Michaela Bennison

@michaelabennison.bsky.social

128 Followers 265 Following

Actor. Singer. Writer. Existential crisis haver. Rep: JWL Artists Limited. Next project: surviving and fighting the encroaching fascist hellscape @ Planet Earth. She/Her.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 30
At last, this challenge has come to an end
With thirty poems in as many days,
Each fourteen lines of five iambic feet,
Written by my own hand. In many ways
This challenge has confirmed what I well knew:
That daily challenges work with my brain,
Poetic forms like sonnets suit my style
Of verse, and I prefer my language plain
In general. And I've really grown to love
The bouncy rhythm of this form again,
And maybe I won't reach straight for my phone
When I am bored, but reach out for my pen.
For now though, sonnets, I bid you adieu;
It's time for me to look to projects new.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 29
I keep on thinking of the opening line
Of one of the most famous sonnets by Keats
About the cruel impermanence of life
And how all of its pleasures death defeats:
His thoughts left unrecorded, books unread,
The night's deep beauty never seen again,
A love transformed by age's blunting edge,
And all mundane things lost to time. And then
All that is left ahead is the abyss,
The gaping nothingness of deep despair
Where nothing can survive, nothing exists;
This awesome emptiness is all that's there.
It awed me as a teen, and moves me still
To read my feelings captured with such skill.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 28
The Rapture, Doomsday or Apocalypse
Refers to the destruction of the Earth,
When supernatural forces bring about
Disasters heralding the world's rebirth.
And these horrific times will purge the world
Of sinners (so Rapture believers say)
And only the most "righteous" will survive,
Inheriting the Earth. Now, if I may,
This seems to be a most convenient view
(At least to my agnostic, heathen ears)
To write off any efforts to improve
A world that will be gone in a few years;
Instead of easing suffering and pain,
Compassion is dismissed for selfish gain.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 27
When life is a performance for the world
To be displayed and posted, viewed and shared,
It's hard, I find, to easily discern
What is authentic and not be ensnared
By carefully curated narratives
Conveyed through sleek aesthetics picked to serve
The fickle algorithm. And it's true:
Beautiful things are pleasing to observe.
But does this visual pleasure justify
An endless feed of lifestyles to be sold?
And we, unconscious, lap it up despite
Our better judgement. It's a stranglehold
On our attention, wallets and our time
In a capitalistic pantomime.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 26
Despite, honestly, dozens of attempts
This poem seems impossible to write;
Over an hour of trying, but alas
Each theme I choose eludes me out of spite.
My thoughts will not be wrestled into verse.
My words fall flat and limp upon the page,
My pencil halting, stuck with every line,
My stagnant mind too stupified to rage
At the dull edge of my creative skill,
Too dulled by deadlines needing to be met.
And yet I pull each iamb out of me
Determined not to give up and regret
Not writing 30 sonnets. Finally
The couplet's done: time for a cup of tea!

A screenshot of a notes app note which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 25
There's nothing better than a cup of tea.
Okay, there is, but please just go with it;
Because this drink is top-of-mind for me
I'd like to contemplate it for a bit.
The perfect salve after a tiring day
To melt away the worries that you bear,
Whether it's English Breakfast or Earl Grey,
Served milky, or perhaps black (if you dare).
Some biscuits, too, can never be amiss,
Dunked liberally into the soothing brew.
Add a good friend with which to reminisce
And all too soon you'll start to feel like new.
So maybe tea is the best thing on Earth,
And on bad days it gets to prove it's worth.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 24
I'm standing at a crossroads in my life,
A junction ripe with possibility
And liminality that causes strife
Between my past and who I'm yet to be.
Behind me is the life I've always known:
The roles and stories that I'm moulded to,
That fit me perfectly, but I've outgrown;
And so they push me on to something new.
Before me, many pathways branch ahead
Into diverging futures still unseen.
And I, not knowing which new path to tread,
Wait hesitantly, desperate to glean
An inkling of which path I'm meant to take
When, really, it's a choice I'm free to make.

