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,

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

Heard, by Britta Benson

I wrote this poem today, in response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt Number 261, ‘Outcry’ in 65 words. Here’s the link to the prompt post: https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2022/05/28/weekend-writing-prompt-261-outcry/ Heard The loudest outcry hardly ever breaks a wall of tense, communal silence, such a sacred shrine of misconception. This contagious swell, this ancient greed of sound cancels

Like memories, by Britta Benson

I wrote this poem yesterday, during an expressive writing workshop. Not sure if it’s finished yet. I like it the way it is, but might play around with it in a wee while. Like memories Like memories, always, flexible, stretchy, sketchy, the plasticity of my neurons at play. Stories told, a little different every time.

This is the time of year, by Britta Benson

I’ve got a gardening poem for you today, bit of a trip down memory lane. Then and now, life in all its layers. Sometimes it feels like time, too is layered, not linear. This is the time of year This is the time of year my dad would gather seed catalogues on our coffee table,

Mountaineering for Beginners, by Britta Benson

I’ve got a piece of expressive writing for you today. Here goes. Mountaineering for beginners Life throws stuff in my way all the time. It’s what life does. Mostly small fry, easy peasy. Sometimes chunky, meaty bits. And then, just to keep things interesting and me on my tippie toes, drum roll, ta-daa! Life occasionally

Loss, by Britta Benson

Another poem about grief. Doesn’t really need an introduction. Like most people, I live with grief. I have my own take on it. Here goes. Loss is not a lack, a gap, with fixed dimensions. Absence comes and goes, grows into a tidal beast, famished crashing waves, eating hearts, licking wounds, seeking, always finding. Then,

And then, when…, by Britta Benson

The last few days have been difficult, to say the least. My 82 year old dad has not been well at all and we had long, heartbreaking conversations via video calls, the only way we can be close right now. I’ve not seen a lot of light, I’ve not slept enough. My writing, however, anchors

Remembrance Sunday, by Britta Benson

A haiku it is, today, to mark Remembrance Sunday. Some occasions don’t require lots of words. Remembrance Sunday Death awakens souls. Lost voices speak forever. We’re the threads of life.

Here’s what you say, by Britta Benson

Oh, I’m in full blown ranting mode today, can’t even say why. Sometimes it simply feels good to do so. Here goes. Here’s what you say Here’s what you say. Life’s not fair. And in case that’s not clear, you go through your list of complaints: Something sweet, you say, like your hand in mine,