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That moment, by Britta Benson

Photo by M. Rohana on

Every week, I look forward to the W3 poetry challenge, hosted by David on The Skeptic’s Kaddish. This week, the guidelines, set by A.J. Wilson, are as follows: Write a poem in no more than 12 lines, include the word ‘waiting’. Here’s the link to the full blog post:

Here’s my response… inspired by watching a black redstart on my dad’s shed roof… and so much more.

That moment

Watching a black redstart on dad’s shed roof,

waiting for thought to end so that heart can catch up

with all my sunrise, sunset, the reds of each day,

always bleeding unspeakable joy into phantom pain,

before sorting small life into come and go, never know.

Waiting for bold diagonals of inspiration to take leave,

so that my work can begin without expectations.

Waiting for waiting, the pin prick restlessness of balance,

fed by clouds, winds, dust, the tall must and must nots.

Waiting for ease to weave in and out of old and new,

equilibrium, such a fragile state of bored discontent.

Watching a black redstart on dad’s shed roof… fly.


7 thoughts on “That moment, by Britta Benson

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