Sometimes it takes a drought to value water
Poverty to recognize our wealth,
Barrenness to celebrate the harvest,
The heat to appreciate the cold.
I do not pray to be afflicted,
I can’t believe that’s how you work,
But when those times come, as they will,
I pray that I will learn and grow.
Reflections from this evening’s service.
(06.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Maud CORREA on Unsplash
‘When I was in Morocco’,
You’ve often heard me start,
Recalling long ago,
My adventures of the past.
I haggled in the souk,
Swapped tales in Marrakesh,
I walked forgotten routes,
Put physics to the test.
I fought with crazy gangsters,
Chased Nazis on train tops,
Sought fabled ancient treasures
And secrets time had lost.
I faced my deepest fears,
In pits of writhing snakes,
And crossed precarious wings
On acrobatic planes.
I navigated maps,
Acquired through games of chance,
Survived the booby traps
And puzzles of the past.
But now I’m getting old,
I’m told those days are gone,
But in memories I’m still bold,
And in dreams, they still live on.
Watching the final Indiana Jones film tonight, it merged with my father’s ‘infamous’ stories of his time in Morocco.
(05.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Your smell alone restores
Your taste invigorates
My lagging brain demands
A hit that stimulates
Your smoothness on my tongue
And heat reaching my heart
I was feeling undone
But now I can restart
Driving home late after a long couple of days. Had to stop for a caffeine kick…
(04.07.25)
It was operation day today.
It is the way of such things
That everybody says it will be
Okay, and everyone acts
Relaxed. But try as one may,
The truth is, worry is natural,
And no one’s at ease or easily
Pleased until the call is made.
But seeing that her smile at the end
Of the day was enough to make
Him smile in return, now that
was enough for me.
A day spent waiting on a call from the hospital.
(03.07.25)
The still summer sky is blue, clear blue,
The blue you imagine water to be as a child.
High above, a kite hangs. It’s effortless.
Swifts circle, our annual visitors making themselves at home.
Stupefied, nothing is moving here below.
We slowly melt upon our chairs and moan,
‘the heat!’ …Oh to dive into the blue.
Waiting for the heatwave to break and sleep to return.
(01.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Aron Schmitz on Unsplash
There’s been no time
for rhyme today;
this is my only poem.
I will return
to try again,
when the verse is flowin’.
It’s been a full day!
(30.06.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by noor Younis on Unsplash
Under this raging sun the ragwort blooms
and ancient English oaks stand broad and tall.
On the wing, strange, alien-blue, dragonflies zoom,
as vivid caterpillars stretch and crawl.
Meanwhile, a song thrush finds its finest hour
in glorious song, a masterclass of splendour.
Its beauty’s only matched by bright wildflowers;
as this dream becomes a glimpse through heaven’s door.
We stroll along the gayly dressed bright field,
whilst skylarks burble in the meadow grass.
Such visions jar with those further afield,
reminders of the life of days gone past.
Too few, alas, these ghosts of what has gone –
our lives are haunted by their lives undone.
I thought I’d try and rework yesterday’s poem into a sonnet, its content seeming to call for a more classic form.
(29.06.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Under this summer sun wild flowers bloom.
And ancient trees at ease stand broad and tall.
Caterpillars drop like hazel catkins
Whilst skylarks burble in the meadow grass.
Somewhere, a song thrush finds its finest hour,
A masterclass in glorious song and splendour.
These fields are haunted by the life we’ve lost;
Too few, alas, these ghosts of what has gone.
Today we completed loop four of the Hertfordshire Chain Walk, passing through some magnificent fields that have been left to nature. Bursting with life they lifted my spirits, only for the barrenness beyond them to be made starkly clear.
(28.06.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Those dusky notes invoke
The confident style of artists
Playing with casual swagger.
In black and white and blue
These pioneers in rhythm
Charted paths as one.
Dancing in defiance
Improvising in flight
And finding voice for souls.
A week of rehearsing a little bit at a time, I’m finding I can more consistently get the notes I’ve learnt and even play a few tunes. Even with my beginner’s squealing, the sax instantly invokes the sound of jazz. I’m going to love this journey!
(27.06.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jens Thekkeveettil on Unsplash
