As starlings start to murmur
We party under the watchful
Eye of the Gazan Lighthouse
Dreaming of a day
When all can dance together
Flocking from all nations
One human family
It’s been a cracking first full day in the Greenbelt field.
(22.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
I’m sat beneath the trees,
surrounded by a throng
of glorious angels, waiting
to forge hope together.
Something special’s brewing,
As heaven becomes unveiled;
It isn’t as far away
As we used to think it was.
Martyn Joseph sings and
A young girl dances,
Lost in the melody
Our hearts become conjoined.
Greenbelt. The tent is up, dinner eaten, and I’m at the Angels’ Reception (those committed to giving regularly to Greenbelt). It’s going to be good.
(21.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
The annual question
Is there enough gas to cook?
This year? A gamble.
I’m off to Greenbelt on Thursday, my annual festival retreat. Getting some of the kit together today I was faced with the usual question.
(19.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Sleeping bag grappled.
Tent dried and packed,
along with a random item to be
rediscovered next time.
Rubbish disposed of,
green and not.
Excess taken to the foodbank.
Car sought in a car park
stripped to the bare essentials.
Give thanks when I find it.
Satnav set for ‘Home’.
Strange, this is home too.
A porcelain toilet will be nice though
and a proper cup of tea.
The wristband stays on,
I’m not quite ready yet
to say goodbye.
Greenbelt’s over for another year, and what a cracking weekend it was, despite having four seasons in as many days!
(26.08.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Dragonflies flitting round the poet
A daughter dancing in the glade
Steam rising from the canopy
Shelter sought and thinking remade
Floral dresses accompanied by wellies
A speaker on Zoom surprised by the loos
Unexpected powercuts
A God who leaves us free to choose
Familiar faces seen once a year
Lost stories found in glorious song
The wind and rain at last dismissed
Joyous epiphany, here comes the sun
Snapshots from the last couple of days at Greenbelt. The weather continues to be a feature, but I’m optimistic that the wet and wind is more past us.
(24.08.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Last night was the night
that the storm came to town
shouting, ‘I’ll huff and I’ll puff,
and I’ll blow your tent down!’
But we weren’t deterred
by the threats that she made
we gathered here regardless
ignored her tirade.
So she huffed, and she puffed,
with all of her might,
she blew at the tent,
through all of the night,
it wibbled and wobbled
like one of mum’s jellies,
it lost all its structure
like a middle aged belly,
but every single time
that she thought she had won
it would pop right back up
to the place it’d begun!
Storm Lilian visited Greenbelt last night, with 40mph winds. The star this morning is a slow one as the site is made safe – much festival kit was not put up beforehand just in case. It’s not going to put use off though!
(23.08.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
The tent is up, pegged square and neat,
the sun for now my companion.
I am relieved, there’s nothing worse
than setting up when it is raining.
The wind is twitchy. Like a restless
child, it can’t sit still, but worries
at the tent. I worry too.
Somewhere that butterfly has flapped
its wings and storms conspire.
The canvas flexes but holds for now,
an intake of breath before.
Inside it sounds a little like
the sea washing at the shore.
I close my eyes content and rest
awhile in hopeful anticipation.
I’ve arrived for my annual pilgrimage to Greenbelt Festival. We’re promised the whole array of English weather! Although I’m a little worried about high winds, I’m really looking forward to what’s in store.
(22.08.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Getting out the tents
Straightening out the poles
Counting out the pegs
Shaking out the folds
Cutting out the excess
Clearing out my soul
A lighter verse today – an antidote to the news – the canvas is beckoning! Preparing for a break in Scotland and then my annual pilgrimage, Greenbelt Festival.
(05.08.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
A midnight queue
to use the loo
the final act has faded.
Where could it be,
this lavatory,
on which my bum descended?
A Kettering field
in which we yield,
our hearts and minds upended
A place of grace
but a trial I face
‘cos without a trace
the toilet roll has ended!
Greenbelt Festival is home to me, a place I’m pulled back to year after year to meet friends, have my soul restored, and enjoy a thoroughly good time. This year was no exception. The combination of talks, music, camping, and yes, poetry, is good for me. Home now, I’m missing it all, all that is except the portaloos…. Here’s one written at the end of Saturday night.
(29.08.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
Black ants process along the guide rope of
Our holy canopy, where angels throng
Joint pilgrimage, a quest for nourishment
Of souls and stomachs, set forth in hope and prayer
A lazy dragonfly flies by, whilst up
Above the sun beats down and walks amongst
Visiting us in chance relationships
Forged over camping gas and mugs of tea
A poet finds his voice once more, relieved
As with a T-Rex roar the crowd roars back
Priestly connections made between two worlds
In flesh upon the lawns, presence restored
Debating democracy and climate change
Reversing alarms sound out. Ironic
But can the church evolve, and should it?
Wake up! Jerusalem can be renewed
Advice is given, go and goof around with
Dead poets, the deader the better
Forgive and be compassionate to yourself
And don’t forget it’s not all about us
The mic is muted, accidental silence
The air is filled, its tense anticipa…
…tion breaks with cheers, the crew
Thrust unexpectant on the stage, our heroes
We sit and listen to those we disagree with
In hope that we might learn something we’d missed
By existing only in our echo chambers
And from this dissonance we reach for more
And then to end the boundaries blur, the stage
Dismantled means as one we lift our song
And bid farewell ’till next time when we gather
‘Cause, this field never fails or disappoints
Greenbelt Festival is an annual gathering centred around artistry, activism and belief, currently in the lawns of Boughton House, Kettering. For me it’s an regular retreat, a place I go to be refreshed, provoked and encouraged. It’s part of my punctuation and I’ve missed it the last two summers. In these verses I’ve tried to capture something of this year’s experience. Naturally, it will make most sense if you were there with me, as it references a variety of incidents and highpoints, and maybe the odd in joke. If you were there, you might spot some of them. Confession, some of the lines have been nicked…
(02.09.22)
© Ben Quant 2022
Ode for the Day 