Praise The Lord And Pass The Ammunition Poem by Valerie Laws

The rainbow arch hangs in space
at Lindisfarne, a cannonball's leap
frozen in stone. Hail and rain rattle
the walls like shot, the sea keeps up
its cavalry charge. Cows graze
salt-bleached grass, descendants
of those spared by the monks
who spent more on gunpowder
than parchment.

Cold as steel, the salty air
that cramped their fingers
as they hefted the sacks
of black meal, protection
against the devil's reivers.

Within, by the fire, Eadfrith
lit the pages of the gospels
on calf-skin pricked with needles,
tatooed with inks. So slow a fuse
burning in red and gold, his truth
needing a little help from the gunsmith,
shielding the spark, so easily flaring up
and catching hold.