Like learning to ride
With stabilisers removed,
Our world is wobbling,
Caught between losing control
And new equilibrium.
The days are shorter, leaves have fallen, and the temperature is dropping as we transition from autumn to winter. This is not the only change in the air.
(This poem is an attempt at a tanka, a Japanese form, like a haiku, but with lines of 5, 7, 5, 7, 7 syllables.)
(16.11.24)
You brought bread and cheese you’d made.
We sat and ate and talked about
ourselves around this simple feast.
And as we ate we opened up
about our differences. We talked
about our cultures, tastes and dreams,
the things that make us us, and learnt.
Somehow, this daily act brought us
together, across the miles that lay
between us; it made us one. I wonder
why it sometimes seems so hard,
when all it takes is bread and cheese.
On Fridays we run our Conversation Cafe at church for people with English as a second language. It is a big highlight each week.
(15.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Alla Hetman on Unsplash
This heart,
With reaching veins
That stretch out heavenward,
And arteries penetrating deep,
Births life.
A short one tonight. I discovered the cinquain poem form this morning, that has a pattern of 1, 2, 3, 4, 1 stresses in each line in turn, and thought I’d have a go. The shape suggested the content.
(14.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Brandon Green on Unsplash
The source of so many lessons:
Do not climb up the slope
or throw yourself from the top.
Take your go in turns
and don’t push others off.
Use your head but always
descend the slide feet first.
Make sure the way is clear
before taking flight.
Expect to be involved
in a collision if you play at the bottom.
Toy cars pushed down with force
do not have workable breaks…
It was Toddlers this morning, which always makes great people watching, especially if the smaller variety!
(13.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Sophie’s magic trick
“Masquerading as a male”
Fools Magic Circle
9th December 1991, the Magic Circle finally allowed women to join their ranks, only to find that one already had! Sophie Lloyd, disguised as Raymond, had earned her place. With the decision of the Circle she revealed her true identity, and was promptly kicked out… Now, the Circle is trying to find her again, in order to invite her back.
(12.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Sergi Viladesau on Unsplash
Was there a moment when the bombing stopped,
that the world stood still and all fell silent?
Did the clouds pause in their heavenly paths,
the birds stop their song, and stand in branches?
Did rats and mice cease their scurrying
to survey the scene in curiosity?
The sergeant’s call to attention issued, the trees
no longer swayed but stood alert and upright.
Church organs held their breath, their anthems hanging
discordant, waiting to find their resolution,
while city hawkers gripped unfurled headline posters, the news as yet to be confirmed.
A poem for Armistice Day.
(11.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Diana Parkhouse on Unsplash
Pin on the poppies
Line up the flags
Lay out the wreaths
Grieve for the past
Stand still in silence
Remember the dead
Hold onto our history
Learn from those left
I had the privilege today of speaking at our local Scout Group’s Remembrance Sunday event.
(10.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
I’ve been away the last week. Does this mean I haven’t been writing poetry? No! I’ve kept up the one poem a day pattern that I’ve got back into recently, but I keep them private until I returned, aware that I didn’t want to advertise too far and wide that our easily identifiable house was vacant. Here they are:
The wistful ache of final farewells,
a sadness, blended with homeward joy,
that always builds as holidays end.
One last stroll along your ochre sands,
and clamber up your cacti cliffs,
to feel your breath upon my face.
Take summer shirts from where they hang
and fold them in our sandy bags.
Another sweep to clear the room.
And just like that it’s over.
(09.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
This brooding landscape’s constantly on the move,
a bewitching vista, coyly teasing us with
fleeting hints and passing apparitions.
A shape catches in the corner of the eye.
You turn only to find it’s gone and all
that’s left’s a question, hanging in its place.
Hoping that amongst these surging peaks they
may be found, we press on through the waves.
What’s that? You spin, a flash of grey lifted
above the spray, but no, it’s just a fish.
This false hope dashed, gone with the darkened waves,
and so time ebbs away and with it passes hope.
Resigning ourselves to disappointment, we pretend
the caves were enough. Too loud we cry, ‘All’s good!’
Bracing ourselves with bravado we turn for home,
and then, and only then, the waves are broken,
as up towards the cheering sky it soars!
At the third time of asking, our boat ‘sailed’ today. Two years ago we took this excursion along the coastal caves and then out to hunt for dolphins. We enjoyed it so much we had to take the family this time around. Dolphins? No joy, but we were finished to see leading tuna as we turned for home.
(08.11.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Ode for the Day 