A screenshot of a notes app not, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 23
We wonder in a world of make-believe,
Our lives constricted, carefully designed
By generations past, what we perceive,
And rules dictated to keep us confined.
But Who decided what is so is so?
What laws of nature, what unwavering course,
Created this reality? We know
There is no "Who", no fundamental force.
These strictures that control us are man-made:
Men who proclaim the edicts we abide,
By men enforced, by men they are obeyed,
And those who suffer most are vilified.
And all because the powerful refuse
To hand over the power they abuse.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 22
What is it that can make a house a home?
The choice of wallpaper? A lick of paint?
The cushions scattered expertly just so
Giving an air both fashionable and quaint?
Perhaps it is that lived in atmosphere:
The dishes piled waiting to be washed,
The household clutter sprinkled everywhere
The beds lazily made, the pillows squashed.
Or maybe it's the people who reside
Within that make this such a homely place;
The ones with whom we've laughed and we have cried
Held through life's trials with love's steadfast embrace.
Perhaps a home is where the soul can rest;
Where love is freely given and expressed.

A screenshot of a notes app note which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 21
Why are we in this business we call show,
As gruelling and capricious as it is;
Where fate can take you from the spotlight's glow
To dull obscurity? This fickle biz
That leaves our tender, fragile hopes to chance,
And slowly chips away at our self-worth;
And is it a surprising circumstance
That we become exhausted with the dearth
Of money, time or true companionship,
Bouncing between auditions, classes, work?
And never for a moment letting slip
Our fears that in the murky darkness lurk:
The dread that we will never be enough
And one day everyone will call our bluff.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 20
I'm struggling to think of a first line,
A common difficulty writers face.
My phone stares blankly at me with no sign
Of what it would like written in this space.
And so I do what I do every time
I'm not sure what my sonnet's theme should be
I write my thoughts, and try to make them rhyme
And fit the bouncy iambs perfectly,
Which feels a bit like cheating, I'll admit,
As if my thoughts aren't worthy of the form.
A poem should be grander, have more grit,
Or have a weighty moral to transform
It's audience. My rambles are not that;
A better fit for silly, idle chat.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 days of Sonnets: day 19
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
You'd rather I did not? Ah, that's too bad.
I know the idea may be quite cliché
But still, your blunt rejection makes me sad.
See, summer days are nice, and you're nice too
So it's a pertinent comparison.
This season makes the world feel fresh and new
Under the strengthening glow of summer's sun;
And you have the same fortifying power
Despite being a human, not a star;
But that's by no means reason to be sour
Because I love you just the way you are.
And so please do allow me to compare
Your virtues to a season that's so fair.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 18
Of all the pet peeves one could ever have,
The habits that stick far inside one's craw,
The small faux pas, the niggles, nuisances,
The irritations too hard to ignore,
There's one that takes the cake (and so much so
It has inspired fourteen lines of verse)
That raises such a furry in my blood
That it could fuel a century-long curse:
When colleagues that you work with frequently
Can choose to be loquacious with their friends
But yet with you they're silent, terse, reserved -
In truth they plan ignore you, it transcends
Insensitivity - that's not the sitch:
These are the actions of a fucking bitch.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 17
It's often said we contain multitudes:
These layers of self in one identity.
And this is one of many platitudes
Dismissed by most as a nonentity.
And yet, it speaks the truth of what I feel;
The endless pull of everything I am:
The wounded parts of me that need to heal,
The silly parts that do not give a damn.
Each segment has ambitions of its own:
Some parts have bold expression as their aim,
Some want to serve, some want to be alone,
And all are scared to choose which path to claim.
And so I breathe and listen, and I wait
To see what life my soul wants to create.

Screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 days of Sonnets: day 16
The thing with sonnets is they're so high brow,
Synonymous with Shakespeare, Milton, Keats.
And so it's difficult to know quite how
To not start aiming for pretentious feats
Of verse. So, for example, simple words
Feel unpoetic in this structured form.
And natural themes, describing trees and birds,
Seem worthier and closer to the norm
With sonnets generally. The trouble is
When you must write one each and every day
And aren't a wealthy poet who has his
Days free to compose verse all hours he may,
You cannot limit what your work should be,
And writing what you want brings much more glee.

