O Honored Father

The isle was pebbled and bare.
Little driftwood littered
its shore, and no sandy strand
at all shone on the terrain.
During the entire night of vigils
and prayer, though all his
brothers had gone to shore,
the man of God stayed aboard.

God-seasoned Brendan understood
the isle’s nature, but preferred
not to say since his brothers
were sure to be petrified.
At midnight, he instructed
his priests to chant the services
individually, so they did.

While God-knowing Brendan
still was chanting his mass,
some of his lay monks began carting
raw meat from the curragh
to cure with salt and also all the
fish they’d caught on the island
where they’d just encamped.
To accomplish this, they set a
kettle on a metal brazier,
and kindled a little stack of
sticks to flame. But as their
kettle began to bubble, their
isle began to wobble and surge,
so the brothers began to scurry
for the curragh, crying rather
loudly for their God-grounded
father’s fatherly aid.

He gripped every brother round
his wrist to heave him aboard,
but scrapped every bit they’d brought
to the isle. As they sculled off,
shoreline slipped into Ocean.

Even two miles safely on,
they still gazed at their bobbing
brazier as it blazed. Then
God-inspired Brendan raised
this to his brothers, saying,

“Young men, are you impressed
with what this island just did?”

They answered,

“Yes, quite impressed,
not to mention knifed with dread.”

He replied,

“Boys, don’t be timid.
God has opened my eyes
to the holiness of his will this night.
That was no isle, but a
fish, the most lordly who frisks
in the Ocean. He chases his
tail but for longness, never
connects. Named?”

“Jasconius!”