Past the pumpkin hour
And I’m dead beat
All day long
I’ve been on my feet
My bed is calling
A duvet treat
I’ll see you in the morning
Wash, rinse and repeat!
Day one of a three day conference I help run for our church movement. Always fantastic, an inspiring family gathering, but always full on…
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 16 – Swans in Transition
Spying us across the verdant water
The transitioning signet swims urgently
Dragging a deep dart in its wake
Once brown it’s noble ark now speckled
Flattens, reaching, pleading
Demanding food with a desperate shush
Scattered pellets bob summoning
Mottled siblings and parents to join
The royal throng that turns and tussles
Graceful wings raised in display
Becoming fierce enforcers of superiority
Sharp snaps send snowy feathers adrift
With pecking order firmly fixed
The mature monarch rules the roost
Yet young usurpers yearn for their chance
Raising their wings and wrestling
Until food finished joining those forced to flee
Calming, becoming again the beautiful bank*
Most days we take a tub of swan food down to the River Lea. Over the last couple of days there have been a significant number of swans, including yesterday one parent taking its offspring for a dramatic flying lesson. Feeding them today created a fiercely fought frenzy, most unlike the peaceful demeanour they usually display.
* Bank here has a dual meaning referring to both the river bank and the bank of swans, one of their collective nouns.
(24.10.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 15 – First Post-Lockdown Gig (Reprised)
Waves of nostalgia crash
Upon that human sea
Gathered in one place to sing
Beating in unity
Arms outstretched as one reach out
Rock and roll god on view
‘Radio’, our one last cry,
‘Someone still loves you’
The final song of Roger Taylor’s set from yesterday’s gig was Radio Gaga, which he wrote. To stand in the crowd clapping the signature clap is an awesome thing, looking around seeing a see of people clapping as one. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to do this as part of the crowd at Wembley. As I did so, I found myself wondering if this will be the last time I do so with a member of the original band playing in front of me.
(23.10.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 14 – First Post-Lockdown Gig
Queues ensnare the theatre
A human lassoo, snaking
Jostling for position with nervous interrogation
Is this the right one?
Reassurance offered with a shrug
I think so
Friendships of proximity initiated
Transitory, later abandoned
Once settled the lull
Nothing to do but wait
Disturbed only by the request
To check bags or Covid passes
(A disturbing novelty still)
Hidden beneath the quiet
Starting positions are taken
Twitchy, false starts repeated
Until (on your marks)
The doors (get set)
Open (go!)
Then the sprint
Eventually lights drop
Music fades
Hush
An expectant pause…
Written whilst in the queue to see Roger Taylor’s solo show at The Shepherds Bush Empire
(22.10.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 13 – The Assembly
What did the world look like
When I was one of them?
I summon lost memories
To return, reveal all
Alas to no avail
That world is far away
What do they see in me?
Am I to them a friend
To be received gladly
Or a stranger remote
An alien passing through
Merely tolerated?
But as I share my tale
Offered with laughter and
Perhaps a hinted tear
In return hearing theirs
A bridge is built between
Our two worlds divided
At that point between us
Common humanity
Is briefly discovered
Imaginations meet
What seemed so disparate
Brought together, complete
One of the joys of my job as a church minister is taking school assemblies, I love it. But often as I start to speak I realise their is a gulf between us, and that’s just me and the teachers! But isn’t making contact across such divisions one of the most rewarding things?
(21.10.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 12 – Magic Words
Some talk of three magic words
Don’t get me wrong, they’re great
Best followed by two truly meant
‘I love you’
‘You too’
There are another four
Their simplicity deceives
Childlike
Plain
A single breath
They too are words of promise jointly made
Of traveling hand in hand come what may
Of walking into worlds unknown together
For richer or poorer
For better for worse
One lifting the other
The other trusting to be held
A covenant made
‘Once upon a time’
Only time for a quick poem today. Stuck for what to write about I reached for the classic start, only to find it became the end…
(20.10.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 11 – The Red Kite & Me
From somewhere in the heavens I hear a mew.
I scan the sky searching for its source
I know she’s there somewhere.
I remember walking in Wales with the school
Amongst mountains and buzzards
And being taunted, teased for saying, ‘I like birds’.
I can still hear them snigger at my riposte
‘But I mean the feathered kind’.
Even Sir smiled to himself
But not so hidden that I did not see.
I blushed.
I spot her, suspended, wings outstretched
Serene in effortless anticipation
Owning her stage, demanding attention
Whilst giving us none.
