Tonight we gathered:
Different faces on the screen,
From different places,
Different nationalities
And IT capabilities,
Different occupations,
Expectations, theologies.
Tonight we gathered,
United in our hope and faith
And prayed,
One family in Him.
Tonight The Connexion, the family of churches I belong to, gather online for prayer. It was wonderful to see the family again so soon after Conference.
(18.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash
The deed is done,
the audience won, I hope,
the words delivered
without a stumble,
(well just a little one
when I became distracted).
And now I’ll sleep with thoughts
of friends and family in Him.
It wasn’t good enough,
it never is, and nor am I,
but He is all we need.
For the second year running I ended up stepping into the gap when a speaker couldn’t make it to our annual Conference. A late night scrawling turned into a poetry gig with a message – a first public ‘reading’ of my poetry.
(28.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Parted by the miles
Frustrated by the distance
Can love leap the gap
Facing the challenge of being there.
(30.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Micah & Sammie Chaffin on Unsplash
The present sound of rain thrumming transports me.
A boy, I lie inside my sleeping bag.
I am content, surrounded by the gentle
rhythm, a surrogate for my mother’s heart.
Although away, I am at home, encircled
by my father’s strong and reaching branches.
Exhausted by a day’s exertions, I close
my eyes, and smiling, drift back to the present.
It’s the time of year when the hankering to be under canvas always returns, and the sound of rain brings back happy memories.
(01.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Frederick Shaw on Unsplash
Sitting together
Around the dining table
Each doing their thing.
And yet we’re still united,
Trading tales and sharing air.
Sunday late afternoon, enjoying working alongside each other.
(09.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
A conversation
not a trade in facts.
A getting to know
and becoming known.
A comfortable pause or
provocative silence.
A chance to let rip
and tell it how it is,
at least,
how you think it is.
A generous gift
not obligation.
A time for distraction,
to recall all
those other things
you need to do
and some you really don’t.
Frustrating.
When I talk to Dad
it’s sometimes serious,
often not.
We tell our news and
tread the regular ground.
A joke is shared
I may have heard before.
It doesn’t matter.
I always finish
thinking I
must do
this more.
I was challenged to write a poem on prayer by a good friend. Difficult. Prayer is hard to pin down, besides I suspect this person prays more than I do. Recent conversations gave a way in.
(21.11.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
Remember childhood years that stretched
Where nothing seemed to change at all
Except our teeth. Remember how
They used to hang on fragile threads
Forever, wiggled by the tongue
Until one day they disappeared?
Eventually a switch was flicked
New genes asserted influence
A sudden surge, the teenage kick
With child and adult overlaid
Doubly exposed awhile before
The hormone shock shook out the child
A whiskey burn that makes us wince
A newborn person stands before
A mirror wondering ‘Who am I?
Where is the manual that informs
Us how to be a grown-up in
This strange and unfamiliar world?’
Until one day a match is made
Where each completes the other’s question
A few years on the subject shifts
A babe becomes its object as
We ask who it might take after
Ironic really as our process
Of metamorphosis has ended
The circle finally has closed
And we’ve become our parents and
The children’s teeth are getting loose
Nature or nurture?
(28.03.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
My weary inbox yawns, bored of
The soulless messages it circulates
But look, lurking amongst the drudge something
Deeper, my DNA results are in
This past geneticist is thrilled to find
The web of coded chains traversed
Binding in double-helix unity
Ancestral homes, ethnicity revived
I trace the paths along this oak’s branches
Running my finger past the unfamiliar
Whom suddenly belong to me and I
To them, my relatives, my blood unveiled
I now can claim with confidence that I
Stand on this ancient shore’s foundation
Its past and mine are spiritually entwined
My roots drink deeply, nourishing my soul
Whilst rooted in one spot its branches spread
Beyond as do its tendrils out of sight
To permeate Germanic past to reach
Beyond white cliffs to Scandinavian sands
My Ancestry DNA test findings have been released. Suddenly I have a lot more relatives.
(03.03.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
I knew the story but wasn’t certain
Exactly what prodigal meant
So I looked it up and I’m glad to say
That my son is not it
Although he left university bound
He didn’t have the gall
To request his share of my estate
As if I’d met my end
I’m glad to say his student loan
Hasn’t been blown upon
Wild student parties and loose living
A mad freshers’ week fling
But even though that isn’t him
It definitely doesn’t mean
I don’t love him with a father’s love
And rejoice when he comes home
Our son has been home to visit for a few days, it’s been lovely to see him!
(23.11.21)
© Ben Quant 2021
Picture: “The Return of the Prodigal Son”, by Rembran(d)t Harmenszoon van Rijn, c. 1669 (Public Domain)
Ode for the Day 