Life sings from tall conifers, by Britta Benson

Here’s a little scene from my garden today. It’s not exactly a glorious summer. Still, life sings… Life sings from tall conifers In my tiny garden, perched on a camping chair, notepad in my lap, eyes closed, ears pricked, hoping to find the perfect notation for nature’s breath. Feel a slight nip in the rippleContinue reading “Life sings from tall conifers, by Britta Benson”

Chirpy, by Britta Benson

A little nature poem. I like writing tiny thumbnails, miniature pieces, capturing a moment in time. Today, I’m particularly proud using a picture my son took as image to go along with my poem. We don’t often work hand in hand. He’s fifteen, so his usual subject matter goes more along the line of ZombieContinue reading “Chirpy, by Britta Benson”

Crows, by Britta Benson

Crows Ten of you sit like dark angels in the rowan tree’s crown. The other lot moves in. Troublemakers. Family? Council estate drama in three deafening scenes. One: Territorial screeching from both sides. Two: Rooftop strutting, forward, squeal, backward, squawk. Three: Last dance. Last chance. Hissing death eaters own the air. I blink. You’re allContinue reading “Crows, by Britta Benson”

Tuning into the day, by Britta Benson

Today’s poem was inspired by Brian Vos’s Weekly Poetry Prompt, This week, the challenge was to write a poem consisting of paired opposites. I thought about the challenge for a couple of days and then came up with this little piece. Enjoy! Tuning into the day Feet on the ground. Feet on branches, fenceContinue reading “Tuning into the day, by Britta Benson”

Lunchtime ritual, by Britta Benson

A fun one about birds today. Or, a little snapshot of my garden. Here goes. Lunchtime ritual The two woodpigeons, I call them Mr and Mrs, meet on the bitumen sheets of our shed. Their relationship unstable, rocky at the best of times, today, I’d say verging on volatile. Lives are at risk, world peaceContinue reading “Lunchtime ritual, by Britta Benson”

Still, by Britta Benson

Still I’m hiding underneath the song of birds. The witch’s cackle of caterwauling sea gulls protects the familiar whisper of my breath, the steady drum of my heartbeat. I’m hatching plans under cover in the warmth of the late morning sun, create and unleash worlds yet to be travelled. I’m still here, I’m healing, breakingContinue reading “Still, by Britta Benson”

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