Stories in Golddust Magazine, Literally Stories, Idle Ink, Writer's Egg, CafeLit, McStorytellers, Whatever Keeps the Lights On, Flashback Fiction, Down in the Dirt, Close to the Bone, Shooter, Soft Cartel, Fiction Junkies, and Heavenly Flower Publishing
Chalky water lying low amidst the reeds, the bullrushes easing to and fro in the wind. Crickets chirp in the gloom before being silenced by some animal shuffle, some errant footstep.
Voices carry over the water, but those abroad at this hour have a desire for secrecy in common. No-one wants their confidences told, nor to tell others’.
Continue reading “Those Abroad | Short Story”
Morning folks,
whilst I usually like to utilise alliteration or assonance in my double-haiku titles, this week’s creations simply wouldn’t go that way, hence the below, slightly idiosyncratic, pairing…
Bristle
Bristled, finger-brushed,
Wind-shifted and sun-beaten.
Pale green to yellow.
Read more: Bristle and Mulch | Haiku
Mulch
Plant pot remains, damp
Cuttings and dinner leavings.
From messy to mulched.
*Thanks for reading, folks. Former image Copyright Matthew J. Richardson. Second image courtesy of Wikipedia. My recent short stories include ‘The Lamplighter‘ and ‘After‘.
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 and tweets at https://twitter.com/mjrichardso0.
The greasy cobbles make life difficult, and the man spends several seconds ensuring the feet of the ladders have adequate purchase before stepping up. It is not unknown for back-alley scamps to try to knock the ladders out from underneath him but this evening the streets are quiet, the rain from earlier already starting to freeze on the slates.
The well-oiled lamp casing swings open easily, and the hiss of gas seems loud in the silence. The man reaches his pole towards the jet and covers his nose with a handkerchief. It is quite the bouquet – coal gas, tannery piss, and the Thames. A greenish light flares across the cobbles and the blank, grimy windows. It is as though the street is recoiling from the sudden intrusion.
Continue reading “The Lamplighter | Short Story”
A couple of salt-flecked haiku this morning…
Shrill
Shrill-whistled calling.
Wheeling white, black, and orange –
Oystercatcher’s flight.
Swell
Double-flash…dark.
A paraffin carousel
On Atlantic swell.
*Thanks for reading, folks. Images courtesy of Wikipedia and Chris Downer. My recent short stories include ‘Digging‘ and ‘After‘.
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 and tweets at https://twitter.com/mjrichardso0.
Below,
Water-worn
Dry stone bones,
Loose in rheumy mud gums.
A shepherd’s shieling, uncovered
By humming sun
And streams-stopped-running.
Earthbound pottery ossicles
Litter a river-licked,
Slick loch bottom,
Flanked by Ochil hills
And the bulking hulk
Of Upper Glendevon Dam.
Above,
Bruised cumuli hang ribboned between the hill heads,
Broiling, born amongst corries and high-strewn boulders.
A rumble, and rain films on the moors,
Through suddenly sodden fleece and field,
Flicked and shivered from huddled feathers,
Amidst the peat banks and the tufted grass,
Guttering, gathered in the crooked dykes –
Trickling in earshot but out of sight, and
Rushing underneath the dog-eared booms.
Below,
A rippling, a gathering pour,
A foetal push onto cracked reservoir floor.
At the shieling, moor-cold, alluvial fingers grope between weathered stone joints,
Curling under where eaves once hung.
*Thanks for reading, folks. Image courtesy of Rob Burke. My recent short stories include ‘Digging‘ and ‘After‘.
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 and tweets at https://twitter.com/mjrichardso0.
Morning folks,
we’re in the air and on the ground this morning with a couple of haiku…
Windsock
Windsock snaphapping.
Crosswind-bustled, harried, tugged,
A breeze-rippled flare.
Continue reading “Windsock and Woodlouse | Haiku”
The child trudges after her mother in the lengthening hill shadows. No child of her age should trudge; she should gambol, leap, perform clumsy cartwheels, but not this thickset stride, this downtrodden lope.
The older woman does not keep an eye on her daughter as she works – she knows the child will not wander far. As she picks mushrooms in the woods or washes clothes on the flat rocks in the brook, the little girl follows.
Before, chores would have been set to the soundtrack of aimless chatter, of primary school gossip and playground politics. The nearest the child gets to playing now is trailing a stick in the water, watching as the linen billows and gutters in the icy burn. There is mostly silence between them, the silence of shared experiences, of common understanding.
Hi folks,
we’re skimming over the fens and the lazy ocean waves today with a couple of haiku…
Snap
Soft snap of canvas
Above billow-bobbed sailboats.
Harbour-clad, sleeping.
Shuffle
Shuffled thrumming of
Oil-winged starlings, billowing
Across the hushed fens.
Continue reading “Snap and Shuffle | Haiku”
Running her finger down the lead-lined bedroom window, Rose feels the protuberant solder. The stained glass distorts her view just so, just as old windows should do. Whilst she loves the feel of the old, single-pained glass, they are beginning to rattle in their frames rather too much. It might be time for replacements before winter – another job for George.
Rose can see her husband through the oranges, the yellows, and the greens. George is working, as he so often is, in the garden. The cha-cha-cha of a spade through soil reaches to the upper storey of their Tudor pile, and Rose smiles at her husband’s appetite for work. The younger man is almost feverish as he deepens the hole in which he stands. The spot overlooking the pond will be perfect for a weeping willow – it will set the water lilies and statues off wonderfully. With a cast iron bench in place – another job for George – it will be the perfect place to unwind.
Continue reading “Digging | Short Story”
Morning folks,
A couple of spring/summer haiku for consumption today…
Winnow
Geese skein winnowing
Across a low, scudding sky.
Thrumming, northwards-bound.
Worn
Summer putter of
River water gutter and
Foam on smooth worn rock.
*Thanks for reading, folks. Image courtesy of Pxhere and Pxfuel. My recent short stories include ‘Wean’s Crabbit‘ and ‘Property for Sale – Grim-on-Wye’.
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 and tweets at https://twitter.com/mjrichardso0
