by Britta Benson
You’d think I’d written enough poems about sitting on a shingle beach by now. Apparently, I haven’t. I can’t really explain why, but the black shingle beaches on the Isle of Skye have done things to my soul I will be eternally grateful for. By the way, there are lovely white sandy beaches on SkyeContinue reading “Sitting on a shingle beach, by Britta Benson”
Another poem dedicated to a bench. People will start to think I live there. I don’t. I just chose to sit on benches a lot and stare, breathe and observe. Mostly nature. The sea, the hills and the trees don’t seem to mind too much, if I gawped at them open-jawed. People are not tooContinue reading “Park Bench, by Britta Benson”
Most people, when they visit Staffin, go to the slipway where you can see the footprints of a family of dinosaurs at low tide. It’s a great spot. I prefer the other beach in Staffin, a little further to the north, marked only by a tiny wooden sign and then requiring another walk to getContinue reading “The Shingle Beach in Staffin, by Britta Benson”
In a few days time, I’ll be off to the Isle of Skye for a week and today, it feels like I can already hear the wind and the waves. I’m so looking forward to being battered by the elements again. There’s always hope, that a few stuck and old ideas get severely dislodged andContinue reading “Relief, by Britta Benson”
It’s been a tiring day, I’ve got my second dose of the Covid vaccine today. I feel a bit groggy and really didn’t fancy writing about needles and diseases, so I stuck with something safe and always welcome, an escape. Breaking I’m an exceedingly good breaker. Down, not a problem. Open, a tad more tricky,Continue reading “Breaking, by Britta Benson”
This week, my creative writing group, The Procrastinators, work with the prompt ‘headless’. I came up with it on a whim, and then thought, that actually, losing your head every once in a while, might be a liberating experience. And also much needed. So much so, that it perhaps should be a regular past time…Continue reading “Headless, temporarily, by Britta Benson”
Sunset Sunset ushers in disputes and objections. Even the birds succumb to this urge for a sweet little while until all is soothed and settled for the night. Do not hold on too hard once the world has gone quiet or try to grab a sinking sun by the scruff, squeeze life to death withContinue reading “Sunset, by Britta Benson”
Truce Cinnamon sweeps in again, almost unnoticed, on a rainy day in May. A life well lived in swirls. The whirlwinds of lost journeys seep into my hungry soul. All yours, for now, all mine, forever. This truth be told, be gentle in your rage and cancel fate. We curl up on our window sills,Continue reading “Truce, by Britta Benson”
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