I took Art when I was 12 -

Committed, as if wed to that lead 

That marked the canvas for life. 

 

Quickly realising: I’m alright! 

It was only later, colours began 

Arriving at my window, calling 

In the deafening night; 

 

Now looking at you, I 

Am reminded of the way they taught 

Us Cross-Hatching. 

 

As if your Armistice Arms were 

Lines that I would write on. 

I hope these self-same metal colours find you 

Sleeping- 

 

With pallet knife, despite, 

In hand, I work about your canvas 

Sweeping the greys and blacks I see into 

Magenta and pansies. 

 

Flowers bloom sepulchral. 

And I am reminded again, 

Of poppies growing as if one with barbed wire 

And red being torn apart by rain.