happy haw

& god make a fist one day
pulled a rib & make a lady
left a hole inside her that
mortal hunger ne’er could fill

then god make the other fist
custom fit for hungry holes
for to grease her up three ways
make muppets out of one & all

but i’s wise to him
that abba father ain’t no good
& devil plum misunderstood

& why that devil my lover?
in case anybody say
it cos he swear by consent
got a lovin’ temperament

the devil be my lover
yes is yes & no mean no
he hold me in our afterglow
he ain’t the beast they say

but i’s wise to it all
that abba father ain’t no good
& devil plum misunderstood

Giant Killer

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // St. Anthony’s Sermon To The Fishes by Abraham a Sancta-Clara

Saint Anthony at church
Was left in the lurch,
So he went to the ditches
And preached to the fishes.
They wriggled their tails,
In the sun glanced their scales.

The carps, with their spawn,
Are all thither drawn;
Have opened their jaws,
Eager for each clause.
No sermon beside
Had the carps so edified.

Sharp-snouted pikes,
Who keep fighting like tikes,
Now swam up harmonious
To hear Saint Antonius.
No sermon beside
Had the pikes so edified.

And that very odd fish,
Who loves fast-days, the cod-fish,
The stock-fish, I mean,
At the sermon was seen.
No sermon beside
Had the cods so edified.

Good eels and sturgeon,
Which aldermen gorge on,
Went out of their way
To hear preaching that day.
No sermon beside
Had the eels so edified.

Crabs and turtles also,
Who always move low,
Made haste from the bottom
As if the devil had got ’em.
No sermon beside
The crabs so edified.

Fish great and fish small,
Lords, lackeys, and all,
Each looked at the preacher
Like a reasonable creature.
At God’s word,
They Anthony heard.

The sermon now ended,
Each turned and descended;
The pikes went on stealing,
The eels went on eeling.
Much delighted were they,
But preferred the old way.

The crabs are backsliders,
The stock-fish thick-siders,
The carps are sharp-set,
All the sermon forget.
Much delighted were they,
But preferred the old way.

by ABRAHAM A SANCTA-CLARA (1644-1709)
Public Domain Poetry

firth time

the sky is so low today
i can reach it with my hand
rake the lightning from the clouds
make a crown of electric thorns

the fog is arcane today
i can absorb it with my skin
get gnostic by osmosis
wet in the haar of angel stranding

the sand is so sonant today
i can hear it with my feet
till with toes between the grains
fill to sprig from unheard prayers

and here i am, another day
walking free among the dunes
i’m the arrester and catalyst
time and tide wait for no god

Firth Time

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022