It’s back to business
Whilst trying to hang onto
Rediscovered space
Resisting the post-Greenbelt blues!
(01.09.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Greenbelt
Poem 989 – Variations on ‘My First Kiss’
She bent down close to me
And gently brushed her chin
Upon my head so tenderly,
Kissing my newborn skin.
She bent down close to me,
I see her face approaching near,
A tear upon her weary eye,
I try to smile a newborn grin.
She bent down close to me,
I see the most delighted tear
Appear upon her weary face.
She bent down close to me,
Her face whitened by the effort,
And placed her tied lips upon
My cheek and then my head,
Gently cupping me in her hands.
‘My little boy,’ she said, and as she did
Her tiredness fled, ‘My little boy
I dreamt of this and now’re you’re here,
I daren’t believe it’s true,
Your little weight alone betrays it.
She bent down close
To me, I see
Her eyes fill up
With life at last,
And soft her lips
Kiss my head
And lift my heart,
‘My son, you’re here!’
Had fun at a workshop at Greenbelt on using rhyme in different ways in poetry. Here are some of my efforts circling around the same theme.
(31.08.26)
Poem 988 – Not Letting Go
Coming to an end
A basketful of memories
Taking them beyond
Last day of Greenbelt before it takes a year off and relocates. We’re ‘letting it all go’ or maybe not.
(30.08.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Poem 987 – Stopping Outside Rebel Rouser
Standing a while beneath the trees,
I seize the moment to be still,
to feel the breeze upon my face,
to listen to the gentle rain
that patient falls and ripples through
the leaves. These trees have stood for unknown
years, not knowing the urgency
with which we flit and flirt, the passing
fears o’er which we fret and tease;
these tricky knots that agitate,
slipping between uneasy fingers.
Heading into a poetry workshop on rhyme this morning, I found myself mulling over the first two lines as I admired the trees the venue is in.
(29.08.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Poem 986 – Treasure in the Field
Surviving portaloo roulette
And alcohol rub on broken skin,
Finding faith and hope in doubt,
And old friends, new friends, heavenly kin.
Chatting with the poet Paul
(See I can name drop too although
Predictive text turned that into
Babe drop but that’s no place to go).
Martin Joseph apologising
To George whilst summoning the sun,
Avoiding all the forecast rain
Until it all came all at once.
Singing Bohemian Rhapsody in
The dark until the power returned,
Helping strangers push their buggies
Stuck in the post-storm muddy churn.
Singing along with men from Leith,
The main stage headline show
All treasure found in the field beneath
Us even as we let it go…
Some if the highlights from today’s Greenbelt.
(28.08.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Poem 985 – Let It All Go
I started to strip on the A1:
Flung off the keep moving facade,
Peeled back the constant focus
On nothing but the urgent,
Discarded the pretence
That everything was fine.
These layers were left everywhere,
Leaving me feeling vulnerable,
Unnerved but somehow open.
Outside the wipers washed
The windscreen clean again,
Allowing me to see.
The rain began to clear.
It’s been a bit of a year with one thing and another, but Greenbelt has always been a chance for me to reset and recharge. The theme this year? ‘Let it all go’. This feels strangely apt.
(27.08.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Poem 978 – Ready, Steady, Retreat
Packing for Greenbelt
Stripping back to the basics
God and rain ready
Canvas is beckoning!
(20.08.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Poem 619 – After the Field
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 618 – Over?
The last song is done
The stage will be dismantled
Your presence lingers
I wrote another poem today, but I’m not so sure about posting it, so here’s an end of Greenbelt haiku.
(24.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 617 – Such As These*
A simple slip of tongue produced
A gem of wisdom, profound adage,
After the laughter let it sink in,
‘It takes a child to raise a village’.
It takes a child to raise a village,
A simple soul to teach the wise,
The joy of life to lift the spirits,
An open heart to make us nice.
The awestruck face that greeted me
Striped back the pretensions that I relied on,
When walking along the roadside verge,
We stopped to admire a dandelion,
Eyes wide with wonder woke the weary,
My cynicism drained away,
I saw again as I used to see,
I wish this innocence would stay.
Instantly, children come together,
From strangers quickly friendships form;
Covenants of grace are forged in fun,
And from the games new life is born.
It doesn’t matter who they are,
Their colour, creed or place of birth,
Collisions occur, but are quickly
Forgotten and replaced with mirth.
We’ve long believed the well trod lie,
That wisdom comes with age, until
Much to our surprise we found the truth,
It takes a child to raise a village.
I listened to the excellent Adjoa Andoh at Greenbelt today. A slip of the tongue inspired this poem, married to an encounter with a three year old friend on a walk over day. (*Matthew 19:14)
(23.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jochen van Wylick on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 