Poem 196 – These Boots…

Aug 12, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

These boots were made for walking,
for crawling, breaking, brawling,
for stomping, splashing, stalking,
for marching and for talking.

These boots were made for posing
for goth and skinhead moping,
for teenage angst and pouting,
for kicking cans and shouting.

These boots were made for fighting,
for heavy metal striding,
for lasting and maturing,
for polishing, enduring.

I recently acquired my first pair of Doc Martens. As a teen I always fancied a pair, it’s taken a while… They’re quite wonderful, although as my blisters attest, they’re in need of breaking in. Not sure I’ll use them for fighting though!
(10.08.23)

© Ben Quant 2023

Poem 195 – School’s Out

Jul 24, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

The final word is written,
all pens put down, books closed.
The last bell rings and out
you flow, released, tears shed
in streams of joy and sadness.
Now certainty’s exchanged
for possibility.
When summer fades you will
return but not to us.
A new community
awaits, potential on
the cusp of being written.

I had the joy of playing a part in the Leavers’ Assembly for a local primary school last week. One of the delights of my position is being a part of their community, and seeing fine young people emerge, flourish, and take their next steps.
(24.07.23)

Poem 194 – The Importance of Space

Jul 16, 2023 / BenDQ / 2 Comments

We gathered round and peered.
The husband said, ‘It’s deep,’
I nodded in agreement.
‘It’s deep so I can fit on top.’

I backed away to give
him space for thought. A moment’s
silence, and then, amen,
the hole was filled with prayer.

Leaving, I noticed that
his arms were full of nothing,
as was his car, and home,
his sentences left…

Sometimes the nothing hurts,
but not always. Sometimes
it takes familiar shape,
its contours reassuring.

I haven’t posted a poem for a while, partly because I’ve been distracted with other things, and partly because I’ve been grappling with this one. It started off as a poem about the importance of giving others space to be, but ended up as something else. I worry it’s a little glib, I hope not, but I don’t think I can take it any further right now.
(16.07.23)

Poem 193 – A River Dreams

Jun 29, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

The Lea meanders, ambles on her course,
and in her brooding sleep she meditates.
Above, along, aside, reflections rise,
a flock of dreams, take wing and, graceful, flies:

Cormorant, cuckoo, coot, moorhen,
great crested and cousin little grebe.

Black headed gull, common gull, common tern,
reed and sedge warbler, grey wagtail.

Egyptian goose, greylag goose, Canada goose,
grey heron and little egret.

Mallard, wigeon, goldeneye, goosander, gadwall,
silver wood, shoveler, teal and tufted ducks.

Hobby, buzzard, red kite, kestrel,
sparrowhawk, barn owl, little owl.

Great spotted and green woodpeckers,
allusive kingfisher, bashful bittern.

As a child I dreamt of reaching high
until the sunrise pulled me to and moored me.
Detached, released, unlike that earthbound son
her dreamborn flights of fantasy soar freely.

Yesterday I finished reading Robert MacFarlane’s magnificent prose poem Ness. This, and the lists found in other writings of his, inspired this, as of course do our many sightings as we have walked alongside our neighbour, the slumbering Lea. The photo is of an adult cormorant I managed to snap in 2019: a favourite bird, comical, haughty and surprisingly graceful.
(29.06.23)

© Ben Quant 2023

Poem 192 – An Artist? Me?

Jun 23, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

I wonder if the street artist
who paints the lines along the road,
finishes with a signature,
a declaration: ‘This is mine!’

Or does the cashier get a credit
in recognition of the music
performed skillfully day by day
extemporaneously at their till?

And how about the office temp
who chisels out the perfect script
incisive words carefully cut
and sculpted on their laptop screen?

Or what about the manager
who orchestrates the staff,
conducts with policies and emails:
please take a bow for your performance!

There’s something in the way we’re made,
embedded deep within our soul,
that leads us to express ourselves:
the truth is everyone’s an artist.

A throw away joke over our church drop-in lunch about signing road markings got me thinking…
(23.06.23)

Poem 191 – The London 100

Jun 16, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

The Day Before:
I gather in myself,
my words, my thoughts, perception,
a quiet preparation.

