Best Torch Poems
I used to be creative,
I was crafty with the pen
People liked to read my odes
And would praise me now and then
Yes, i would dive into the river
Where the creative juices flow
My pen would seize the moment
And take on a life all its own
I would scribble til the morning
And sleep would pass me by
But i had to react to my calling
Until it was emptied from inside
Some folks say i have a gift
And should sell a book or two
Ive never heard of a rich poet
Maybe when we die we get our due
So one day some years from now
When my name is etched in stone
Perhaps my odes will touch one heart
And the gift will carry on.
A single flame will always burn
As a memory for us to remember and learn
It was a cold winter’s day
The twentieth of January
A young man standing in the bitter wind
And a new chapter in our history was about begin
His words echoed through out this nation
The torch has been passed to a new generation
He captured our hearts with each phrase
And we still recall with pride when we think of them today
But then in an instant it was gone
The torch, the flame, and most of all a man named John
We watched and cried that November day
Stumbling in the darkness thinking never again to find out way
But then a flame began to glow
And the light from it lit a path we began to follow
All was not lost that dark day
And somehow, someway his dreams will happen for all one day
Form:
Oh keeper of the torch!
Why does the flame dwindle?
My son, I was once a great warrior.
I wear the scars of many battles.
With the sword of justice in one hand
and the shield of truth in the other,
I proudly defended the flame.
But time has wreaked havoc on my body
and I grow weaker with each passing day.
I can no longer defend the flame.
The shield has fallen from my hand.
Now, I merely stand vigil over the last flicker.
When the sword drops from my hand,
the flame will die as will I.
Oh keeper of the torch!
Can you not keep the flame alive
by passing the sword and shield to another?
This may have been true once, but no longer.
I have been to the edge of the great peak
in search of a soul equal to the task.
When I looked out over the edge,
I did not see a grand mass of humanity.
I saw stupid creatures wandering aimlessly
with no hope, no reason, and no direction,
like a herd of sheep in need of a shepherd.
I had a hard time finding this one after all these years. This was the first poem I ever wrote. It was written about twenty-three years ago and I cannot remember what was in my head when I wrote this poem, but it is vastly different from what I normally write.
Arms and legs peddling struggling
I tread
In the middle of the lake
There is 300 feet of blue water
Between the soles of my feet
And the 10,000 year old dance floor beneath.
Torch Lake never gives up her dead.
The lake’s bottom is pocked
With springs bursting as jets from Middle Earth
Jumbling boulders like popcorn.
This is where the drowned bodies sink
Irretrievable by dive teams or priests
Those Ojibwa fishermen ripped from their Birch canoes
Loggers clunked dead on their heads
Great Depression titans
Still stitched to their britches
Top hats and bow ties
Pistols clutched to their hands
Wives sunk from hurt and betrayal
Factory workers snapped in two
A young girl from a rowboat
Caught in a sudden storm
Clapping for her tossed dog
She dove in.
I wonder from down there
Where they’re all doing the jig
What I look like to them
Up here?
Another man walking on his knees?
In the history of first ladies
I never envisioned the strength and power of women that carried a torch of greatness for which they stood.
From Eleanor Roosevelt to Jackie Kennedy…just to name a few… were the embodiment of beauty, knowledge, class, and pure sophistication…. the main denominators in constructing the reins and heart of sisterhood.
For
This is a pool of women who are classified as educators, administrators and negotiators who opened the doors and paved a way in setting the stage to a range of accomplishments that are now the stepping stones of the common good.
And as time went by
The torch was passed down to another woman of caliber…
A woman who
Found her mate and transformed herself into a mother
Our first lady; the epitome of a leader and scholar;
A true Victorian of woman’s empowerment;
The trendsetter of new beginnings …
A go getter and heavy hitter…all awhile continuing to be a woman that’s still down to earth… and yet, still found the time to implant morals and values of a woman’s worth… to the new generation and all that this brings.
Thus her wings continued to spread!