A screenshot of a notes app note which reads:
30 days of Sonnets: day 15
When weariness assaults my heavy eyes
And smothers any sense in my dull thoughts,
Resorting any speech to tired sighs,
And all attempts at artistry it thwarts;
When all I feel is longing for my bed,
Surrendering to slumber's soft embrace;
I'd let the pillow hold my heavy head
And lead me to a hallowed, dreamy place;
It's at these times I face a paradox:
It's hard to write, yet I write with more flow
(Which I would think is quite unorthodox)
If I allow my poetry to go
Wherever my mind leads, which can be tough
To trust my present self to be enough.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 14
A Witch is one who walks between the worlds:
Who moves within the fluid, liminal space
Inside the cracks of the consensus realm
Of banks and work and rushing places to place;
Who stops to hear the humming of the Earth,
Communing with the beating of Her heart
That drums beneath the fruitful, healing soil
And soothes the daily toils that pierce and smart
The spirit. And they use this medicine,
Known by the ancestors of ages past,
To fuel them for the work that must be done:
To guide them to the spell that must be cast.
And guided by their own morality,
The sovereign Witch shifts their reality.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 13
"The grass is greener on the other side":
Not really, though it seems some folks think so.
"A horse led to the water might not drink":
I'm not sure anyone gave it a go.
"No pain, no gain": depends what 'pain' you mean.
"A watched pot never boils": that's not true.
"Clouds have a silver lining": no they don't.
"Don't bark up the wrong tree": that's weird to do.
To give you the cold shoulder would be rude;
Plus, I prefer my shoulders nice and warm.
And cats and dogs aren't raining from the sky,
And if they do it's not a perfect storm.
I feel this poem's getting out of hand.
Let's bring in the fat lady and the band.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 days of Sonnets: day 12
I'm struggling to write this one today;
I tried to write a sonnet about blue
(The colour not the band, I'm sad to say)
But managed just to write a line or two.
In general, though, this Sunday's not been bad:
We're on the sofa, my partner and I,
The chores are done and dinner has been had,
And now I'm watching him play "No Mans Sky",
A game in which you voyage through deep space
(Sounds way more fun than emptying the bins!).
But now I should go up and wash my face,
Plan for tomorrow, celebrate my wins.
And one of them will be this little verse:
Though not my best, it's by far not my worse!

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 11
But just before I close my eyes in death
I'll look over the life that I have lived:
The loved ones that I leave with my last breath,
The deeds I've done, and all I've left behind.
I wonder what that future me will find,
Taking the weight and measure of her life:
Was she remembered fondly? Was she kind?
Did she succeed where her ambition led?
And will she face oblivion with dread,
This me-to-come mere moments from her end,
Or will I, lying in my final bed
Find comfort in my mental epitaph?
And from these musings stems a simple plan:
To live without regret as best I can.

Screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: day 10
A bold, red lip's the best accessory:
A simple, chic addition to a look
That's seen by some as basic or as twee,
But packs a punch to leave observers shook.
It elevates the slouchiest of dress,
With its deliberate choice of scarlet hue,
And ties it all together with finesse
Far better than a simple lip should do.
For fancy gowns, it is the cherry on top,
Giving more timeless class than a full beat
But nodding to a time when jaws would drop
To see a lip so bright and indiscreet.
I don't know how to end, except to say
For me, the bold red lip is here to stay.

A screenshot of a notes app note, reading:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 8
Instead of saying, simply, "I love you,"
Try something like, "My spirit yearns to spend
Eternity with you," or, "All I do
I do your will to serve, your soul to tend."
Or say, "I will do anything for love."
(Be sure to leave off Meat Loaf's final clause),
Or, "When you fell to Earth from heaven above
How many bumps and bruises did it cause?"
Or maybe take a more comedic route;
"I love you lots like jelly tots," perhaps.
Throw on some sweet treats and a kiss to boot
To show your strength of feeling will not lapse.
But the again, these tips are all cliches;
Best then to find a unique turn or phrase.

