Lee Jackson

United Kingdom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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