The hi-hat drives us
Searing guitar, popping bass
My ears are ringing
Rehearsing for our Good Friday ‘gig’
(24.03.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Josh Sorenson on Unsplash
Music
Poem 822 – Lost and Found
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.
(16.03.26)
Poem 714 – Stumpf Fiddles & 78’s
The Duke takes to the stage,
Two suits and greying dreadlocks,
In hobo-chic and whimsy.
He owns it, we are his.
Beside him Chip, sidekick
In gramophone adventures,
An ever growing assembly
Of percussive curios.
Stumpf fiddles & 78’s,
Together weaving dreams,
They lead us through forgotten
And delicate shades of rhythm.
And as the applause begins
To fade, we find ourselves
Returned enriched, released,
We find, by a poet’s vision.
Thursday night we spent the evening in the company of the wonderful Duke Special and ‘Temperance Society’ Chip Bailey in an intimate gig in Colours, Hoxton. What a night.
(28.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 666 – Some Song for the Weekend
I woke to an ear-worm wriggling in my mind,
a whisper of a melody, a hint
of background music that nestled into my thoughts.
Its theme persisted in my breakfast dish,
developed in my morning’s meditations,
and found a nest within my walking rhythm.
Having gestated for the day, by evening
it broke free. Born in my unconscious humming
it found life in this evening’s congregation.
Today has been a day spent looking forward to seeing The Divine Comedy at the Barbican. Their new album has been the perfect backing track.
(11.10.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 651 – Heart Surgery
I met him in a queue once
a line inside a theatre
a few snatched words thats all
and yet he diagnosed me.
A handful of lyrics paired with
a simple tune – that’s all
it took to bypass my
defences, strike the mark.
My voice broke long ago
so why do I now hear
a creaking in my song as
I sing along this morning.
I’ve been enjoying the latest Divine Comedy album ‘Rainy Sunday Afternoon’ this week. I sense that he and I are hitting similar life stages right now.
(26.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 636 – Reunion
In boxes on the top of a dusty wardrobe
lie old friends, preserved and stacked with care.
Plastic cases side by side, a musical trip
down memory lane. Tonight, we met again,
and dusting down our glad rags took to the floor,
exchanged our news and played our songs once more.
This evening I ‘rediscovered’ some boxes of CDs packed away on top of a shelf in my office, a musical record of the last 30 years or so.
(11.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 597 – Soul Music
This blend of frequencies
And dash of dancing notes
Discordant clash of crochets
Resolved by soothing tones
Pianissimo to forte
Its power is unrivalled
Unearthing hope unspoken
Moving, forging lives
Watching Lord of the Rings tonight, and listening to its soundtrack, reminded me once more of the power of music.
(03.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Mike Castro Demaria on Unsplash
Poem 556 – Progress
Today I moved
from a squawk to a note
from a note to a tune.
It helped when I found
that the mouthpiece I blew
was upside down!
I managed at last to have some time with the house to myself to have a blast on the sax. I discovered I’d previously made a fundamental error!
(24.06.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Atikh Bana on Unsplash
Poem 468 – Side A
I slip the vinyl from its paper sleeve,
carefully cradling it with my outstretched fingers,
holding it gently like a newborn babe.
Placing it tenderly, I dust it with a cloth
then brush the needle clean. This tactile ritual
just as important as the sound produced.
The customary crackle. ‘Hello old friend’, I smile.
The soundtrack of my youth plays on with only
the occasional interloper interrupting.
Have I reached the groove at record’s end
that leaves us turning on an endless loop,
or does the promise of a second side remain?
Working late today, listening to Roger Taylor’s ‘Outsider’ album. The record may be fairly new, but the voice is a long familiar travelling companion.
(28.03.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Poem 407 – A World in a Word
Sometimes a simple name can conjure a sound,
produce a tone or mood, or evoke a colour.
Try John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock,
Cannonball Adderley, Wayne Shorter, Charlie Parker.
Say them out loud to enter a world now gone,
where bands chase the elusive rhythm of
adrenaline beating, coloured black and white,
and tinted blue.
Spent this afternoon working to a soundtrack of Blue Note Jazz.
(26.01.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo William P. Gottlieb, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Ode for the Day 
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