Reading

Poem 788 – Don’t Steal Away the Magic

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Don’t take away the lure
of hidden woodland trails;
the wonder of a mystery
and striving for the grail.
Don’t steal away the magic.

Come let us wrestle monsters
with unpronounceable names.
and write our very own fables
in our own peculiar way.
Don’t steal away the magic.

Just sad or glad? You’re mad!
Please don’t confine our diction.
Throw out restraint, be free
with extravagant description.
Don’t steal away the magic.

Come, why restrict us to
perfectly formed cats and ham,
when instead we could have pizza
and misspelt dragon flan?
Don’t steal away the magic.

When words are an invitation,
a doorway to adventure,
who would decline the offer
and toss away invention?
Don’t steal away the magic.

Written in response to discussions with a teacher today.
(10.02.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Tom Hermans on Unsplash

Poem 299 – A Recipe for a Fantastic Childhood

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To start, prepare a base
of knights from Arthur’s Court.
and a dash of Robin Hood.
Stir with diced Norse legends.
Leave to simmer with a Hobbit,
thirteen dwarfs, a wizard
and an ancient dragon.
Add a sprinkling of Old Ones
and once the Dark has risen,
accompany with a garnish
of Garner, Brisingamen and owls.

Inspired by seeing a copy of Alan Garner’s brilliant Treacle Walker at my parent’s house. The owl is in their garden.
(21.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

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 65 – Tsundoku

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The Japanese possess a word for when
You grow a stack of books to read one day
A day that constantly remains a day
Away from now. That word is tsundoku.
I guess there must become a point in time
When tsundoku flows into tsunami
A crashing pile that floods the room and pours
Ideas and plots across the polished floor.

This is a word that belongs in my house. I have many of them!
(02.01.22)

© Ben Quant 2022