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.

London Lanturne, by Britta Benson

Here’s my response to my own prompt guidelines for the W3 Poetry Challenge (https://skepticskaddish.com/2022/08/10/w3-prompt-15-weave-written-weekly/). I’m in London just now and this is my attempt of describing the city in the current prolonged heat wave. I initially chose the lanturne form, simply because of the alliteration. With hindsight, though, I think it works quite well. London

A London poem, kind of, by Britta Benson

I’m in London with my son again. Same procedure as every year… He’s sixteen now. I looked back at the poem I wrote last year, upon our arrival. Here’s an edited version of it. A London Poem, kind of Early morning coffee with my son. Victoria, and a long chat, staring out of windows, watching

Clouds, by Britta Benson

Just a silly wee one. My quest today: Find out if one can stare into the sky for too long. I’ll leave the judgement up to you. Clouds Clouds travel like pros. No baggage, just water. Always, keep hydrated. Clouds seek no one’s approval. Do their thing. Sometimes subtle, pointillist blots, scattered in the most

Packing for impossible, by Britta Benson

I’ll be off to Germany in a week’s time. I won’t need much, still, I tried to get things sorted today, it being a Saturday. I had nothing else on. I tend to travel light. When I looked at my pile of stuff, I realized that I will take less on this trip than on

The map, by Britta Benson

Today’s poem is based on an observation I made on the ferry crossing from Cairnryan in Scotland to Belfast in Northern Ireland. I watched two elderly ladies in full waking gear getting a map out, discussing their plans and then, trying to fold the map back into its original shape – we’ve all been there.

Another journey, by Britta Benson

I’ve decided to go away for a few days. Next week marks the second anniversary of my mum’s death and I feel, I need to be alone for a few days. This second year after mum was very different from the first and still, time is a fickle, unreliable companion and plays tricks on all

A nightbus pretzel, by Britta Benson

Turns out, you can write more than one poem about travelling on the nightbus. So here’s the poem inspired by my return journey. I came back this morning and I’m still a bit dazed, twisted and contorted. If you’ve ever travelled on a bus for a very long time and you happen to be rather

Nightbus, by Britta Benson

I spent last night on the bus from Glasgow to London, a good eight hours, stuck in the blue tinted light of the bus, staring out into the darkness with virtually no clue where I was. All the places look the same, never more than white letters on blue rectangles at the side of the

I travel light, by Britta Benson

Today’s poem goes hand in hand with my other blog, ‘Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland’, my daily piece of prose writing. I’ve been kept awake by my restless heart lately and I’m trying to work out how to satisfy this wanderlust. There’s this picture in my head of my heart, sitting on a tiny