blue, by Britta Benson

Here’s my response to ‘The Procrastinators’ Weekly Writing Prompts: Murals… again‘ (https://theprocrastinators58220236.wordpress.com/2023/03/19/the-procrastinators-weekly-writing-prompts-murals-again/). I love writing about the sea. blue blue, and not blue never just blue there is darkness in depth, fluorescent luminescence, the essence of origins this is where all began, in, under, on, before time was a thing and we lost our gills,

Breathtaking in 14 words, by Britta Benson

Here’s my response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt. This week: ‘Breathtaking’ in 14 words (https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2023/03/11/weekend-writing-prompt-302-breathtaking/). Sea clicking clacking through shingle Here not here returning breath taking all sorrow a w a y

Things I’d like to say to an octopus, by Britta Benson

Maybe a bit random, but that’s how my brain works. Things I’d like to say to an octopus You’ve been around much longer than my kind. We’re merely amateurs compared to you guys. What can you expect from modern creatures with only one heart? Seems a bit silly really. One heart, one brain, two arms

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.

Casting off, by Britta Benson

This is my response to Brian Vos’s Weekly Poetry Prompt. This week’s challenge: write a poem on the theme of ‘outcast’. Here’s the prompt link: https://brianvos.com/2022/06/03/outcast-your-weekly-poetry-prompt/ Trust me to take it farther. I started off by thinking ‘let’s turn it around’, no outcast, but ‘casting out’, like a fishing line, which, of course, brought me

When the sea stills, by Britta Benson

When the sea stills When the sea stills, not completely, of course not, just a little, you know, that moment, when wave becomes water, soft and silky, so much so, that leaving feels easy, the most natural thing, off, off, off, why not now? When the sea stills, just like that, I hold my tiny

Sea, by Britta Benson

Just a haiku today, inspired by the Sunday Writing Prompts on The Procrastinators. Here’s the link: https://theprocrastinators58220236.wordpress.com/2022/05/22/sunday-writing-prompts-sea-week/ Sea Wave, or not. Crest falls. Heaving silver, sunset bronze. White froth still searching.

The art of sitting, by Britta Benson

The art of sitting On your waterproof poncho, folded out flat on the beach. I want to be touching distance to the sea. You know this is silly, and we laugh as we sink deep and deeper into March-cold sand. On a wooden bench, side by side above the bay, basking in sunshine, clumps of

Deep water poetess, by Britta Benson

This poem is my response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt: https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/20204174/posts/3869536963 This week’s prompt is ‘Rune’, in 96 words. I went for a walk on one of my favourite beaches today in North Berwick and looking at the wet sand, I saw all the little marks, dips, crevasses left by the sea, constantly changing.

Sea gods, by Britta Benson

I spent the day in North Berwick. From the summit of North Berwick I looked onto the beach. Later, I went along the beach and observed a few swimmers. I’m always in awe of winter swimmers. Today, for a brief moment, I felt inspired, upon watching them. I rolled up my trousers and wanted to