Comma, comma, comma…
For
This treasure of grace is best known as the worlds
Phenomenon and First Lady… Michelle Obama…. Our American Torch
THE END…
Carry the torch and carry it high
Their legacy will never die
Continue on, their hopes fulfill
The one the enemy tried to kill
Carry the torch that they’ve passed on
Now their battle has been won
Live in freedom in the USA
Live in it’s fullest everyday
These soldiers did not die in vain
For nothing didn’t they suffer the pain
You may never join the Navy, or the Army or Guard
But it’s for your freedom that our veterans fought hard
Though some may have died while the torch being carried
Their flame burned out, in a graveyard now buried
Let’s carry on their torch and this we must do
The next time you see a veteran, let’s tell them “Thank You.”
Form:
The Burning Torch
My darling I am coming home, for you just wait and see
I didn’t drown that fateful day, into the deepest sea.
I hear you call me every night, you sit upon the porch
And wait for me now to return, I see your burning torch.
It started out like any day, the sea so calm, just right
Blue cloudless day, a gentle breeze blew on the mast so tight.
Good fishing had, now time to go, set sail for homeward bound
No worries had, for our return we would be safe and sound.
Some clouds rolled in to blot the blue, the sea began to foam
We’d gone out miles to catch the best, before we turned for home.
The sailors all went to their place, dark clouds began to form
They knew the signs were ominous a brewing of a storm.
The nets reeled in, a thunder clap, then lightning sent a flare
With expert hands upon the deck, to panic would be rare.
The Captain spoke “Now listen men, this storm puts us to test
It seemed to come from no-where lads, just do your very best".
The clouds grew dark, the waves lashed out, the ship it bobbed about
With lightening flashing all around, loud thunder clapped, no doubt.
Our footing hard to keep on deck, all soaked from rain that poured
I did not see the big wave come, next we were overboard.
We thrashed about the raging sea; we watched the ship go down
Could this be really happening, I knew that I would drown.
My mind though strong, my body weak, ‘twas then I heard you shout
“Come back to me” but was too late, this angry sea won out.
And just as I was going down, again I heard your voice
"Come back my love I need you here, don’t leave you have a choice".
I chose to stay right by your side and be your guiding light
From where I lie on oceans bed I see you every night
So yes my love I heard your call, upon that fateful day
And though you’re saddened by my loss, I have now this to say.
“Do not be sad my dearest one, do wipe away your tears
For I was with you in the past, will stay throughout your years."
Now as you sit upon the porch and gaze out to the sea
Keep searching for my ship’s return, one day you will see me.
You’ll see me smile, I’ll take you hand together we will go
To where life’s journey does return, and only we will know.
I hand you my torch, while I play the guitar
Tolkien am I, in my euphoric voice
Artistry, artistic, dramatic and poetic are my strings
My musical notes, will touch the sky and alive shall be the clouds
I will give many stars away, starting with brother, sister and you
Listen, accept and catch thus tasteful, and stylish write
Rhymer, rhymester and rime are the notes in my poem
Geek and weirdo specialist, are my secret lovers
Star Wars and The Wizard of Oz, control my dreams
My dreams, start off with a pentagram, in the middle of the ocean
Optical are the waves, visible is the mist and visual are the bubbles
Pop each bubble, time to rewind
My dreams, start off with a pentagram, in the middle of the ocean
Star Wars and The Wizard of Oz, control my dreams
Geek and weirdo specialist, are my secret lovers
Rhymer, rhymester and rime are the notes in my poem
Listen, accept and catch thus tasteful, and stylish write
I will give many stars away, starting with a brother, sister or you
My musical notes, will touch the sky and alive shall be the clouds
Artistry, artistic, dramatic and poetic are my strings
Tolkien am I, in my euphoric voice
I hand you my torch, while I play the guitar
You have plucked her from purity
ascended upon virtuous flesh
spawned forth torches of multitude
that pronounce flames of love
and yet those very flames
burn with seething rage
bearing witness to false pretense
of Love's gentle embrace
what once was pure
has been soiled
from generations past
for the flames of abuse
have become adults at last.......
Bob Shank-Jan. 11th, 2006
I always try to write something on abuse
around this time of year, since the week
of the Superbowl seems to always be the
time of year when spousal abuse is
reported the most.....It's a problem that
sadly continues to plaque our society
today, and yet we don't even consider
the long term effect it has on our children,
the vicious cycles of learned behavior must
change if we are to progress.......
