Sonnet

Poem 684 – They’re Back!

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A torrent of toddlers teaming in,
A stream of squealing, screaming sound,
A shouting, shoal of shiny din.
Pouring past our open doors,
Abandoning bags and boots around,
And flowing onto every floor.
Playdough, crayons and other craft,
Friendships on a seesaw found,
Filling the church with fun and laughter.
After the break we’re back on track,
So look out folks, toddlers are back!

Our toddler group returned today after the summer holidays. It was wonderful to have them back.
(10.09.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by E Hillsley on Unsplash

Poem 610 – Haunted

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Under this raging sun the ragwort blooms
and ancient English oaks stand broad and tall.
On the wing, strange, alien-blue, dragonflies zoom,
as vivid caterpillars stretch and crawl.
Meanwhile, a song thrush finds its finest hour
in glorious song, a masterclass of splendour.
Its beauty’s only matched by bright wildflowers;
as this dream becomes a glimpse through heaven’s door.
We stroll along the gayly dressed bright field,
whilst skylarks burble in the meadow grass.
Such visions jar with those further afield,
reminders of the life of days gone past.
Too few, alas, these ghosts of what has gone –
our lives are haunted by their lives undone.

I thought I’d try and rework yesterday’s poem into a sonnet, its content seeming to call for a more classic form.
(29.06.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 494 – Fifty Two Years

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On April the twenty third I feel I ought,
To write a sonnet honouring the Bard.
In Fifteen Sixty Four our Will was born,
Living ’til Sixteen Sixteen when he died.
Between these only fifty two short years,
In which to write his dazzling magnus opus,
His folio of world renowned great verse,
Still uttered by the Thames in his wooden O.
Creator of so many memorable lines,
And author of now oft used turns of phrase,
The master of the magical use of rhyme,
With which he artfully captured our human ways.
So why’s today named after some brave knight
And not this bright composer of such delight!

A sonnet on St. George’s Day.
(23.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 414 – The Conversation of the Birds

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The conversation of the birds echoes
beneath the ancient woodland canopy.
We turn our searching eyes upwards to check on
the source of these trill tongues, but alas, they flee.
A hint of movement flits amongst the leaves,
a trace of colour or suggestive shape:
the twitching of the leaves caught in the breeze
or shadow of the bird as it escapes?
We close our eyes and stand as still as we
are able to and try to disappear,
perhaps our feathered friends will sense our plea,
and stepping forwards, finally lose their fear.
In time the individuals will emerge,
if you attend to the conversation of the birds.

Birdwatching in the woods can be a frustrating affair, so often they remain out of sight, but careful listening can lead to individuals appearing from the chorus.
(02.02.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Tom Bradley on Unsplash

(Edit: swapped the last two lines around, much better for this simple switch! 03.03.23)

Poem 159 – A Sonnet for Jeff Beck

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The news of Jeff Beck’s passing was a shock.
    Disciple, six string warrior, he played
    Uniquely. He was peerless to this day.
We cry. The king is dead, the king of rock.
It’s true, perhaps, that thousands did not flock
    To catch him on the stage, perform the way
    He could, making it speak and wail and spray
The air with song-like notes; an ease that mocked.
Despite this, his guitar will always stand
    Unique, unmatched by those within his wake,
Pale copies of this effortless control.
    Unrivalled, fusing different sonic lands,
So few attain the sounds that he could make
    That reach inside and pluck our very souls.

Last night I was stopped by the news of Jeff Beck’s death. Another guitar hero of mine gone, joining the likes of Garry Moore and George Harrison. Very much a guitarist’s guitarist, uniquely blending jazz, soul and rock, along with inventive tremolo and bending techniques he was one of a kind. Continuing to grapple with rhyme, I fancied trying a petrarchan sonnet today. He seemed a fitting object.
(12.01.23)

© Ben Quant 2023

Photo by Mandy Hall – originally posted to Flickr as Jeff Beck, CC BY 2.0