At the end of the day | Britta Benson

At the end of the day,

I have a question:

Where did my words go,

after I sent them into the world?

Is there a secret spot beyond ethers,

perhaps buried deep in a soul,

where all the lost ones,

that didn’t get caught,

all the lonely ones,

that never quite reached,

all the heavy ones,

that simply fell,

and fell,

keep

on

falling?


Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland (brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com) as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends (oddsends707138946.wordpress.com). She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

To my Arthritis | Britta Benson

You’re the expertly nagging, stubbornly resident ghost

in my joints, often asleep, then back with a vengeance.

A jolt, just a dash, a wrath, a niggle. I motor on. You work

your wonders like a most temperamental Norse goddess,

ask for sacrifice, worship, the lot. I’m not a great fan.

You raise your harsh voice whenever you feel neglected.

‘This will hurt’, you snarl and reprimand. ‘What did you

expect?’ You, my excellent, nonchalant, chronic companion.

I traded, bartered, bargained for years, hoped for leniency.

There is no pleasing you. I remember the day long ago

when I first took us up a mountain top. Agony all the way!

Showed you a view you enjoyed so much you were willing

to negotiate. And that’s when I said: ‘Here’s the deal, love,

my cranky moany faced deity. Stay in my joints, if you must,

but let me take the two of us to places that make our hearts

go oooh and our souls join in with a hushed harmonious aaah,

all the way up and all the way down. I’ll show you the world,

if you turn down your huffing and puffing a notch or two’.

Sometimes this even works. Other times not so much so.

My dear Arthritis, I still feel, we have an agreement of sorts.


Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland (brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com) as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends (oddsends707138946.wordpress.com). She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

Forgetful autumn | Britta Benson

Forgetful autumn,

truths still clinging to branches.

Questions fall unanswered, rest,

forgetful autumn.


Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland (brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com) as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends (oddsends707138946.wordpress.com). She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

That one leaf | Britta Benson

That one leaf…

.

Last

no longer

welcome guest,

hanging on

with the grimace

of the misunderstood.

.

That one leaf…

.

Fading memento,

half digested

by opportunistic visitors.

.

Souls cannot be contained forever.

.

There are journeys to be had.

.

Nature claws back,

collects old debts

in her own sweet time.

.

That one leaf…

.

Fly, fall, decompose.

All for a good night’s sleep.


Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland (brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com) as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends (oddsends707138946.wordpress.com). She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

Rosetta Stone | Britta Benson

Photograph by Britta Benson

Each mark, a window.

Rock weathers forgetfulness.

Echoes seal the deal.

When the Rosetta Stone was discovered in 1799, nobody knew how to read Egyptian hieroglyphs any more. The stone is composed of three versions of a decree, issued in Memphis, Egypt, in 196 BC: Hieroglyphs on the top, Demotic (the everyday script of literate Egyptians) in the middle and Ancient Greek at the bottom. The Ancient Greek script provided a valuable key to deciphering the hieroglyphs.


Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland (brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com) as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends (oddsends707138946.wordpress.com). She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

Seasoned | Britta Benson

Photograph by Britta Benson

Stone sees more than bone.

Silent witness. Open book.

History, exposed.


Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland (brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com) as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends (oddsends707138946.wordpress.com). She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

British Museum | Britta Benson

Photograph by Britta Benson

Rooms burst with gold, stone.

Pasts: found, bought, stolen, gifted.

Confused ancestors.


Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland (brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com) as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends (oddsends707138946.wordpress.com). She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

How to explain summer | Britta Benson

I live in Scotland. This makes any description of summer a little impractical. Borderline delusional. Here, this season doesn’t succumb to the obvious crowdpleasing heat – that would be far too simple. There is, however, the notion of robust excitement that seems to spread in a swell from tip to toe, from top to bottom and sideways. Especially sideways!

The wave meant well, fast,

approached the sand castle. Joy!

A dash of summer.


 Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends oddsends707138946.wordpress.com. She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

Meaning of life | Britta Benson

When I write, I like to go for the simple themes. Life, death. Easy victories, sitting still, patiently waiting right next to the rather more complicated scenarios of this ever expanding universe. Like: how to tie my shoelaces so that they won’t come undone halfway into my run. Or: how to convince the slugs that my garden is not an all you can possibly eat buffet. One of my all time favourite little things to ponder is the meaning of life. I believe, I’m very nearly there.

We are meant to be

creative, share from the heart,

play, fail, breathe, love. Free.


 Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends oddsends707138946.wordpress.com. She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

Selected by the editor as a featured submission, February 2023

Clouds | Britta Benson

We have tried to see what’s not there since before the beginning of time even ended. Sky, our open minded companion, our vast context of who knows what, invites liminal thoughts from all sides to puff up like smoke signs. Could those intriguing tufts and fluffballs really be just gathered up water drops and ice crystals floating high above our heads? Surely, there’s more to this white quickening. I’m intrigued. I stare. I see.

Gulls glide through new ghosts,

footprints of past souls traverse,

release future hope.


 Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland brittasblog422041504.wordpress.com as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends oddsends707138946.wordpress.com. She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.