Blood Poppy Poem by April Down

My tissue has poppy blotches
Like watercolour
Dancing in the fibres
Like some devil spreading ink

It’s long enough to be a blindfold-
Folding up my sight
Into translucent vision
With red maddening splotches blotting the sun

I carve a picture…little lines…
…And deeper grooves…
Slight curves… it is art
Carpentry…drawing…
A little different to my watercolour

Yet created the same.
With the same ink, not the same canvas
My ink washes away, my picture fades
But the indents keep its spirit

My poppies have dried brown
Not the vibrancy and life it once captured
I use a cheap canvas, which is worthless
I will try and dig deeper

So then next time
I will paint a river with all my ink
And then I will retire from being an artist
And hope my portrait will never die, dry