Poem 146 – In Our Forefathers’ Steps

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The first to step these steps stepped forward cautiously
Warily they trod not knowing what they might find
But those who followed drew faith from those who crossed before
Their hesitant tracks became a guide to confidence
And soon a path carved deep was etched into the land
Markers were placed identifying its location
Presently stones were laid to make the tread secure
And along the avenue buildings began to spring
The bustle grew, the noise of thoroughfare, as traffic
Started to flow along the freshly tarmacked road
Past houses, shops, and families at play and war
Suburban sprawl, sprawled out, the belt loosened as when
Our Sunday lunch digested we kick back replete
And sit silently wondering how we came to be
There in the first place, ignorant of those cautious pioneers

Over the last year I’ve discover the fantastic writing of Robert MacFarlane. His poetic prose musing on the nature of walking, the landscape and language has captivated me – if you’ve not discovered him yet go now and go find him! His book, ‘The Old Ways’, was the first I found, which led me to this verse.
(30.11.22)

© Ben Quant 2022

Poem 145- (This is) Our Christmas Song

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It’s the season of Advent (in the church calendar, this starts four Sundays before Christmas, not on the 1st Dec.), and so to celebrate I’ve finally organised a proper domain name for this site (www.odefortheday.art) and written a Christmas carol:

Verse 1:
What did it mean for you our holy king
To put on human flesh and leave
Casting aside eternal dreams
To be born the son of Mary

Verse 2:
Experience our hopes and fears
Share in our sorrow, our sufferings
Embrace the passing of the years
To be born the son of Mary

Chorus:
And so we sing, our Christmas song
Our praises ring, all season long
For the Son of God has come to us
Immanuel, now one of us
Yes this is, our Christmas song!

Verse 3:
You came obedient to the end
To a manger bare in Bethlehem
The gift of God by Father sent
To be born the son of Mary

Verse 4:
An invitation in your hand
Offering the chance to begin again
Sing out the news across the land
About the son of Mary

Chorus:
And so we sing, our Christmas song
Our praises ring, all season long
For the Son of God has come to us
Immanuel, now one of us
Yes this is, our Christmas song!

This is a first draft, no doubt it will evolve, but it was fun trying something a little different to a straight poem. It came about as a result of a challenge to write a Christmas song that sticks to the original story without too many cliches.
(29.11.22)

© Ben Quant 2022

Poem 144 – Our Sweet Universe

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Our Galaxy’s a Bounty to behold
The Milky Way like Magic in the Black
From Mars to where the Stars Burst bright all night
And Celebrations ring for Heroes bold
Who Flying Saucers into Orbit take
To find a Feast of planetary Gold

A quick poem for my Dad’s poetry group who wanted something fun about planets.
(09.11.22)

© Ben Quant 2022

Poem 143 – Dolphin Hunt

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This broiling seascape rolls, its darkened peaks
Foam tipped, a sliding constant avalanche
Its slick ebony depths, deftly navigated
By fearless swifts that flit between the waves
Somewhere within these valleys swim our prize
These crests their home not human pools that bind
Not at our beck and call we have to wait
Upon their grace and wonder if they’ll grant
An audience. The tables turned they play
With us, suggestive shadows conceal until…
A joyful scream
A flicking tail
A dancing shoal
Around us prance
Albufeira’s dolphins have ensnared us

The highlight of a recent holiday in Portugal, seeing dolphins swimming free in their natural habitat. Astonishing.
(07.11.22)

© Ben Quant 2022

Poem 142 – An Ode to Greenbelt ’22

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Black ants process along the guide rope of
Our holy canopy, where angels throng
Joint pilgrimage, a quest for nourishment
Of souls and stomachs, set forth in hope and prayer

A lazy dragonfly flies by, whilst up
Above the sun beats down and walks amongst
Visiting us in chance relationships
Forged over camping gas and mugs of tea

A poet finds his voice once more, relieved
As with a T-Rex roar the crowd roars back
Priestly connections made between two worlds
In flesh upon the lawns, presence restored

Debating democracy and climate change
Reversing alarms sound out. Ironic
But can the church evolve, and should it?
Wake up! Jerusalem can be renewed

Advice is given, go and goof around with
Dead poets, the deader the better
Forgive and be compassionate to yourself
And don’t forget it’s not all about us

The mic is muted, accidental silence
The air is filled, its tense anticipa…
…tion breaks with cheers, the crew
Thrust unexpectant on the stage, our heroes

We sit and listen to those we disagree with
In hope that we might learn something we’d missed
By existing only in our echo chambers
And from this dissonance we reach for more

