Bristle and Mulch | Haiku

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…

A field of wheat against a blue sky

Bristle

Bristled, finger-brushed,

Wind-shifted and sun-beaten.

Pale green to yellow.

Read more: Bristle and Mulch | Haiku
Compost maker

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.

Haiku

The grass has been needing mown for a while now. Over the weekend it was (thankfully) raining, so I decided to haiku my way out of a chore…

Untamed grass sprouts long.

Borders burst under brute green.

Roots clasp strangled stones.