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Just a stone from that beach, by Britta Benson

Here’s my response to the W3 Poetry Prompt set by Aditi. The guideline: Write a pantoum, theme: anything dreamy. You can find Aditi’s phenomenal prompt poem and the complete guidelines by clicking this link: A pantoum? Never done one of those… I found the form extremely challenging, but my pig stubbornness wouldn’t allow meContinue reading “Just a stone from that beach, by Britta Benson”


Farewell’s welcome, by Britta Benson

Farewell’s welcome Sea after sunset, last glimpse of dusk. The air cool now, empty, light. Sudden sense of blue, leaving, leaving, left, all traces wiped. Moon invites what does not belong to vanish in the ripples of this night. Room for the other half. Silver, subtle, ripe.

Life’s origami, by Britta Benson

Life’s origami, or: The thing that can hold the most beautiful creases Reality, master of ritual and holding a crumpled grudge… At the end of each day, reality fits inside my tight fisted soul like a very scrunched up sheet of paper. Once fed this angry ball of life, my soul, protector of all stories,Continue reading “Life’s origami, by Britta Benson”

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,Continue reading “If I can dream it, by Britta Benson”

Remember past the dream, by Britta Benson

I’m working on a few projects simultaneously right now. In all likelihood, none of them will work, but I don’t mind. I enjoy experimenting. No pressure. Here’s a poem that has been in my notebook for a while. Today, I finally found an ending for it. Remember past the dream Remember past the dream, pastContinue reading “Remember past the dream, by Britta Benson”

Dreams, by Britta Benson

Dreams Dreams for beginners, special effects, glitter, a Las-Vegas-style late show, bigger and bolder. Advanced dreamers scale down the plot to the bone: Seeing my dad after years of Covid-19, sitting together on the sofa, watching football on TV, shouting at the ref in my mother’s tongue. My dream come true.

Dreams, by Britta Benson

One short poem today, almost a haiku and I know I could have changed it and turned it into one, but I didn’t want to. Writing a haiku is an option, not forced upon me. Enjoy! Dreams Specks, blots, rabbit hole dots, star rainbows from dusk to dawn, aspic adventures melt.