A screenshot of a notes app note which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 7
I'm lying in my garden on the grass
Stretched out beneath an endless, pale blue sky,
The sun warming my back, and wondering why
Today's poem's so difficult to start.
Maybe it was the darkness of the house,
A soporific, shadowy cocoon
Made more for sleeping than the sun at noon
Blazing above, toasting my whole back side.
But now the heat is coaxing my eyes shut
Despite the brightness out here. That's not fair!
At least this way I'm getting some fresh air;
And look, I'm almost twelve lines down at least.
And even though this sonnet's not my best,
It's written. Now I'll stay out here and rest.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 days of Sonnets: day 6
What do you do with this one precious life,
A fleeting flame so easily sniffed out?
Our time is brief, the world so full of strife,
It's hard to fathom what it's all about.
Some wise philosophers have shared their views
On which approach to living they think best,
And Godly men are often known to muse
Upon shat merits a soul's peaceful rest.
Physicians of the body and the mind
Promote good health as worthy of pursuit,
Whilst modern mystics seek instead to find
Their own authentic truth as their life's root.
For my art, this one answer will suffice:
Love fearlessly and deep. That's my advice.

A screenshot of a notes app note which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 5
An actor's life is far from glamorous
Like films and magazines often portray,
With crowds of fans adoring, clamorous,
Mobbing the stage door in a feral frey.
For most of us, our work is seldom seen:
We home our craft and learn our lines alone.
And whilst you might think "resting" is serene,
In truth, we work all hours to the bone
To feed and clothe ourselves. Then, when at last
A job arrives and we can use our skill,
The heady whirlwind will too soon have passed
And then we're back again to square one. Still
Though "glamorous" is not my life, that's fine:
I wouldn't trade this actors life of mine.

A screenshot of a notes app notes, which reads:
30 Days Of Sonnets: Day 4
I miss long summers underneath the trees:
The bluebells carpeting the ground, the hush
Beneath the canopy, the whispering breeze
That rustles through the creeping underbrush.
The shade is cool and soothing on my skin,
Baked underneath the blazing midday sun,
As the first maple seeds tumble and spin
Towards the earth below. My fingers run
Along the flaking bark and papery leaves
As I breathe in the heavy-scented dirt,
'Til evening draws me home, and my heart greaves
To leave behind this haven and revert
Back to my mundane life boxed in by walls
So seldom breeched by nature's joyous calls.

A screenshot of a notes app note, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 3
I'm starting to regret this little scheme
Of writing thirty sonnets in a month.
As fun and simple as the task may seem,
It needs a certain clarity of thought
That doesn't come as easy as I'd like
When I don't get as much sleep as I ought,
Or inspiration refuses to strike,
Or my to-do list crams my restless brain.
And so I write on struggling to write.
And though the struggle often feels in vain,
I sometimes compose something that's alright;
Not blowing any minds, but even so
I think it's better to push through and see
What I can do despite what limits me.

A screenshot of a notes app, which reads:
30 Days of Sonnets: Day 2
My eyes are heavy and my spirit aches
From all the dreary trials of the day:
The pile of stresses and the small mistakes
That makes a life feel futile. Not to say
The day has not been fruitful; I have sent
Important correspondence, hones my craft,
And touched some grass - for most, a day well spent
(Albeit these things are not, per SA, "hard graft").
So why do I still feel this emptiness,
Like my accomplishments have little worth?
And every time I shift this heaviness
Still it returns to smother all my mirth.
Alas, dear reader, much to my dismay
My couplet has no answer to convey.

A screen shot of a notes app which reads:

30 Days of Sonnets: Day 1
I set a challenge for myself to write
A sonnet each and every day this month:
A worthy goal to set myself, which might
Improve my prolificity and skill.
And I enjoy a sonnet; it's a thrill
To try and fit my thoughts into the form.
The bouncy rhythm helps me to distil
The disparate words and phrases in my mind.
The rhymes, however, take some time to find,
And so I use my own creative flare
To write myself out of a tricky bind
By making up a rhyme scheme that will fit
The message I would like my verse to tell.
As Shakespeare put it: all's well that ends well.

A man sits at an illuminated desk. The floor is covered with expending rings of papers. Behind him is the silhouette of a figure with arms raised. The title above reads, "A Disappearing Number".

A background of blue pained wood with yellow text reading, "Come From Away A New Musical" the letter "O" in "from" is a picture of the globe.

An hourglass filled with seawater with two figures, one reaching up, the other reaching down. Below the title text reads, "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button An Unordinary Musical".

A photo of the end of the Jubilee Line. The stop "Queensbury" is circled in marker and the words "yaz kween" are written below with a doodle of a love heart.