Ali's Song

Ali's Song by Michael R. Burch for Muhammad Ali They say that gold don’t tarnish. It ain’t so. They say it has a wild, unearthly glow. A man can be more beautiful, more wild. I flung their medal to the river, child. I flung their medal to the river, child. They hung their coin around my neck; they made my name a bridle, “called a spade a spade.” They say their gold is pure. I say defiled. I flung their slave’s name to the river, child. I flung their slave’s name to the river, child. Ain’t got no quarrel with no Viet Cong that never called me n---er, did me wrong. A man can’t be lukewarm, ’cause God hates mild. I flung their notice to the river, child. I flung their notice to the river, child. They said, “Now here’s your bullet and your gun, and there’s your cell: we’re waiting, you choose one.” At first I groaned aloud, but then I smiled. I gave their “future” to the river, child. I gave their “future” to the river, child. My face reflected up, dark bronze like gold, a coin God stamped in His own image—BOLD. My blood boiled like that river—strange and wild. I died to hate in that dark river, child. Come, be reborn in this bright river, child. Originally published by Black Medina then turned into a YouTube video by Lillian Y. Wong Note: Cassius Clay, who converted to Islam and changed his “slave name” to Muhammad Ali, said that he threw his Olympic boxing gold medal into the Ohio River. When drafted during the Vietnamese War, Ali refused to serve, reputedly saying, “I ain't got no quarrel with those Viet Cong; no Vietnamese ever called me a n---er.” For Ali, Fighting Time by Michael R. Burch So now your speech is not as clear . . . time took its toll each telling year . . . and O how tragic that your art, so brutal, broke your savage heart. But we who cheered each blow that fell within that ring of torrent hell never dreamed to see you maimed, bowed and bloodied, listless, tamed. For you were not as other men as we cheered and cursed you then; no, you commanded dreams and time— blackgold Adonis, bold, sublime. And once your glory leapt like fire— pure and potent. No desire ever burned as fierce or bright. Oh Ali, Ali . . . win this fight! In My House by Michael R. Burch I was once the only caucasian in the software company I founded and managed. I had two fine young black programmers working for me, and they both had keys to my house. This poem looks back to the dark days of slavery and the Civil War it produced. When you were in my house you were not free— in chains bound. Manifest Destiny? I was wrong; my plantation burned to the ground. I was wrong. This is my song, this is my plea: I was wrong. When you are in my house, now, I am not free. I feel the song hurling itself back at me. We were wrong. This is my history. I feel my tongue stilting accordingly. We were wrong; brother, forgive me. Published by Black Medina Poet to poet by Michael R. Burch This poem imagines a discussion between Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who spoke so poetically about his dream of equality, and a poet who speaks in parentheses. I have a dream (pebbles in a sparkling sand) of wondrous things. I see children (variations of the same man) playing together. Black and yellow, red and white, (stone and flesh, a host of colors) together at last. I see a time (each small child another's cousin) when freedom shall ring. I hear a song (sweeter than the sea sings) of many voices. I hear a jubilation (respect and love are the gifts we must bring) shaking the land. I have a message, (sea shells echo, the melody rings) the message of God. I have a dream (all pebbles are merely smooth fragments of stone) of many things. I live in hope (all children are merely small fragments of One) that this dream shall come true. I have a dream . . . (but when you're gone, won't the dream have to end?) Oh, no, not as long as you dream my dream too! Here, hold out your hand, let's make it come true. (i can feel it begin) Lovers and dreamers are poets too. (poets are lovers and dreamers too) I, Too, Have a Dream by Michael R. Burch writing as “The Child Poets of Gaza” I, too, have a dream ... that one day Jews and Christians will see me as I am: a small child, lonely and afraid, staring down the barrels of their big bazookas, knowing I did nothing to deserve their enmity. I, too, have a dream ... My Nightmare ... by Michael R. Burch writing as “The Child Poets of Gaza” I had a dream of Jesus! Mama, his eyes were so kind! But behind him I saw a billion Christians hissing "You're nothing!," so blind. Swan Song by Michael R. Burch The breast you seek reserves all its compassion for a child unborn. Soon meagerly she’ll ration soft kisses and caresses—not for Him, but you. Soon in the night, bright lights she’ll dim and croon a soothing love hymn (not for you) and vow to Him that she’ll always be true, and never falter in her love. But now she whispers falsehoods, meaning them, somehow, still unable to foresee the fateful Wall whose meaning’s clear: such words strange gods might scrawl revealing what must come, stark-chiseled there: Gaze on them, weep, ye mighty, and despair! There’ll be no Jericho, no trumpet blast imploding walls womb-strong; this song’s your last. Keywords/Tags: Muhammad Ali, boxing, violence, The Greatest, race, racism, racist, discrimination, black, slave name, Vietnam War, Olympics, gold medal, God, Muslim, Islam, Islamic, tribute