Freedom

Poem 822 – Lost and Found

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I’m lost within the weft and warp.
My fingers follow strings to pick
a path within its maze, a trail
within the tapestry of sound.

I strive to see the exit but
each harmony arrests and holds
me in its grasp. I squirm and dance
from line to line with no avail.

Each strand becomes a constraining bar
that holds me tight. I fight and strive but
its only when I stop that freedom
comes, the harmony of the whole.

And here, as I submit myself,
my soul taken and woven deep
within, the picture finally forms
as lines combine and grow and sing.

As a musician I long for those precious moments when you’re able to let go and let the music take over and transport you.
(15.03.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

Poem 781 – Freewheeling

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Overcast and damp, the air
is grey and permeates my hair
as I watch old tyres being changed,
condemned for being found threadbare.

Above, in freedom, red kites range,
magnificent as they exchange
the shackles of hard earth for flight,
from gravity’s embrace estranged.

In contrast, my hubcaps are stuck tight,
the mechanic struggles, applying might
to loosen them without causing damage,
dedicated to winning this fight.

Within my ears sounds the ancient adage
about keeping on until you manage, as
at last with wheels that have been repaired,
just like the raptor, I achieve free passage.

It was a miserable morning waiting whilst my tyres were changed today, but the mood was lifted by two glorious red kites circling above.
(03.02.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Phil Robson on Unsplash

Poem 619 – After the Field

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Back home, unpacked,
clothes in the wash,
me in the wash,
kit stowed away,
crashed out upon the sofa.
After five days
outside beneath
the big blue sky,
inside feels strange,
confined, cut off, unnatural.
And yet I know
I’ll soon adjust,
quickly revert,
freedom exchanged
for familiar shackles.

Back from Greenbelt, it’s lovely to be with family again, but being inside feels odd.
(25.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 245 – Riotous & Free

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My garden lawn’s awash
with yellow dandelions
but I don’t care one jot!
Their golden manes gaze upwards
and glory in the sun.
Arm in arm they dance
in wild abandon with
dizzy daisies, violets,
and forget-me-nots; what joy!
Giddy with exuberance,
drunk and loud, their’s is
no polite society.
They relish in their freedom;
I long to find their beat.

Is it a deliberate effort to encourage wildlife, is simple laziness, you can decide, but I love seeing our lawn full of wild flowers in the sunshine.
(20.05.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 190 – Outside These Walls

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Unmanicured, my garden dances,
a field of sunlike dandelions,
swaying to a salsa beat.
No doubt my neighbour thinks it’s wild.
It is. This is nature’s rhythm.
It’s raw, untamed, and improvised. Wild-life.
Inside, I ache. Fettered, I wish
to join them but it’s too late and so,
instead, I watch the sparrows flit
between their stalks in freedom songs.

I’m a lazy gardener, and so need little encouragement to join #NoMowMay, in fact I’ve strayed into #NoMowJune (sadly the alliteration isn’t as good…) It turns out that being lazy is good for our barren garden, now it’s full of life.
(07.06.23)

© Ben Quant 2023