She’s seen something scurrying below
Total focus on some distant spot.
Now sweeping for her prey, swift and precise
Not a plummet like a stone
Instead a vaulting ballerina
Poise belying the strength within
Leaping with pointed toe and silent grace
Who couldn’t be moved by the sight?
Oh, that I could learn to fly like her!
To be free from barb and piercing wit
Immune from worrying about what others think
To fly without thought or regret
Composed without and within
To soar above whisper and gossip
Held above those petty spears that stab and wound
To strut upon my stage with the natural ease
That comes from inner confidence
My ready pose demanding attention
But not pleading for it, or seeking it out
Sufficient in who I am.
I have always loved birds! Walking today in Lea Valley I spotted a red kite flying above. Once never seen, since their reintroduction, these elegant birds have become frequent visitors. Sitting down to try and capture their essence in verse, I found myself wondering why I always call them ‘she’, and found myself smiling at a teenage memory.
(19.10.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 10 – Take Five
As Dave’s Quartet begin to play Paul Desmond’s piece
I find myself asking what can be achieved
In this most frustrating length of time
Not sufficient to take on a major task
Like cooking a meal, taking the kids to school
Or saving the planet
But not too small to ignore
Long enough to play a tune, perhaps
Boil a kettle, read a letter
But only if you’re ready when the time begins
No room to get prepared within its span
‘Cause when the countdown counts the pressure’s on
Is five minutes long enough to compose a song,
Tidy a room, polish my shoes or pen this poem?
Turn back the clock!
Take five?
Five is not long enou….
The first thing in my diary this morning was taking a school assembly on Jonah, which was a delight, doing it as an embarrassing Dad rap with audience participation and beats. But all set and ready to go I found myself with five minutes to spare and wondering what could fill that time…
Dave’s Quartet refers to the famous jazz outfit, the Dave Brubeck Quartet, famous for their hit Take Five, penned by their saxophonist, Paul Desmond.
(18.10.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 9 – Morning View Across Lea Valley
From my seat I survey the slumbering valley
Low-lying haze lingering awaiting the sun
Still air not disturbing nor whisper ruffling
The feathers of the stationary wood pigeon
Its solitary sentry, perched a top its pole
A murmuration glides elliptically sweeping
Forerunners perhaps of the morning’s wake
Pylons bisecting, stark across the horizon
Lone hint of humanity otherwise obscured
Except bare rooftops from this bedroom view
But gradually grey infects the day’s potential
Draining greens and yellows from tree and field
Viewed across this dip through which the Lea drains
Thames-ward to empty its life-giving waters
Rain’s curtain descends, this scene comes to an end
A rare breakfast in bed this morning afforded me a view out of our bedroom window across the Lea Valley. It seemed I was not alone in a slow start, with the view equally languid other than a flock of starlings sweeping past.
(16.10.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 8 – An Ode to the Harvest Festival
Why celebrate Harvest in our technological age
When food is sown, grown and reaped afar
Arriving prepared, cooked and packaged in film
Just 3 minutes at 800 watts and voilà
Is this an annual grasping of a lost idyll
A pastoral dream of bygone days
An imagined ‘Good Life’ where we’re all farmers
For one day without pressures and rain
Now we’re encased in our towns it’s irrelevant
Shielded by wifi and data and 4G
When a click of a button summons crates to our doors
Full of tins, plastic trays and our tea
Perhaps now our harvest is on Instagram
In a zoom meeting or on a stage
A harvest of ideas and creation
Of electricity, fears and dreams made
But hasn’t the last year exposed the fallacy
Of systems frail that quickly become fraught
Locked down in our home we can no longer see
The shortages that we’ve bought
The queues at food banks become longer
It seems that we’re all overdrawn
Is it time for us to stop and ponder
Is it because from its source we’ve been shorn
Have we learnt that our harvest is precious
Farmers, drivers and shopkeepers too
Perhaps after all this celebration
Is a relevant thing to do
As a Fen boy, the annual Harvest Festival seemed a natural thing to do, after all I grew up surrounded by fields full of corn and farmers complaining about the forecast downturn in the weather. But now I work just outside London and this world seems far away. Every year as I lead our Harvest Festival as a minister, I find myself asking the question, what does harvest mean here, and wondering if we need to broaden its definition to include all forms of fruitful endeavour. Perhaps this last year, however, with the pandemic, panic buying and pressures on supply lines has highlighted once more just how important our food and its harvest is.
(15.10.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Ode for the Day 