Lee Jackson

United Kingdom

 

a sliver of moon
hangs in a quiet pink sky
peculiar days 
not a contrail to be seen
the earth catches its breath

all afternoon spent
laying in the sunshine
my cat wakes up
stretches out and judders 
then turns his mind to supper

content just to coo
on a glorious spring day
the wood pigeon
its sound I recognised 
before I knew its name

midnight ride along
a deserted promenade
the pier’s white lights
ripple on the calm sea
it all feels like a dream

paper thin poppies
blooming on slender stems
reach for the sky
even when being blown 
around by fickle winds 

tiny snail
on a mammoth journey
in the back garden
I could waste an hour
or the whole afternoon