Another blackout poem, by Britta Benson

I’ve written a couple of poems today, none of which is ready to be shared. So what do I do? I put a blackout poem on my blog. One, that I’ve prepared earlier… I still like doing them. It’s my go to practice, when things go a bit slow, iffy or not at all. Find

The most important thing, by Britta Benson

Another Tuesday, and another Expressive Writing session with Michelle Berberet from the Georgetown Lombardi Arts and Humanities programme. Here’s my poem. Perhaps a bit sappy, but that’s how I felt on this All Hallows Day. The most important thing I am home, that place where familiar and unknown live side by side like good neighbours.

Autumn from my point of view, by Britta Benson

Autumn, from the point of view of a leaf. Why not? Here’s my shadorma. Autumn from my point of view Last to fall. Held on, sun-soaked, cold. Letting go of summer, hardest part of growing old. Watch my dance of life.

Autumn, by Britta Benson

Autumn Leaf on tour. Soft journey, carried by winds free of charge. First swirl, colour curls in the air, painting quick patterns of change. What remains must always return to earth’s core, be more. Beginnings fall. Seasons gone, yet to come, leap of faith. Leave.

Chill, by Britta Benson

Here’s my response to this week’s W3 poetry challenge. The guidelines, set by Poet of the Week Sunra Rainz, ask for an ekphrastic poem inspired by a horror movie that gave us the chills, or a poem about an experience that gave us the chills. You can read Sunra’s prompt poem and guidelines by clicking

Good Day, by Britta Benson

Good day in Paris. Here’s the summary… Good day Got lost, found other, sonder, sundry wonder. Watched autumn leaves change colour, direction, on a whim, a notion, a necessity. Forgot destinations, discovered tastes, experienced this, that, enough, not on the map, arrived.

Some words are boulders, by Britta Benson

I found a first draft for this poem in my notebook. I had scribbled down a few notes before deciding that the piece wouldn’t go anywhere. Today, a good three weeks later, I looked at my rough and not so ready notes again. I liked them a little more and thought, hey, this is something.

Dear Bed, by Britta Benson

Here’s a poem I wrote yesterday, during an Expressive Writing workshop led by Michelle Berberet (you can find this regular workshop on Eventbrite as part of the Georgetown Lombardi Arts and Humanities Programme). The prompt was a poem in praise of the writer’s bed. Bed? Yes, bed. I like my bed. But I do have

trust, by Britta Benson

Just a blackout poem for you today. I like playing around, experimenting. I give you ‘trust’. trust trust Completely. Everyone is corrupt here. So are you. believe break take Would you like to dream? What is it like?

Just me, by Britta Benson

Here’s my response to The Procrastinators’ Five-Word-Challenge. The five words to be used in a poem or story were: frown, basic, worry, pick, word. You can find the full prompt blog by clicking on this link: https://theprocrastinators58220236.wordpress.com/2022/10/02/sunday-writing-prompts-give-us-a-clue/ Just me I pick a word, a start, any will do for the now. A word, a worry.