black,
My eyes were gay
My eyes were female
My eyes were rich
Or working class?

I have two eyes.
They’re the only eyes
I’ve ever had
I must remember
That they come
In different types
And mine are mine alone.

It’s been a fascinating day spent with people of a whole range of cultures and backgrounds.
(07.02.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by v2osk on Unsplash

Poem 418 – A Smile

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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

Poem 417 – Welcome to the Neighbourhood

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We’ve seen the rubble,
The shattered lives
And hospitals.
We’ve seen demolished
Dreams, and
Universities.
Good news my friend,
We have decided
To lend a hand.

Let us take over;
Kick back your feet,
Relax and sleep,
While we send in
The bulldozers
To build a mall,
Hotels that gleam,
Landscaping and
A golfing green.

What’s that you say?
Don’t worry about,
Just where you’ll live.
I’m sure someone
Will put you up
Somewhere, somewhen,
And hopefully,
When they do,
You’ll have a good view,
Of our brand new,
gleaming neighbourhood.

An instinctive response to Trump’s latest declaration.
(05.02.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Courtney Cook on Unsplash

Poem 416 – Enough

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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)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Evan Wise on Unsplash

Poem 415 – Completed

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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