To a friend, by Britta Benson

Here’s my response to Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt. This week, the prompt word is ‘flippant’ with a word count of 74. You can read the full post here: https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2022/07/02/weekend-writing-prompt-266-flippant/ There’s a story to this piece. When I read the prompt word ‘flippant’, I immediately thought of an old school friend who flippantly suggested, that if

Silvering, by Britta Benson

I’ve been thinking about driftwood. Also, about aging. About how driftwood becomes more and more bleached by the elements, almost silver. About the flotsam and jetsam of life and that led me to the line ‘flot some and jet some’. The poetic journey began. Here goes: Silvering Ghosts come and go, like people, really. Let

Sleepless, by Britta Benson

Sleepless nights. I don’t get them very often, but when I do, there’s no stopping them. Once my dreams have given up on me for good, the night is over. I can’t blame her… I guess, I should stick with my dreams for a little longer, even the silly ones. Especially the silly ones. Until

Before speaking, by Britta Benson

Here’s my response to this week’s W3 poetry challenge. The prompt: Write a poem including the words ‘sovereign’ and ‘rights’. You can read the full blog post here, including Amy (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris’ poem ‘Thunderstorm Magic’: https://skepticskaddish.com/2022/06/29/w3-prompt-9-weave-written-weekly/ Here goes, my take: Before speaking I take for granted too many rights that came easy, long before breath.

Tell me a story, by Britta Benson

So, I’ve got a new ‘thing’, I make paper cairns, paper poetry cairns and I am enjoying this burst of creativity tremendously. You can read a little more about it in my other blog, (https://brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com/2022/06/28/poetry-cairns/) What’s next? Not sure, perhaps a whole landscape. I like the fact that the cairn poem can be read, discovered,

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 ripple

On my rock, by Britta Benson

I ask myself all sorts of questions. Today, for example, I wondered: What would I write on a rock? A friend of mine paints lovely patterns on small stones she finds in her local area. I like the idea very much. On my rock On my rock, no hard words, just the whisper of a

Bubble or human, by Britta Benson

Here’s my response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Challenge. This week, the prompt is ‘brevity’, in twelve words. You can read her full blog post here: https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2022/06/25/weekend-writing-prompt-265-brevity/ Somehow this made me think of the life expectancy of bubbles… and humans. Similar, although admittedly not quite the same. Bubble or human Life. Brave story of iridescent

If I can dream it, by Britta Benson

This feels like a very suitable poem for a Friday. A good way to send you into the weekend… Here goes: If I can dream it If I can dream it, it’s already real in my soul. If it’s already real in my soul, then who am I to argue? Surely, my heart, my feet,

Togetherness, by Britta Benson

This poem started as a handful of scribbles during a meeting of the Boundary Way Writers Group in February 2022. I am part of the Boundary Way Writers – which is nothing short of ‘modern’, since the group of nature writers is based in Wolverhampton, around the Boundary Way allotments, but hey ho, this is