Take the globe by her imagined
corners & stretch her flat
like evening against the sky
Blow your trumpets angels
to stir our souls
& stir bodies that have died
Call Bethlehem’s innocents & those
drowned in seas those
ploughed under in battle
by a drum beat those
trapped in the tower those
first responders those shaken
by marauders those taken
by disease those burned
at the stake those spectacle
watchers who lasted little
longer & every girl
time turned from a fragrant
flower into one whose bent brittle
stem bowed her to the grave
Gather each decomposedhusk for
no matter how scattered each must
recompose as our souls must
respond to all we’re given
& grip beyond our grasp
this new call to worship
Photo by Jan Kopřiva on Unsplash
I so enjoy Don Martin’s poem on Metaphysicals VII. It was very powerful,–naming all the “innocents, those trapped in the tower, those first responders, etc. The imagery rich! I liked the opening line “take the globe by her imagined corners and stretch her flat.” One can nearly picture the globe transforming to a map spread out.
That first ‘line’ ❤️such imagery throughout this poem. DSMartin’s poems never fail
to captivate us and leave us breathless, gasping for more revelations on Gods majesty.
Thank you D.S., for this sobering, imperative call to remember as well as respond.
The last strophe takes the weight gathered in this poem and holds it where I too must grab it. And turns it toward good–not what I was expecting. What on earth. Worship that comes from this. Remarkable.