The Morning – 4:15am:
This is no time to rise!
I hope adrenaline
will see me through. I dress.

The Wait:
We merge. A lycra clad
invasion forms a swarm,
then pauses, shivers, tense.

The Ride:
Released, a whirring horde, we fly unstoppable.
A churning, hungry tide, we flow through streets as one
– today, for once, they’re ours. Devouring tarmac miles
we weave through concrete towers and flyovers
until
it’s gone, replaced by green relief.
We smile. The peloton is calmed, discovers peace.
We find our rhythm, settle in and settle down,
a steady cadence. Miles countdown through Epping’s trees,
and Essex fields. Pass picturesque hamlets that predate
the bicycle. Cheers accompany our carefree conversation.
Traverse Great Dunmow, Felsted, Writtle, Ongar, Chigwell
before
aggressive city walls rear over us once more.
The sun’s fierce rays pummel us, bouncing off the road.
Remorseless, it bullies us, no shade to calm it’s edge.
My head begins to throb, it’s rhythm dissonant,
conflicting with the cycle of my weary legs.

The Last Leg:
After the drag, we spin.
Momentum carries us
to Tower Bridge. It’s over.

The Finish Line:
Grin for the camera. Stop.
Disturbing halt. Dismount,
with giddy limbs confused.

The Release:
Uncleated shoes create
a new cadence. I shuffle.
Am medalled. Disconnect.

It’s taken a few weeks to put this together to try and capture the experience of riding the Ride London-Essex 100 last month. It was a hypnotic day, long but strangely timeless. I’m definitely up for doing something like it again, as long as I can find a way to stop my head overheating!
(16.06.23)

Poem 190 – Outside These Walls

Jun 7, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

Unmanicured, my garden dances,
a field of sunlike dandelions,
swaying to a salsa beat.
No doubt my neighbour thinks it’s wild.
It is. This is nature’s rhythm.
It’s raw, untamed, and improvised. Wild-life.
Inside, I ache. Fettered, I wish
to join them but it’s too late and so,
instead, I watch the sparrows flit
between their stalks in freedom songs.

I’m a lazy gardener, and so need little encouragement to join #NoMowMay, in fact I’ve strayed into #NoMowJune (sadly the alliteration isn’t as good…) It turns out that being lazy is good for our barren garden, now it’s full of life.
(07.06.23)

Poem 189 – Who Am I?

May 23, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

Who am I?
I am how others see and shape me, friends
and colleagues, neighbours, enemies. I shift expression, slide to meet whoever stands
before me now. I am your husband, friend
and lover, sharing lives, and tears and dreams.
You’ve had my best and worst. I wonder what
you see, you who knows me best, who am I?
I am my work, my nine to five and more;
it’s how we catalogue and frame the other.
I am the teacher’s son, the scientist’s too,
designed by nature, nurture, chicken, egg.
Does anybody know the essential me,
the one beneath these morphing layers?
I don’t.
He is not there, he doesn’t exist. I am
only because this web creates, remakes me.
I am I and you and him and we.

Who is the real me? A counterpoint to my previous poem (Poem 188 – Exposed). Those of faith might spot another allusion and contrast.
(23.05.23)

Poem 188 – Exposed

May 20, 2023May 23, 2023 / BenDQ / 1 Comment

I shed my face,
the one I placed
upon my face
this morning. Here,
with you,
it lies
discarded it’s
unnecessary.

The truth beneath
revealed, my veins,
and flesh displayed
to you. No need
to pause,
exposed,
stripped back, you stand
naked before me.

Watching the ease shared between Paul Whitehouse and Bob Mortimer in ‘Gone Fishing’ I found myself reflecting on the nature of friendship.
(20.05.23)

Poem 187 – The Zone

May 6, 2023May 6, 2023 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

The zone.
Eyes fixed, focussed yet absent,
two metres from the pedals.
All else excluded.

Legs spin.
Driving mechanical motion,
mental metronomes
propelling forwards.

Time ceases.
Suspended, gathered for
one purpose; moment, man
and bike united.

Until,
one splintering thought invades.
Awareness shatters in
momentum broken.

Occasionally I discover the zone when cycling, a joyful but fragile place.
(05.05.23)

Ode for the Day

An experiment in poetic doodling