Two lopsided apples freshly plucked from
The branches of our garden tree hanging
Within easy reach scrubbed clean and
Checked all over for signs of wildlife
Circumference scored with small knife then
Core carved out its hollow packed with
Dried raisins and dates and sprinkled
With bittersweet cinnamon to season
Placed in an oven hot to swell a
Fruit sauna sweating juices flowing
Until soft throughout then served with
Fresh cream poured perfecting
Baked homegrown apples make a perfect autumn dessert.
(19.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 38 – A Hokey Cokey Time of Year
Tentative November’s a folk dance month
Unable to decide if it’s out or it’s in
Leaves bravely clinging to branches above
Fallen companions raked into the bin
The sun always rises but never quite makes it
Descending before it reaches the top
Fireworks shrill as Fawkes interrupted
But bombers press on and their plots do not stop
The eleventh we remember but still stand conflicted
Pushing and shoving to remain best of the lot
Decisions announced but next day rejected
Political turnarounds made on the spot
Superstore isles full of crackers and tinsel
Seasonal adverts promise festive fun
Christmas is here piped music’s proclaiming
But November’s not finished nor Advent begun
I always find November a confused month, a strange transition from one season to the next with Christmas looming large in the distance. This confusion seems to be seeping into our current affairs this year.
(18.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Photo by Bryan Ledgard – https://www.flickr.com/photos/ledgard/10254453475/, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=58259782
Poem 37 – Lea Valley on a November Afternoon
Balanced on horizon’s tightrope
The sun’s golden glow
Filters through autumn’s gloom
Bathing the silhouetted canopy
Creating an ethereal pathway
Jacob’s ladder highlighting vegetation
With otherworldly emerald
Quickened and strangely luminous
Afternoon walks amongst the trees of Lea Valley is an optical treat with the autumn sun revealing and creating vivid and unreal colours.
(17.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 36 – Dominoes
Tiles shuffled and randomly selected
Balanced precariously, curved to conceal
A cheer reveals double-six located
Centrally placed, the game begins
Turn by turn our counters are chosen
Tension ratchets as silence descends
Only grunts of relief or tapping the table
Nowhere to go, delaying the end
Time ticking down
Furiously counting
Plans played out
Strategies discounted
Players passed by
Blows traded
Tiles running out
Sudden flurry
Hands crashing
Dawning realisation
I’ve lost and they’ve won!
Tuesday lunchtimes our church holds the ‘Drop-In’, inviting folk to come and share a light lunch and company. Once the meal is over the dominoes come out and the banter is replaced by serious competition…
(16.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 35 – Interval
Half past four
Night lowers its curtains
These dark navy drapes
Announce the act’s end
Accompanied by birdsong
Once enveloped
Orchestra and players
Can rest unseen
As they do
We too draw our curtains
Withdrawing
Affords the chance to stretch
Relax body and mind
Assimilate experiences
Be renewed
The alarm rings
Shrilly declaring interval’s end
Bleary we reclaim our seats
And wait for dawn’s revelation
Of today’s set
I love these late autumnal days when night comes so early, allowing us to close the curtains and shut out the world. Not so keen on it being dark when I rise however…
(14.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 34 – Autumn
Living chlorophyll
Bleeds, decaying gold riches
Dies in crunchy piles
It’s that time of year when trees out on their seasonal display
(13.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 33 – Our Voyage
Our childhood heroes bid farewell,
departing to journey alone
Leaving us grasping in denial
snapshots of the view
These faded polaroid stills of seventies
sequins, flares and hair
Agnetha and Frida back to back,
Benny and Björn smiling on
Perfect harmonies as the crowd dance
to their Swedish lilt
From Waterloo to bittersweet
when all is said and done
Were we naively hoping the picture
would pick up where they left
Or did we believe them to be like us
as we deceive ourselves
Frozen in time when in truth all age
and those glamorous skinsuits
Might no longer look so good on
bodies that have travelled the years
Is the discovery anticlimactic that
they’re not Peter Pan
And whilst the voices clearly belong
something has definitely changed
But I for one will cheer as they
look back upon their voyage
Because the tide of time likewise
nibbles my being’s shore
I do not want to live regretting
its tender gradual erosion
But satisfied survey each step and
content embrace the view
Feeling a little wistful today having just listened to the new ABBA album, aware of both time passing and the richness that its passing can bring.
(12.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Photo By Anders Hanser – http://www.mynewsdesk.com/se/abba-the-museum/images/abba-the-museum-the-choir-250208, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=44782676
Poem 32 – Opportunities Lost
I wish I’d asked but youth does not
Appreciate the finite opportunity possessed
By the time I realised time’s scarcity
Those doors were shut
What was it like as a youth yourself
Once island locked to bid goodbye
Leave familiar shores, be evicted abruptly
Those doors were shut
Sail to alien lands with brothers unknown
Fight famine, plague, war and face death
Grim conflict without, peace lost within
Those doors were shut
Finally coming home to family changed
Moved on in life without your presence
Faces altered but you’re the stranger
Those doors were shut
How could you cope with enduring such sorrow
Those vivid scenes secretly stashed away
A simple return to normality that couldn’t be
Those doors were shut
Armistice Day (11.11.21)
Edit: I reworked this overnight, not being completely happy with it before, especially the final stanza.
© Ben Quant 2021
Armistice Day (11.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 31 – Rain Spoils Play
Photographic filter
Washing our colours
Not dressed for success
But draining vitality
Fine mist descends
Depressing the day
The swoosh of the surf
Succeeds every car
Not Bondai beach
But oil residue
Running in gutters
Raised by rubber
Persistent it penetrates
Seeping with ease
Damping through clothing
Collecting between shoulders
Coldness that shivers
Wrinkles our toes
Last day in self-isolation and looking forward to being released. Sat in my office, however, the view isn’t appealing with the fine drizzle looking set for the day. Hope it clears by tomorrow.
(10.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Poem 30 – Pavement Picasso
On the Millennium Bridge
Find the Pavement Picasso
Unlike his namesake
He doesn’t stand tall
In the pantheon of painters
But lies
Prone on the pavement
Stretched out amongst
Passers-by and litter
Blown by gritty city breeze
And exhaust pipes
Prostrate he takes
Flavour drained gum
Carelessly spat
Stuck in the cracks and
With care rarely afforded
To nonbiodegradable detritus
Achieves metamorphosis
Makeover not with
Eye shadow and lippy
But acrylic and lacquer
Turning trash
Into mini-masterpieces
A colourful protest
And through conversation
Community adhesion
One of my favourite haunts is The Globe. To get there we often walk across central London, approaching via the Millenium Bridge. If you’ve got your eyes open, you may spot as you cross, discarded chewing gum which has been painted by the amazing Ben Wilson, the ‘Pavement Picasso’ (see examples on his website: https://benwilsonchewinggumman.com/)
(09.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Ode for the Day 