love, by Britta Benson

So, my first poem of the year and yet another blackout one. ‘love’ seems a good way to start 2023. Here goes: love a knot, a dawn, an experienced revelation, the most lucid peregrination years of familiarity turning inside out and upside down a dare, a fear, another shadow a permanent probability, an immediate reality,

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Love, or: Elephant

Here’s my response to my own guidelines on The Skeptic’s Kaddish weekly poetry challenge, W3. You can read the full prompt post here: https://skepticskaddish.com/2022/09/07/w3-prompt-19-weave-written-weekly/ Love, or: Elephant My love for you, non negotiable. I was yours, long before I felt gossamer fingers, toes, stroke my soul from the inside out, and even after that midwife

Why I follow the groove, by Britta Benson

Here’s my response to the W3 Poetry Challenge. This week’s challenge: write a poem in response to Kunjal’s ‘Rain’, no longer than 16 lines and must include the word ‘groovy’. You can read the full blog post here: https://skepticskaddish.com/2022/06/22/w3-prompt-8-weave-written-weekly/ I wanted to write about ‘groove’, than started with ‘groove-y’, ‘groove – Y/why?’ and it turned

Love wintering, by Britta Benson

Love wintering Love wintering, flicking through old jotters full of thoughts, hibernating, perhaps hatching like dragon’s eggs. There’s promise in those darkened foolscap landscapes. Love wintering, communicating with past versions of my self, scribbling hush, hush notes for a louder future, breathing in the fairy dust of jaundiced pages, still smelling those well mature coffee

The art of sitting, by Britta Benson

The art of sitting On your waterproof poncho, folded out flat on the beach. I want to be touching distance to the sea. You know this is silly, and we laugh as we sink deep and deeper into March-cold sand. On a wooden bench, side by side above the bay, basking in sunshine, clumps of

I know you, by Britta Benson

I guess it’s my kind of love poem. A bit weird. Like I said… my kind of love poem. For the slightly twisted minds… I suppose after over twenty years, my husband got used to my slightly wonky poetry. I like it. Here goes. I know you I know you. I know you like the

Padlocks on bridges, by Britta Benson

A few days ago, I crossed the Forth Road Bridge. Like on many other bridges, there is a section with hundreds of padlocks, love heart shaped, bearing the names of lovers and newly weds, some brand new, other rusty. Those padlocks always get me thinking. And writing. So here goes. My musings. Padlocks on bridges

Economical love poem, by Britta Benson

Love poems come easy or not at all. I’m not really one for writing an ode. So here it is, my economical love poem. Enjoy. Economical love poem Moments of nothing much and everything, share, repeat, our self care ritual, the little whiles. Here’s the small print: the rain in my heart meets the laughter

The shell, by Britta Benson

Every now and again, I write a love poem. I know, embarrassing. But every now and again, I don’t mind embarrassment. So here goes, full on lovely. The shell I walk along the endless beach, pick up one tiny shell. Not a perfect specimen, not even whole, there are odd bits, discoloured. It’s been dead

In the mood for love, by Britta Benson

I’ve got a prose poem for you today. I’m starting to experiment with this form, this is only my second. So not many under my belt yet and only started yesterday. I feel it’s a form that has been missing in my poetry repertoire. As always, certain forms suit certain poems. It’s mainly the speed