Stories 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, Down in the Dirt, and Shooter magazine.
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”
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”
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
Morning folks,
A couple of spring/summer haiku…
Tremble
Desiccated strands
Of husk-dry wheat. Wind-trembled,
Fizzing under sun.
Continue reading “Tremble and Tendril | Haiku”
In the ribboned fog of a February daybreak, dog barks stilt strangely in the dank air. Hoar frost clings to raw-fingered branches and to the tortured holly. What leaves are left from autumn’s mulch sit skeleton and crisp, drifted in between tree roots or huddled at the entrances to abandoned setts. Clouds scud over the lightening sky, looking upon their skulking brethren clinging to the dells and corries below. A time for paperboys and farmers, milk floats and commuters huddled bitter at some rural bus stop. The sensible stay put – the foxes in their underground fugues, the hares in frozen, clod-circled forms.
Continue reading “In the Ribboned Fog | Poetry”
One of the best aspects of being a member of Ayr Writers is the variety of outside speakers we have in our programme. Writers are by their nature storytellers, and we’ve had some fantastic yarns spun to us in my time as a member.
Some of the most interesting talks have come from (to my mind at least) unusual sources. We’ve had workshops on writing song lyrics and publishing via Mills and Boon, both of which taught me things about writing of which I was previously ignorant.
Continue reading “Curlews and Cows | Ayr Writers”
Morning folks,
a couple of blustery haiku today, as Autumn has well and truly arrived…
Heave
Heaving, hissing trees
Writhe and cling on to their leaves
Early Autumn winds.
Read more: Heave and Harry | HaikuHarry
Mackerel sky skates
Over hill and into dell
Gleam harried by gust.
*Thanks for reading, folks. Images courtesy of Rawpixel and Wikipedia. My recent short stories include ‘Cooks Matches, Lentils, and Sofa Stuffing‘ and ‘Snatched‘.
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,
an evening walk in Ayrshire, Scotland generated these two haiku…
Rosehips
Warm winds rustle, through
Dry, fragrant September brush.
Rosehips hang heavy.
Continue reading “Rosehip and Reach | Haiku”
Morning folks,
This was going to be a couple of drought-themed haiku, but in the end I thought a refreshing one to finish was more palatable.
‘Breccia’ is a haiku based on the Flannan Isles off the west coast of Scotland, a notoriously difficult place to land a boat and the setting for a mysterious disappearance in 1900. I’ve just finished ‘The Lighthouse: The Mystery of the Eilean Mor Lighthouse Keepers’ by Keith McCloskey – an excellent book on the subject if you are interested in reading more.
Bake
Riverbed, tarmac,
Ray-baked, dust-choked munro path.
Cringing under sun.
Breccia
Foam-licked breccia teeth
Sheathed, and unsheathed as boats approach.
Steps rise to safety.
*Thanks for reading, folks. Images courtesy of Chris Downer and Wikipedia. My recent short stories include ‘The Road‘ and ‘A Kind of Magic‘.
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
Beginnings everywhere, like tributaries. The barely-there footpaths over the needled forest floor, the slightest heelprint in the wet sand moments before the tide arrives. Beginnings everywhere, and nowhere.
The path begins to become more cultured, more knowable. Towpaths trail obediently canalside. Lines of scree wind up Bens Lomond, Vane, Ime, slowing only to slip underneath footworn styles or to dip beneath the scurried, hurried surfaces of highland burns.
Soon, the little country lanes with thick, sunblock hedgerows, honeysuckle woven over the threads of sunlight that have made their way through. The pitch-dark laybys overhung with blackberries and sloes, indigo fruits on an indigo road under an indigo sky.
Continue reading “The Road | Short Story”
Matthew Richardson 