Deep and Doused | Haiku

Poetry, Uncategorized 1 Minute

We’re into the depths of winter with some haiku this Sunday morning…

A bare tree bough set against a grey sky

Deep

A new year tundra.

Tree, roots locked and wind-shivered.

Life sits deep within.

An extinguished campfire

Doused

Flame-gnawed tree limbs and

Cinders nudged in night breezes.

Night-doused and dawn-brushed.

*Thanks for reading, folks. Images courtesy of Circe Denyer and Daniel Smith. My recent short stories include ‘The Young Man from Number Twenty-Seven‘ and ‘Plausible Deniability‘.

Matthew Richardson is a writer of short stories. His work has featured in Gold Dust magazine, Literally Stories, Close to the Bone, McStorytellers, Penny Shorts, Soft Cartel, Whatever Keeps the Lights On, Flashback Fiction, Cafelit, Best MicroFiction 2021, Writer’s Egg, Idle Ink, The Wild Word, and Shooter magazine. He is a doctoral student at the University of Dundee, a lucky husband, and a proud father. He blogs at www.matthewjrichardson.com.

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Published by Matthew J. Richardson

Words in Gold Dust magazine, Literally Stories, Close to the Bone, McStorytellers, Fiction Junkies, Soft Cartel, Whatever Keeps the Lights On, Flashback Fiction, CafeLit, Best Microfiction 2021, Writer’s Egg, Idle Ink, and Shooter.

Published

16 thoughts on “Deep and Doused | Haiku”

  1. the first one sets the tone but the second is terrific, Matthew; I read it again and again, rolling it around in my mind, savoring the flavour 🙂 so soft and gentle, the fire escorted to the past —

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  2. Clever, clever, Matthew. The first is clear as it reaffirms the cold and snow; the second is much more dense and the words are rolling around in my head and as I speak. Excellent!

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