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.

Just before dawn, by Britta Benson

This shardoma is my response to Tanka Tuesday’s Specific Form challenge. https://wordcraftpoetry.com/2022/09/13/tankatuesday-poetry-challenge-no-289-9-13-22-specificform-shadorma/ Just a wee impression from my morning walk. Just before dawn Sea rumbles in the early breeze. Breath of tide. Last night’s dream idles on crests towards land. There is no one here.

Downpour, by Britta Benson

This wee poem was inspired by last night’s Procrastinators’ prompts. (https://theprocrastinators58220236.wordpress.com/2022/09/12/sunday-writing-prompts-syllabic-poetry/) Downpour Rain cleanses the air. What a relief for hayfever sufferers. A lot of work for humble water. Never ending. Pitter, plop, patter, drop from above. Splash on leaf. Sky tears melt on green.

That late buddleia flower, by Britta Benson

That late buddleia flower Mid September, and a very last flourish of nature. The butterflies flutter and rejoice, not a minute to waste… I watch their excited little dance, admire the unadulterated happiness purple brings. Until next year. Make most of last bloom! Full colour seeks mirror feast. Last rush before rest.

Eczema, by Britta Benson

Here’s my response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt. This week, the prompt word is ‘bandage’ with a word count of 61. https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2022/09/10/weekend-writing-prompt-276-bandage/ It brought back memories of my son’s early childhood. He suffered from severe childhood eczema and it took us over a decade to ‘kind of’ get to grips with it. Eczema We’dContinue reading “Eczema, by Britta Benson”

September haibun, by Britta Benson

September haibun Early autumn and the leaves on the trees seem to negotiate their colour and condition on a daily basis. I love this time of year, this give and take of change, the slight hesitations and then, that wholehearted surrender. Limbo, almost. Leaf! Breeze whispers, chill tugs, night weighs… Still waiting. Not yet!

Wind, by Britta Benson

Here’s my response to Rebecca’s Poetry Challenge on http://www.fakeflamenco.com (https://fakeflamenco.com/2022/09/06/august-2022-poetry-challenge/). Theme this month: Wind, using the literary device of anaphora, all in eight lines. I struggled with the challenge… until I read another blogpost, by Margaret, completely unrelated, about travel on buses, planes, boats, cars and trains (https://margaret21.com/2022/09/08/buses-and-planes-boats-cars-and-trains/). In it, she wrote the line ‘CarContinue reading “Wind, by Britta Benson”

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 midwifeContinue reading “Love, or: Elephant”

Non-primary, or: Purple, by Britta Benson

Here’s my contribution to this week’s Tanka Tuesday over at WordCraftPoetry (https://wordcraftpoetry.com/2022/09/06/tankatuesday-weekly-poetry-challenge-no-288-tastetherainbow-color-poetry/). Any excuse to use the picture I took of a stained glass window in the V&A Dundee, a few days ago… I love, love, love this purple detail! Non-primary, or: Purple Not pure, simple. Deep! Infused with doubt, pride, knowing. Still, light permeates.

Some things, by Britta Benson

A little note I wrote, while sitting on a bench yesterday evening. Some things Some things, I can change, others, I need to sit with. Bench in field, vantage point, trees, someone loved Rowan, many decades ago. Sun in and out of undecided clouds. Thistles, spent, soft tufts, beige fluff, ready to disperse. Wind playsContinue reading “Some things, by Britta Benson”

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