Poem 376 – Darragh Joins Strictly

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In bed, Storm Darragh wakes me
Blustering down the chimney
Rattling window panes, and
Disturbing creaky doors

I picture leaves outside,
Spinning, like tossed salad,
Awakened with a dousing
Of nocturnally sprinkled rain.

Is that the sound of waltzing
Wheelie bins joining plastic
Bags in promenading
Gracefully around the lawn?

I worry walls might join
The dance, with flirting fence
panels. rockin’ and rollin’
To the rhythm with wild abandon

And as the show crescendos,
Car sirens sound in rapture
And trees applaud, their branches
Bowed in adoration.

It was a noisy night last night! Thankfully, all was ok when the morning came.
(06.12.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Khamkéo on Unsplash

Poem 374 – Christmas Streets

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There’s a certain symmetry
to walking the streets
delivering cards

These cards depict
the familiar scene
of Mary and Joseph

They’re kneeling beside
the only famous
manger known

Here the newborn
Christ-child lies,
come to walk in ours

I’ve been delivering the church’s Christmas cards around our local streets today, pondering the Christmas story as I did so (John 1:14).
(05.12.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Image by Andreas Böhm from Pixabay

Poem 373 – Searching for Verse

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Sometimes a poem arrives unbidden
You’re simply minding your own business
And in it barges unrequested.

On other occasions you start to write
And hunting with your pen you stumble
Over it’s fully formed treasures.

And sometimes you have to fight for it
Like Jacob, refusing to let go
Of it until you receive its blessing.

Inspiration is a slippery thing…
(04.12.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Jan Kahánek on Unsplash

Poem 370 – Advent

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A collective holding of breath,
the growing anticipation.
The draining down of sand
and dawning realisation.
A sense of something changing,
reversal of the tide.
The night is nearly over,
the day is close at hand.

It’s the first day of advent, the season when Christians look forward to the coming of Christ, both at Christmas and his return when he’ll make all things new.
(01.12.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Emmanuel Appiah on Unsplash

Poem 369 – The Advent Wreath

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The hedge was out of control,
its branches lined their vicious
spikes beyond the fence,
like medieval pikemen
stood ready for the charge.

There was but one reply!
I grabbed my shears and set
about their ranks with wild
abandon, sending limbs
flying in every direction.

Resisting, they made their mark:
my blood was shed, but alas,
for them, victory was mine
as fast they fell, and soon
lay scattered on the ground.

But this was not the end.
In remembrance I gathered the fallen,
twisting them into a wreath
and hanging them on the door;
a holly crown for the Christ.

I spent this morning pruning our hedgerow, including the holly bush. I’ve often pondered making my own wreath, and so today I gave it a go, at least the holly framework. Tomorrow, perhaps, I’ll add a splash of colour to go with it.
(30.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash