Home » Poems » Lady Labyrinth » What Lesser Mortals

What Lesser Mortals

What lesser mortals? What lesser mortals than Rimbaud claim themselves a poet within another self, for there is more than just one self depending on the time and day and nothing is as it seems at first, we are born from abstract firmament to the Infirmament arriving planned and unplanned in the in-between swaddled in skin, a nude shade of blue turning pink and revolutionary the most sincere we've ever been we are slapped to make loud noises to prove we are alive; we are small noises for the most part of our continuum as we evolve we reveal our true colours our different dimensions bleed like water pastels we are shades and shadow of each, easily morphing into the will of others less than and more than likely just to keep the peace or challenge subterranean night crawlers from their obligatory big sleep silent scarabs black hats wearing white hats guarding gates of ruined castles like red caps pacing the watchtowers like laughing hyenas for their better bleached masters who are small noises for the most part (LadyLabyrinth / 2023) “As I was going down impassive Rivers, I no longer felt myself guided by haulers: Yelping redskins had taken them as targets And had nailed them naked to colored stakes. I was indifferent to all crews, The bearer of Flemish wheat or English cottons When with my haulers this uproar stopped The Rivers let me go where I wanted.” “And from then on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, infused with stars and lactescent, Devouring the azure verses; where, like a pale elated Piece of flotsam, a pensive drowned figure sometimes sinks”

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Frederic Parker

Date: 2/26/2023 12:17:00 PM

as the sands of time move in and out we dither on the shores of our garbage like seagulls fighting over what we have created, our thoughts tell us we are more than what we are for we claim wisdom learned, though our feet are planted firmly in the garden of our destruction where we become gluttons from the fruit we have grown

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 2/26/2023 12:23:00 PM

try Gaviscon....failing that a stiff toddy.

Frederic Parker

Date: 2/25/2023 7:32:00 PM

"if there be nothing new but that which is" there is nothing new under the sun, only that it has been discovered in a wilderness we have explored, we are like a grain of sand on a beach filled with sand, yet have convinced ourselves we are more then the grain of sand, we know very little, very little, like all things we too will be gone, but where or what?

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 2/25/2023 8:45:00 PM

The sands of time move in and out with the tide, to revisit other shores, some over and over again, perpetuating lessons, rebuilding sandcastles, and bringing messages, like the whispering ocean voice carrying secrets from seashells, the notes written in ancient languages in glass containers for translation. The sands of time wash in and out, the drag pulls the shoreline out from under our feet. And there we are in the swim of it all again...surfing, dumped, yet we get back up again, and again. Our choice. This freedom.

Frederic Parker

Date: 2/25/2023 1:58:00 PM

our own thoughts and emotions born in the never regions of the mind convince us we are more than the stuff we are made of which is the same stuff everything else is made of, nothing more, nothing less...more likely less

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 2/25/2023 3:01:00 PM

dust to dust...ashes are for anointing. Sonnet 106, but then again, I quite like this...55, and 59.