Life

Poem 463 – ‘Hannibal’ Moments

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Remember those sliding puddles?
I had one as a child. Too many
hours spent moving numbers back
and forth to get them all in order.
The temptation to prize them out
with a screwdriver was always present…

Often life can seem like that;
sliding a piece into the right
place causes others to drop out.
Occasionally, however, there are wonderful
A-Team moments when everything falls
into place and the plan comes together!

I’ve been fighting with the mix for the livestream of our services. Getting everything balanced and at the right volume has been a constant challenge. Today, however, it all dropped into place.
(23.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Image Micha L. Rieser, used with permission

Poem 442 – Life Cycles

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Past.
The tree drank deeply of the earth’s dark soil,
its roots absorbing water from secret distant pools.
Stretching its wooden limbs it reached out branches,
all striving for the shining sun’s bright rays.
From sapling to its full grown majesty
it slowly grew, unfurling limbs then leaves.

Present.
This table’s dead; no sap or life flow here.
Its extendable leaves now lie in twisted pieces;
they’re warped by age and wear and wrenched by boots.
Redundant, I throw the separated branches
into the boot to drive it to the dump,
hurling them into the designated coffin.

Future.
The future is as yet uncarved, unknown.
Will it be pulped, transformed to card or paper?
Or maybe mulched, returning nutrients
back to the earth to nourish future roots?
Out of its greatness, greatness may return;
as earth to earth, from death comes life again.

From and afternoon spent taking old and broken furniture to the local ‘dump’ (recycling centre), sprang thoughts about the cycle of life.
(02.03.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jan Huber on Unsplash

Poem 357 – The End

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Opening the covers,
the end seemed far away,
but now the pages turn
more quickly; the epilogue
is closer than the start.

I long to read your lines
more deeply, to understand
their meaning and import,
so that our entwining lives
may be mutually enriched.

When all is said and done,
when the story has been told,
let it be known that I’ve
known love and fully loved,
for love’s our one true end.

Following on from yesterday’s poem and The Cure’s latest album.
‘And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love’ (1 Corinthians 13:13).
(18.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Mr Xerty on Unsplash

Poem 353 – The Tree

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This heart,
With reaching veins
That stretch out heavenward,
And arteries penetrating deep,
Births life.

A short one tonight. I discovered the cinquain poem form this morning, that has a pattern of 1, 2, 3, 4, 1 stresses in each line in turn, and thought I’d have a go. The shape suggested the content.
(14.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Brandon Green on Unsplash

Poem 177 – The End

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The closing chapter,
the final leg,
I’m almost home.

No longer looking
back but forward,
my destination
hoves into view;
the uneven creasing
of the spine
accompanied by
evasive wriggling.

Compelled I pick
up speed. I find
I’m skipping words
and tumbling over
myself to reach the
closing full stop.

But even as
I strive, inside
a simultaneous
braking competes.
Although my story
draws me on
I find I do
not want my journey’s
end. Not yet.

I’m currently reading Simon Armitage’s ‘Walking Home’, the account of his journey along the Pennine Way, enabled by the hospitality of strangers and poetry readings. Towards the end he recounts the unexpected feeling of not being elated at approaching home, having slipped into the habitualised routine of walking; a feeling not confined to walking.
(27.03.23)

© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by Lucrezia Carnelos on Unsplash

Poem 172 – Life’s Cycle

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Tonight we buried a newt,
a cheeky chap who kept
his gills, those pink and flappy
fronds that waved hello.
A Peter Pan who stayed
in Neverland’s waters
from whence he cheered us on.
He’d flit and spin in joy
with energy unbounded,
confounding expectation.
Alas, eternal youth
ran out, Tick-Tock caught up.
We laid you by the pond
and as we did a nearby
dart alerted us to
the first newt of the spring.
The cycle begins again.

To Dennis, our delightful friend.

We have a small garden pond in our garden which became home to numerous young newts last year, some of whom were adopted and brought inside. Sadly one passed away yesterday. He’ll be missed.
(15.03.23)

© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by Piet Spaans shared under CC Licence 2.5