The last song is done
The stage will be dismantled
Your presence lingers
I wrote another poem today, but I’m not so sure about posting it, so here’s an end of Greenbelt haiku.
(24.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 617 – Such As These*
A simple slip of tongue produced
A gem of wisdom, profound adage,
After the laughter let it sink in,
‘It takes a child to raise a village’.
It takes a child to raise a village,
A simple soul to teach the wise,
The joy of life to lift the spirits,
An open heart to make us nice.
The awestruck face that greeted me
Striped back the pretensions that I relied on,
When walking along the roadside verge,
We stopped to admire a dandelion,
Eyes wide with wonder woke the weary,
My cynicism drained away,
I saw again as I used to see,
I wish this innocence would stay.
Instantly, children come together,
From strangers quickly friendships form;
Covenants of grace are forged in fun,
And from the games new life is born.
It doesn’t matter who they are,
Their colour, creed or place of birth,
Collisions occur, but are quickly
Forgotten and replaced with mirth.
We’ve long believed the well trod lie,
That wisdom comes with age, until
Much to our surprise we found the truth,
It takes a child to raise a village.
I listened to the excellent Adjoa Andoh at Greenbelt today. A slip of the tongue inspired this poem, married to an encounter with a three year old friend on a walk over day. (*Matthew 19:14)
(23.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jochen van Wylick on Unsplash
Poem 616 – We Believe
As starlings start to murmur
We party under the watchful
Eye of the Gazan Lighthouse
Dreaming of a day
When all can dance together
Flocking from all nations
One human family
It’s been a cracking first full day in the Greenbelt field.
(22.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 615 – Expectation
I’m sat beneath the trees,
surrounded by a throng
of glorious angels, waiting
to forge hope together.
Something special’s brewing,
As heaven becomes unveiled;
It isn’t as far away
As we used to think it was.
Martyn Joseph sings and
A young girl dances,
Lost in the melody
Our hearts become conjoined.
Greenbelt. The tent is up, dinner eaten, and I’m at the Angels’ Reception (those committed to giving regularly to Greenbelt). It’s going to be good.
(21.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 614 – Pilgrims in Lycra
A modern pilgrimage
by pedal not by foot.
Progressing on the path
we paused to pray in churches
long permeated with worship.
Our penance? Uphill slopes,
battling punishing winds.
But piousness brings reward:
the company of friends
along with cake and coffee.
Today I enjoyed a ride along a section of the London Walsingham Camino, catching churches between Waltham Abbey and Ware/Hertford.
(20.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 613 – Camping Conundrum
The annual question
Is there enough gas to cook?
This year? A gamble.
I’m off to Greenbelt on Thursday, my annual festival retreat. Getting some of the kit together today I was faced with the usual question.
(19.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 612 – Just in Time
Distracted by the day’s events,
appointments, admin, strategic planning,
I almost forgot that I was meant
to write a verse in my fair hand,
of poetry before the day was out –
it didn’t need to be that grand.
My plan? To write each day throughout
the year, to capture thoughts and dreams,
moments of faith and times of doubt.
A busy day today, I almost forgot…
(18.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Murray Campbell on Unsplash
Poem 611 – The Heat of Our Desires
What is it that makes you think
that you can wave our flag,
and stand on behalf of us,
and shout angrily in our name?
What is it that makes you think
that we need protecting from
young children and families
who’ve fled from foreign lands?
Does it make you feel big to send
the fearful to hide in their rooms
for safety, when they came
looking for refuge here?
But even as I type
I find that I must pause,
realise my frailties,
and look beyond the waves.
Underneath perhaps the same
uncertainties play out,
as old securities
are lost and all’s at sea.
O, still, small voice of calm,
If only we could reach
beyond the rhetoric
of populist and paper.
Forgive our foolish ways.
On Friday I cycled through protests at our local asylum seeker hotel. I found myself feeling angry at what was going on, angry at the impact this would be having on the people I know there. This poem started as an angry response at those who didn’t take time to think about the humanity of those they were targeting, but was I guilty of becoming what I was accusing them of?
(17.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by balesstudio on Unsplash
Poem 610 – Riding in the Dark
A nighttime ride, 1.30, and it’s dark,
the perfect time to perch upon the saddle
and race against the waking of the lark.
No doubt there’s many who would think I’m mad,
but, peddling at this solitary hour, I find
the space to think and ponder makes me glad.
All other voices banished from my mind,
a purity of focus can be found,
as thoughts and legs in perfect rhythm combine.
Last night I joined friends in Enfield for an evening of boardgames. As usual we finished in the wee hours. Having been a hot day, I treated myself to cycling there and back. Decided today to try a poem in a terza Rima form, three three line stanzas with an ABA BCB CDC rhyming format, and my ride came to mind.
(16.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Samantha Gilmore on Unsplash
Poem 609 – Wondering about the wisdom of an act of DIY
I’ve got some glass
And a tub of putty
But will replacing the pane
Drive me nutty?
Clear out the old
What can go wrong?
Pop in the new
Stick it nice and strong.
It’s been a while
Since I did it last
Any skills I had
Are lost to the past…
Scope for disaster?
Without a doubt.
Please join me praying
It won’t fall out!
A quick silly poem before tomorrow’s DIY task at church.
(15.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Call Me Fred on Unsplash
