Poem 52 – Word on the Street

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The word on the street is a miracle
So common it goes unnoticed, hidden
In plain sight, plain text, undercover
It’s underrated, abused but profound
This simple tool is anything but, requiring
Magical transformation to turn thoughts
Into sounds, into squiggles, on the page
On the wall, on the screen and then in reverse
From squiggle, to sound, to brain, with meaning
Transferred and transposed from one to another
So recipient and creator can
Comprehend the same meaning, sharing thought

This poem arose whilst printing out my thesis in preparation for my viva later this month. The process of seeing the words on the screen becoming words on printed paper, set of a train of thought. There may well be a partner piece tomorrow, as the thought didn’t stop there.
(06.12.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 51 – Flux

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We like to think that time is constant
The regular tock of a ticking clock
But in night’s depth that rhythm is
Vandalised
Jarred
Disrupted in strange discomforting ways that stretch the hours until you fear they must have
Snapped
Whilst dark
It’s light enough to see the time
Its face shines from the bedside table
As laying I wrestle with surreal
Fractured thoughts that flit and tussle
Uncomfortable limbs that ache and toss
And tasks for urgent morning attention
Yet unlike mine it does not age
But gazes fixed upon my weary
Brain that cannot comprehend
Its strange nocturnal ways

Not the best night’s sleep last night and no real idea why. Watching Doctor Who’s Flux finale got me thinking about the nature of time and brought last night to mind.
(05.12.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 50 – Chaos Theory

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The rivulets flow gently down the window
Pane, where they mix and combine randomly
Forming patterns that will not be seen again.
Each stream a unique moment in time that
Once gone is lost and replaced by something
Else, new and similar but changed in strength
And form, each flow departing further than
The one that came before. Eventually
Perhaps the permutations will complete
And finally begin again, but if
They do the order will not match
Such, is this world’s complexity.

I opened the curtains this morning to the sight of rain running down our windows, reminding me of the famous scene in Jurassic Park where Jeff Goldblum’s character explains chaos theory by dripping water on his companions hand.
(03.12.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 49 – Seeking Superpowers!

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Remember how it took a spider’s bite
To transform Peter Parker into that
Amazing spinning, swinging superhero?

I wonder what that makes me as I’ve had
Not one nor two but three sharp needle bites
And antibodies flood throughout my veins!

Alas it seems I haven’t been transformed
There is no lycra suit in my wardrobe
Today my only powers are aching limbs

Yesterday I had my Covid booster. Although I’m glad to have had it done, and as a former scientist would encourage everyone to do so, it’s left me feeling a little grim today. A small price.
(02.12.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 48 – An Omicron Christmas

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Uncertainty brings bitterness and breeds
This mental hesitation, leading us
To hover over plans and pause before
We press the button and maybe withdraw
Brand new unknowns confuse and cause unease
When experts disagree in their response
Are parties on or off this Christmas season
To hold or not to hold that is the question

Listening to the news tonight various experts were asked if Christmas gatherings should be cancelled. There was not agreement…

(30.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 47 – A Winter Crime

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Clear skies allowed a freezing night’s trespass,
A trail of frosty tracks hard evidence.
The dawn’s spotlight reveals its icy prints,
Deep etched forensics cross our car’s windscreen.
So armed with scraper in my gloved numb hand,
I set to gustily restore the scene,
And clear the way to safely drive, whilst not
Breathing, in case the mist offends my view.

Storm Arwen has departed leaving in its wake dropped temperatures, adding a extra step before my wife’s morning commute.

(29.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 46 – Advent One

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And so the Advent season starts once more
The annual wait for Jesus Christ our hope
To come in human form, the Word made flesh
Mysterious, incarnate, God with us
This year our yearning seems more keenly felt
A weary longing seeking something more
After two years of such disrupted life
Lived greyscale not in technicolour bright
With generations past and yet to come
We cry with one voice come Lord Jesus come

Today we lit the first candle in our Advent wreath and began our seasonal wait for the coming of Jesus. Like yesterday’s poem, this is an experiment with iambic pentameter, not my natural voice, but something I’d like to work on.

(28.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 45 – Christmas Lights

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They rolled the dice to choose a date to hold
November’s fayre a gamble keenly made
Who was to know this day from north to south
A fearsome wind would tear and whip and howl
Our volunteers take hold with all their strength
To stop gazebos chasing down the street
Cold visitors won’t stop but briskly pass
Their faces pale blood drained by biting teeth
The dark descends stall keepers packing up
Warm homes like sirens luring their farewell
The show may stutter, not what we had planned
But as I leave illuminated trees
Stand sparkling proudly ‘cross my cycle’s path
Not shivering nor shaking, standing strong
A testament to that first Christmas birth
Their light the darkness cannot overcome

Today our Churches Together group joined other organisations at the local town Christmas Fayre. Unfortunately, today was the day that Storm Arwen decided to blow, making the event a bit of an endurance test…

(27.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 44 – The Visitor

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Peripheral
A quivering scuttle
On the fringe
A spider? No…
As I turn to admire
It freezes
Like a child hiding
Behind its own hands
Believing they bequeath
Invisibility
The mouse stares
As I stare
Defying me
Before retreating
Releasing me from its grip

Tonight I had a visitor whilst working on Sunday’s service. As the winter weather hits, they often visit briefly seeking food before hibernating.

(26.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 43 – The Foodbank is Open

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Who withdraws from our bank?
You can probably picture the sort

I know I did, but then I saw and
Abandoned presupposition

Some breeze bold and expectant, bravely
Talking of Spurs or the traffic, whilst

Others trapped by nervous embarrassment
Hover, eyes down, glued to the door

Once in, they can’t help but spill their travails
Requiring gentle ears to collect them

Divorced architects, nurses out of credit,
The furloughed and pandemic afflicted

Cabbies with the Knowledge but
Know-how’s not enough to turn things around

From social housing, tents, flats,
Leafy suburbs, even mansions

We’re all just a coincidence from crisis, a
Cocktail of events, concocting the perfect storm

A multicultural meteorological event
With no natural immunity or vaccine

Who withdraws from our bank?
It could be you or me…

The local foodbank was started in 2012, distributing from our church Monday to Friday. It has taught me many lessons. I hope and pray it has made a difference to our guests. I know it has made a difference to me.

(25.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021