Writing

Poem 282 – A Poem

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

A metaphor,
a playing with words,
or perhaps a simile,
a play upon words.
An idea beyond
prose definition.
A reaching for
elusive description.
A window pane
or mirrored glass.
A way to express
that which is past.
A captured dream
or aspiration.
An act of resistance,
freedom exclamation.
The deepest pool
or giggling brook.
Sublime or silly,
an alternative look.
A joyful craft or
frustrating art.
Both easily learnt
and always hard.

Thinking about what to write, today I found myself pondering the nature of a poem and its craft.
(04.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

Poem 235 – Reboot

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

I tried another way
But found it didn’t stick
So starting from today
I have abandoned it.

I must regain the habit
Of writing every day
Because life becomes drab if
All work, no rest or play

I’ve changed the way I’ve been working recently, embracing the wonder of Obsidian md to organise and link together my work and ideas. I thought it would be great to write my poems there as well, but somehow this simply led to me stopping writing. I’ve now reverted to scribbling them in Google Keep, which makes it easier to write in odd moments and on my phone.
(09.03.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by John M. Smit on Unsplash

Poem 230 – The Writer’s Dance

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

I like the feel of pen on paper,
the tactile bond that forms between
the brain and movement, thought and fingers,
as words are traced upon the sheet.
This physical description is
the only form of dance in which
I can partake because the rhythm
is not determined by my feet.

I treated myself to the luxury of a reMarkable tablet this Christmas, to try and combine the tactile thinking of physical writing and the convenience of computing. This was my opening trial run with it.
(08.01.24)

© Ben Quant 2023
Original photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

Psalm 151 – The Reckoning

/ BenDQ / Leave a comment

It’s the strangest feeling,
When someone else is pouring,
Over words that you,
And you alone, have known.
Your baby, your secret, yours
But now no longer so.
It’s out there, in the wild.
It’s prone, susceptible.
Exposed to public whim.
How will they handle it?
With care or carelessness?
Indifference or joy?
Now the time of reckoning.

My thesis is rewritten and has just returned from my proofreader. Soon it will be submitted, and this labour of love and anger will be handed over to others to judge…
(07.12.22)

© Ben Quant 2022