Rain

Wipers Required

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Today I shared a miserable, cold, grey day
with a family that I’d not met before.
I drove, to see them, heavy teardrops descending
across the screen, obscuring my field of view.
No doubt there had been other rivulettes
running across their faces, but as we talked
forgotten memories were dusted down
and family jokes revived from photographs.
These led us to a place of hopeful joy
where streams were stilled and hopes restored, and as
the Sun began to rise, I said farewell,
leaving hopeful that they were lightened too.

Today two worlds I occupy collided as I visited a friend from my gaming circles who’d asked if I could take the funeral for his dad.
(01.12.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Clay LeConey on Unsplash

Poem 444 – Light Rain Predicted

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It says light rain, and so it is,
but can a rain that does not stop,
that pours relentlessly, a grey
insipid, haze of wet that soaks
through coats, and trouser pockets where
they drain, be ever truly light?
It is so fine it makes its way
through every pour and crevice that
present themselves, from seams to button
holes, and zips to ears and noses.
It says light rain, but I’m weighed down
my clothes and spirits drenched and heavy.

It looks like a long weekend of rain ahead… (For transparency’s sake, thankfully I’ve been in the inside looking out at the rain, imagining, so don’t feel sorry for me!)
(14.11.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 630 – New River in the Rain

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The trees’ reflections are stirred,
obscured by whirling eddies
that form along the bank.
Concentric circles overlap,
and dancing dissipate.
Delineation blurs as
the air moistens, merging
with the flow below.
Darting swifts live up to
their names catching disturbed
insects on the wing.
Suspended spiders’ webs,
glistening silver-plated,
adorn the grassy fence,
whilst blackberries, freshly washed,
hang low from laden branches,
dressed in mourning tones.
A cormorant smiles and dives,
oblivious to the tears.

It’s down to rain all day, but regardless, we snatched a walk between deluges along the New River, built to feed water to London to the south. My new raincoat kept the rain out.
(19.07.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jackie Best on Unsplash

Poem 387 – Wet Trousers

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The alarm went off this morning.
Outside it was dark, so dark,
I didn’t want to rise,
but had before I knew it.

I left the car at the garage.
Cycling was cold, so cold,
the tide mark rising up
dull chromatography.

The phone rang in the rain.
The call was hard, so hard.
May God’s peace match the puddles
permeating my pockets.

Once home I peeled the layers.
They’re dripping wet, so wet.
The garage rings, it’s ready –
I put them on again…

I had to take our car to the garage first things for it’s annual service. The snow and ice may have gone, but the weather was miserable. I still feel wet. The good news, however, was that there were no issues with the car at all.
(06.01.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Nicola Anderson on Unsplash

Poem 316 – Raindrops

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Bulbous bombs of water
explode on contact with
the ground, or windows, or clothes.
Penetrating cover
and piercing any armour,
they always find a way.
Skin momentarily holds them,
keeps them back, but in
the end even this is
futile and our bodies
become infiltrated.

It’s raining outside. We have a leak at church.
(08.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Eutah Mizushima on Unsplash

Poem 262 – Dampened Spirits?

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Today a hazy veil of rain
hangs over Perthshire’s gentle hills.
Yesterday’s yellow barley fields
have run, their colours washed away.
The buzzards’ mewling ceased, the only
whine belongs to windscreen wipers.
The drenching lasts until Dundee
where, even seeking refuge, we
are met by a generosity
that contrasts to the downcast skies.

Today is our day of rain. This hasn’t stopped if heading out to track the Dewar family’s passage through Dundee. What has most impressed me is the friendliness of the Scots, even on a day like this. (The sun came out mid-afternoon and the rain soon seemed a distant memory, especially when significant graves were found.)
(15.08.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 161 – After the Rain

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Water…
    Unruly
        Miscreant
            Trespasser
        Trickles
    Oozes
Seeps
    Bursts
        Untamable
            Circumvents
        Boggy
    Puddles
Stream
    Pervasive
        Persistent
            Chaotic
        Downwards
    Gurgling
Sweeps

A Sunday afternoon stroll around the New River, Top Field and Baas Hill Common. Although the sky was blue and the sun was out, the waterlogged paths definitely required boots.
(15.01.23)

© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by Robert Zunikoff on Unsplash: https://unsplash.com/photos/ko7Tp_LyAt4

Poem 50 – Chaos Theory

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The rivulets flow gently down the window
Pane, where they mix and combine randomly
Forming patterns that will not be seen again.
Each stream a unique moment in time that
Once gone is lost and replaced by something
Else, new and similar but changed in strength
And form, each flow departing further than
The one that came before. Eventually
Perhaps the permutations will complete
And finally begin again, but if
They do the order will not match
Such, is this world’s complexity.

I opened the curtains this morning to the sight of rain running down our windows, reminding me of the famous scene in Jurassic Park where Jeff Goldblum’s character explains chaos theory by dripping water on his companions hand.
(03.12.21)

© Ben Quant 2021

Poem 31 – Rain Spoils Play

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Photographic filter
Washing our colours
Not dressed for success
But draining vitality
Fine mist descends
Depressing the day

The swoosh of the surf
Succeeds every car
Not Bondai beach
But oil residue
Running in gutters
Raised by rubber

Persistent it penetrates
Seeping with ease
Damping through clothing
Collecting between shoulders
Coldness that shivers
Wrinkles our toes

Last day in self-isolation and looking forward to being released. Sat in my office, however, the view isn’t appealing with the fine drizzle looking set for the day. Hope it clears by tomorrow.

(10.11.21)

© Ben Quant 2021