And then to end the boundaries blur, the stage
Dismantled means as one we lift our song
And bid farewell ’till next time when we gather
‘Cause, this field never fails or disappoints

Greenbelt Festival is an annual gathering centred around artistry, activism and belief, currently in the lawns of Boughton House, Kettering. For me it’s an regular retreat, a place I go to be refreshed, provoked and encouraged. It’s part of my punctuation and I’ve missed it the last two summers. In these verses I’ve tried to capture something of this year’s experience. Naturally, it will make most sense if you were there with me, as it references a variety of incidents and highpoints, and maybe the odd in joke. If you were there, you might spot some of them. Confession, some of the lines have been nicked…
(02.09.22)

© Ben Quant 2022

Poem 141 – In the Red Corner…

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A bloody fight transpires
My rumble in the jungle
Or at least the study

We skip around the ring
Sizing each other up
My fingers on the keys

We huddle close and grapple
Before I’m thrown against
The ropes, punch drunk and reeling

I persevere like Jacob
Refusing to let go
Until I find a blessing

Grunting we slug it out
Two combat weary veterans
Down vocab cul-de-sacs

I seek the combination
Of phrases, killer blows
Incisive turns of words

Finally inspiration
An Archimedes moment
That charts the path ahead

At last! Wounded I rise
And cast the Muses down
Upon the page and stagger

Struggle, the constant companion in my study, work and play. Are we best friends or enemies? Both I think, often at the same time.
(19.08.22)

© Ben Quant 2022

Poem 140 – Brother Sun (or The Summer of ’22)

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Lethargy reigns, the air is all sucked out
We slope around the room, moving as little
As we can get away with, stultified
Regretfully wishing the time away, we long
For rain, an end to endless heat, but then
I know we’ll wish for sunny days once more

A companion to Poem 139 – Sister Moon. I know I said I was taking a bit of a break from writing to focus on my these, but I woke up with the first line in my head. It’s been a long hot summer…
(15.08.22)

© Ben Quant 2022
Photo by James Day on Unsplash

Poem 139 – Sister Moon

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Last night the Moon hung big and bold and brash
It’s golden face stared down in confidence
In contrast to the crescent which adorned
The darkened sky last week

Then, like a nervous child it peeked around
The shadow that we cast as if it were
Still clutching to its mother’s legs in fear
Of what might lie beyond

I wonder what has caused that reticence
To be replaced with teenage cockiness
And if there is another phase to come
A geriatric one?

A recent fingernail moon was soon replaced by a brash super moon. Both spectacular in their own ways.
(14.08.22)

© Ben Quant 2022

The Pause

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I’ve been more than a little quiet on the poetry front recently, and may remain so for a little longer. Let me explain….

Some of you may be aware that alongside writing poems last year, I was also writing my thesis for a DMin (Doctor of Ministry) – I’m a church minister as well as a dabbler in verse. If you read Poem 71 – The Verdict, you would have picked up that it didn’t quite go to plan… My thesis as it stood was failed in my viva, and they sent me away with a year to rewrite and submit if I wanted to. I won’t go into all the ins and outs here, but I won’t lie, I was and am still angry and emotional about this, as Poem 71 might suggest! Still, I’ve got on with it, and am currently crashing through the final chapters. This is taking a lot of time and attention as it is a complete rewrite, and I’ve not got time/emotion to spare for poems alongside this and work (a family wedding was another distraction, but much nicer, see Poem 137!) I’m aiming at getting a complete draft done by the end of September if I can, and so hopefully after then the poems will begin to reappear more regularly.

Today I’m celebrating having completed a major milestone, a significant chapter finished! It suddenly all begins to look a little more possible. Time for a deep breath and I’ll see you on the other side!

Poem 138 – The Sprint

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A clicking cadence
Of whirring wheels
Flung bidons bounce
Preparing for pace
At last the lead outs
Peel to reveal
The gurning grimace
As riders rush
One final fling
Across the line
Hands held high
In taking the triumph
To banging barriers
And cheering claps
…Or heavy, hang,
In final defeat

This year’s Tour de France was one of the most exciting I’ve watched, gripping from end to end. Watching it has been an annual ritual for most of my life, and as this season’s joins the memories of others, here’s a verse written in celebration of the sprint (although my favourite sprinter, was sadly absent this year).
(28.07.22)

© Ben Quant 2022
Photo by Pixabay: https://www.pexels.com/photo/high-angle-view-of-people-on-bicycle-248547/