Cross- hatching


 
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. 




it ain’t over till it’s over
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