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
As if your Armistice Arms were
Lines that I would write on.
I hope these self-same metal colours find you
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.