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General MacArthur tells it like it is.
He doesn't mince his words: he says them straight.
He tells the sinner who would rather ****
Against the wall the state of his estate.  
Within the chain of God's command he's high
But humble, mighty and yet also meek.
Performing orders never asking, "Why?"
He serves the Savior seven days a week.
He wears the armor of God at 83,
And wields the sword with demon-killing skill.
The man could walk the Sea of Galilee
His faith's so strong! (were it God's sov'reign will).
I prophesy that he'll endure all strife
And persevere and win the crown of life.
wading through
the shallows
a dip
in this sea
does not
at first
look
particularly appealing
beneath the surface
is
a microcosmic tempest
of shingle
and sand
dashing
upon toes
upon ankles
upon shins

a tickle
of seaweed
leaves paranoia
burning
where sense
and logic
should reside
suddenly
i'm wondering
where sea snakes
are usually found

tiptoeing
against each swell
to keep shoulders
above water
somebody calls out
   jellyfish
and laughs
clearly
they are not
surrounded
by these
alien forms
drifting
ever closer
leaving me
no option but
to struggle
to remain
statuesque
as they pass
too close
for comfort

when the depth
forces me
to give up
my toehold
of sand
or shell
to tread water
and embrace
the solitude
finally
i will see
how truly clear
the waters
can be
Daydreams-
scattered clouds
of feather down
radiating gold around,
lacing outer bounds,
heaven sent
and proudly crowned;
profound and renowned,
astounding throughout-
I bow, devout.

Drowsy, I arouse
raising brow
wondering about
shadows casting doubt
like a shroud.
Thunderstorm
announces with a howl,
sky’s wide mouth shouts,
with a sound devours;
growling gigawatts
of gouging power
on the prowl.

I cower,
loud as a mouse,
counting the amount
of seconds I allow
to slip by every hour;
scavenging and scrounging
to find a route,
I flounder
until I found
a seed endowed;
forged in drought
and valor.

Spouting fountain,
dousing the ground
in a shower;
unwound, this sprout
and boughs will tower;
a house beneath
its blossomed flower.
I build a mound,
even if I can't surmount,
my spirit is scoured-
and I vow this garden is ours.
How now brown cow?

This one's a repost from a couple years ago... ive had writers block going on 6 or 7 months now, so I've been going back over older poems trying to either fix the part that didnt sit right with me or scrap them altogether (in favor of trying to develop a newer, better poem)... the beginning of this one never sat right with me but I am happy with some parts of it
the lake bed
was uneven
a mosaic
of large rocks
loose
and dancing
under foot
with each
shuffled step
an interchange
of unreliable shallows
and inconsistent depths
he wasn't
particularly keen
only willing
to venture in
up to his chest
reluctant
to advance
if he couldn't
plant paws
firmly
on soil
   or stone
not even
the lure of food
was enough
to tempt him;
though he wanted
his treat
a reward
   for his bravery
the murky water
   the unknown
   the unfamiliar
   the unexpected
was just
too much
Allesha Eman Jul 10
The winds have run away from us
Sailboats and feelings of incompleteness
Are now what we call home
Blue skies kiss the scabs on my knees
I've fallen many times while you were ahead of me
The distance stretches its limbs into the unknown
And I follow the quiet heartbeat
reverberating through my bones

If you listen closely, its reciting those words
And promises I once made to my broken self
It tells me all about my journey across the vast strait
That drains into the storm-loved sea
That bubbles and roars under my skin
I walk through fires and biting forests
As I make my way through everything that I fear

I walk these steps, holding you near
Prayers for you on my tongue
Evaporate into the open breeze
Carrying the hope that you make it through
Everything that obstructs your peace
Sophie Mar 23
I am a flower
growing in the way of a footpath,
from a crack in the pavement,
dog ***, human feet shuffling,
bicycle tire spinning

I am a sunflower, glowing
in the morning light.
through sparkling mist,
which sits beside me, feeding
me sweet nothings and soft
droplets.

I am a wild rose,
my thorns are sharp, my
petals are delicate.
My roots reaching,
so deep into the earth,
yet the water has evaporated,
even in those depths, my roots are
cracking,
my hips are drying out.

I am a flower in the middle of a footpath,
I have been trampled and I have
been peed on and biked over.
I am trying to stand up again.
I am trying to stand up again.
Inspired by my habitat restoration work in crowded areas. Watching plants survive being trampled and peed on gives me hope and yet makes me feel so hopeless. How can we expect a flower to bloom after being so abused? It is how I feel about my own life. I have been "abused" many times by others, by life itself. "I am trying to stand up again"
Katie Mar 15
Fog
A toxic miasma
An infection in my blood's plasma
It obscures my mind from view
Impossible to push thoughts through
But my poetry will persevere
I don't care for caution against severe
Repercussions for forcing myself to think.
I will not allow my art to sink.
73
CV had me asleep all day, so this is late, and bad cause it hurts to think more than usual.
Ali Harati Mar 5
The ride of the seas
in the mouth of the beast,
The joy and release
of beginnings with ease.

You set off on a path,
with the light in your eye,
But when it’s setting in
you’re attacked by a mist.

You keep sailing away,
with your hopes and your dreams,
But the mist gets thicker
and resolve suffers with.

You question your depth,
and the things you can reach,
The path that you chose
and the means that you bring.

If you can persevere
isolated in the mist,
You’re reborn once again
and the light is released.

Now you set sail again
with new ways and means,
On the way to the way
to the life, you have dreamed.

But beware of the mist
cause it’s lurking ahead,
Once again, you’ll be gripped
Once again, you’ll be ripped.

It’s the cycle for who
enjoy experience,
But when doubt leers in,
you’ll be missed
in the mist.
This poem signifies the never-ending battle between our need to rest and our drive to better ourselves.
After the storm
He picks up the pieces,
Sighs, never complains,
And gets his tools.

He knows:
nothing is forever,
Not one atom of existence
escapes
entropy.

He keeps going, though:
There's a fight to be fought
And a kingdom to conquer.

For today, that's reason enough
(beauty enough)
To step forward.
Kahou Eru Jan 25
I see you don't like me
My cordial mild mannered disposition failed
I didn't mean to stand out
It's not that I'm different
Honest
Just highly antisocial....  
Yet your giving me a hard time anyway  
How it must feel to have me in a bind
Well it's nothing new  
Another Cross to bear
Anyway soon we might part ways
No it's not you ,
it's  me I guess...
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