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, past

The other side of loss, by Britta Benson

This poem is my response to Brian Vos’s Weekly Poetry Prompt on http://www.brianvos.com. This week’s theme: Two sides of loss. Here’s the link to his page: https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/107936767/posts/3910516669 It got me thinking about the time, two and a half years ago, when my mum died. A few months after her death, I helped my dad clearing

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,

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.

Haiku Triptych, by Britta Benson

I have only recently started to write haiku and you probably know what if feels like, when you discover something rather late in the game. I am now writing haiku with a vengeance and I’m thoroughly enjoying the experience. The three haiku below can stand alone, but are also related and meant to be read

Closer, by Britta Benson

Closer It’s always about distance. We’re bonding over fears of loss. Hope strikes joyful, like a lottery ticket in a back pocket, washed, wishing for thunder, lightning, and a bag of sherbet lemons to share. We hold hands across the time zones of life and death. It’s always about distance. Ask commuters on a rush