Joy, by Britta Benson

My poem ‘Joy’ has been published on MasticadoresIndia. I am pleased to be part of this platform for prose and poetry from all over the world. Please check it out by clicking on the link: https://masticadoresindia.wordpress.com/2022/10/05/joy-by-britta-benson/ Joy I wander where wi-fi is not and signal bars fade into endless horizons. When no one can reach

Navigating autumn, by Britta Benson

Navigating autumn Well past the point of plump, of ripe, of juicy, an understanding moves in with the chills of Eastern winds. Time to get ready for the breaking, the falling, the losing, the other half of life, and the joy of returning home. Leaves let go, one by one, start another journey, light and

British Museum, by Britta Benson

The first of my three haiku on history has been published on Whispers & Echoes today. Please check out this online journal for short writing. (https://whispersandechoesmag.home.blog/2022/10/03/british-museum-britta-benson/) British Museum Rooms burst with gold, stone. Pasts: found, bought, stolen, gifted. Confused ancestors.

Think, by Britta Benson

Yes. I have spent my Sunday cutting out words, phrases and then sticking them onto a piece of paper like a ransom note. Make of it what you will. I had fun. Until next time…

Late September morning, by Britta Benson

It’s been one of those days… Rain, rain, rain. Relentless. And suddenly, all the lovely autumn colours were gone. Not much of a poem today. Late September morning Downpour. Rain. Just rain. Bright autumn colours drain, seep. World watery grey.

Travelling, by Britta Benson

Here’s a poem I wrote yesterday. I attend an online expressive writing session on Tuesdays, led by Michelle Berberet. The sessions are free and highly enjoyable, as well as inspirational. (https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/expressive-writing-zoom-workshop-fall-session-tickets-399661768107?) This Tuesday writing hour has become a bit of a fixture in my diary. So, here’s what I wrote: Travelling It’s what I do.

Your life, by Britta Benson

I’m enjoying blackout poetry right now. Here’s a wee something I found on Saturday. Your life Your life, don’t think. Understand in and out. Look. Look. Understand. That’s an open invitation. Feel luck. Cracker. Dance.

My favourite textures, by Britta Benson

Thinking about textures… Here’s two I like a lot. My favourite textures A crunch, a crest, unexpected tang, surprise in surplus, confusion. apprehension, almost. That apple, waxy, green, nearly took a tooth out, unripe resistance, then pleasure, sharp, juicy, tart, texture cutting through tastebuds. That wave, sheer stubbornness on the run, determined to tickle, when

Writer’s night, by Britta Benson

Here’s a silly one… of sorts. Just me playing around with the shadorma form. Learning. Also looking into ways of describing the colour of dusk. Be warned. I’ll be looking into dawn next… Writer’s night Dusk, egg yolk spreads on angel wings. Last light hurts, clock ticks, tocks, pen seeks shelter on thin lines. Pages

Second, by Britta Benson

Most Tuesday afternoons I attend an expressive writing workshop, run by Michelle Berberet. I love these sessions. They always bring out interesting pieces of writing and the group is phenomenally supportive. In addition to that, they are free. If you are curious, here’s the Eventbrite link: https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/expressive-writing-zoom-workshop-fall-session-tickets-399663122157?aff=ebdshpsearchautocomplete&keep_tld=1 And here’s the poem I wrote today. I