A Family of ‘On’ Poems                                                                                                      

i.               On Folly

Folly? Indivine katabasis, or not following the leaves, a heedlessness, an imperception

To the shift in winds in Eden, obliviousness to the erecting walls and burning soldiers.

Folly is a knock upon the doors that your sense shut in answer; a loudness

In all sensation that you mute description when asked recall.

ii.              On Autogenes

Desire's God. Don't you routinely out-god God at harder tasks? He laws creation?

He's derelict, his sovereignty ‘s by Death forded as a jubilant stroll annoyed

By a puddle that alters the casual gait a slight. Call a spill a chasm to your peril;

He is a force of Shallows- don't exaggerate him Deep.

iii.            On Chance

We are called Defeat until we win- …troubling that the contest is anonymous.

We know not the particulars, nor the basics of the beginning and what creates an end,

Nor a vestige of a grappler; only that we lack distinction from the shade

Until some ruined angel outlines us.

iv.             On Child’s Play

The sad sun cries heaven gray. A happy man sails among the weepy billows;

Cruel ‘s the docked that he sedentary peers the stars. A jolly ache mass jealousy!

Life is the bottom of the sea where the water never dances, nor stirs the dance in me;

Though I love and have asked.

v.              On Melody

Sing down the well and your soul’s the answer, that responsive demon

That is your acrimony to god-

Is it ravenous up the tower; crow from the mercy steps or belfry;

Or is it that fiercesome meadowlark that has no angelic equal

Or fiery superior?

S.T. Brant writes: “My name is S. T. Brant, and I'm a teacher from Las Vegas. Pubs in: La Piccioletta Barca, RIC, Cathexis Northwest Press.Forthcoming in: After the Pause. Twitter: @terriblebinth”