When will the rain stop?, by Britta Benson

I like rain. I have to. I live in Scotland. I like the sun too. But that’s a different story for another day. I learned a new word today: petrichor. The pleasant smell that often comes with rain. This new word inspired me to a new poem about rain. Actually, I wrote a whole series

Conundrum, by Britta Benson

Saturday, and it’s raining. Here’s the thing… my conundrum… and it comes in the form of a haiku. Conundrum Rain. On Saturday. Water keeps me in my home. I run a hot bath. That’s it, dear readers. Should you wish to read my contribution to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt, ‘Luminous’ in thirty words, here’s

Memories, by Britta Benson

It rains so hard today, that I might have to teach my home to swim. I’ve been watching the rain fall on saturated ground for quite some time now and it sparked a poem. Inevitable. Really. Here goes. Memories Memories fall like rain. Inevitable. Get hit by a touch, a smile, a word, years old,

Abundance, by Britta Benson

Today was one of those days, where it rained and rained and rained. Not a heavy downpour that turns the universe into a a dark pit of ueber-dramatic doom, just a persistent rain, the type Scotland does so well. The weather annoyed me for a while. Then, looking out of my window, I realized, that

Rain, by Britta Benson

Another poem about rain. What can I say, I live in Scotland. Rain and I meet a lot. Rain Today I decide to listen to the rain as though it’s telling me a story I should know. I open windows wide and let the gentle murmur in. It comes in peace, with a little splash

August, by Britta Benson

Mixed day, I seem to take advice from the weather when it comes to my moods. This may be a great idea in some countries, perhaps not so much so if you live in Scotland, like me, at least not at first glance. I like the changeable weather, though. There is always time for rain

I, Rain, by Britta Benson

I had plans for today, outdoor plans, but the weather had different ideas for this Tuesday. So I’m stuck inside with a bit of a grudge, bubbling and annoying me from the inside out. I tried to see the other side of the story, imagine, what the rain feels and the result is the following

Why it rains, by Britta Benson

Why it rains White clouds hang scattered, loose, above my head. These guardians of my darkening soul follow, catch and keep my worries safe, my horrors safer with my fears, until it’s time to hand them back in dribbles, drabs and silver droplets, fill my hollowed heart with life and hold their heads up light

Please, rain, please, by Britta Benson

Just a wee silly rain poem. My topic, so often, what can I say: I live in Scotland. Enjoy! Please, rain, please Please, rain, please, don’t make my tulips lose their bonny heads. I’ll offer you mine as a safe place, if you really must fall hard today. I’m naturally waterproof, fully mackintoshed. I’ll live

I made a deal with my self, by Britta Benson

I’m feeling light and sprightly and good today, despite the rain. There’s a rain poem coming up, but first, some light-hearted entertainment. Enjoy! I made a deal with my self I made a deal with my self and it’s a simple one. I do me, because no one else quite fits the bill, I am