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Ali’s Song
by Michael R. Burch

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 , 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.


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!


Bruce Lee
by Michael R. Burch

Try to hit him? You’ll only whiff
with this man as elusive as mist.
The Man. The Legend. The Myth.

Then you’ll feel his furious fists
but it’s useless to think to resist:
Try to hit him? You’ll only whiff!

For you’ll feel the Force as it lifts
and you fly through the air like a skiff.
The Man. The Legend. The Myth.

Friend, give up. Surrender. Desist.
For a shadow can only be missed.
Try to hit him? You’ll only whiff!

Then your ears will soon ring with his riffs
as he tattoos your skull with his kicks.
The Man. The Legend. The Myth.

Many fighters have been left stiff
like lemmings gone over the cliff.
Try to hit him? You’ll only whiff
with the Man. The Legend. The Myth.

Keywords/Tags: sports, boxing
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