Our world is darkened
by hate.
Each one of us can be
a light in the midst of
darkness.
By spreading love instead
of hate.
Or peace instead of chaos.
Or joy in the midst of much
sorrow.
Or doing things that unify
and not divide.
Or saying kind words
instead of hateful insults.
By doing this one will be
letting their light shine,
In the midst of much
darkness.
So take the torch and let it
shine through the darkness.
4/9/2021
Contest: Shine
Sponsor: Constance La France
FOR THE NEW TORCH BEARERS (REVISITED)
(APROPOS MLK: PART 2)
They voyaged over many tempestuous oceans and seas;
They were pursued in woods by vicious dogs—dogs
Salivating stale slave smells of strange fruits
In hanging trees.
They were hunted, trapped and penned like slimed
Wild hogs.
They waded rivers—buoyed by the bodies of their ancestors;
Footprints left in caked blood on river banks in the golden dawn.
Now here we are; standing in the mist of our debtors:
flaming spirits from the black phoenix’s spawn. We’re now
on the everlasting arm of which the ancestors leaned upon.
We are those of which the ancestors long ago spoke;
We are the dream that sustained them during their bloody ‘buke
and lashing scorn;
We are the moored vision and anchor that strengthen them
with audacious hope.
So come chosen children, everybody gather here around;
Let us sit together—talk and pray for just a little while.
Like papa, keep your eyes on the prize—not on the ground;
Walk well down the blood stained path of freedom’s aisle.
Listen children, the battle is not yet won; there’s still much work
left for us to get done.
Girdle yourselves with that ebony pilgrim’s pride—facing
the rising sun of a new day begun.
Rise up little children and give rebirth to the words
the ancestors said!
Rise up little children and cover yourself with the blood
they have shed!
Rise up little children and rip apart the new veiled shackles
and hidden yoke!
Rise up little children—raising your torches higher
than everlasting hope!
You are the new torch bearers of the dream;
You are today’s Martin Luther King.
a forgotten torch
is hanging on a cave wall,
its light still shining
Stepping out from the burrow
Scratching the hidden persuasion
The soul which has long groaned in solitude
Will it be re-confined to the misery?
One who awakens by the brittleness of elegy
Eroded by the existence of sinless soul
For a moment it became oblivious to time
For a moment it elapsed in whispers
Struggled within the beauty of madness
This soul seems like lost in its way
Drown in the scenes of life
Asleep in the dungeon of resignation
Helpless...
In the starless night
The soul summoned on a journey of trust
Riding on the wings of my bare thoughts
And flown to the sky of my poetic side
Longing for my discreet passion
The immortal torch ignite
Caressing the tail of my frozen muse
Melt the nectars of the ripe words
Which now, sated
Tip of her kayak
Tears
At the tissue of Torch Lake
In its morning middle
New sun floating blurry
A half-deflated balloon
Struggling on a string above the hills
Fists of fog like marble hands
Warming themselves in the steam
From the night-chilled water
I can barely see our daughter
Out there
Lit
Like a dragonfly
On the petal of a blue flower
The ends of her pink paddles
Slowly
Beating up and down
Along her sides
Wings
Testing the delicate air
Making her way to the other shore.
I put my binoculars down.
Next week she leaves for Marketing school in college.
When The Torch Came In June--In Memory of my husband:
Robert A. (Bobby) Burch--Died 6/22/1996
O' June...June...I can't believe how fast time
Has gone. It seems like only yesterday
I held him close...kissed...his lips on mine.
It's been sixteen years since he went away...
That HOT, JUNE, DAY--the Olympic Torch came
Through town. Everone there--needing him too...
He sat down beside me--his face--I knew
When he said, "I don't feel well"--that glazed stare.
Everyone always asked him what to do!
Twice...he came back to assist his own care...
EMS, Doctors, nurses--all were there!
But, still, it was not enough to save him.
Two minutes from the ER--WASN'T FAIR!
'Prayed in the ER as they worked on him...
The people: loved ones, community, friends,
Were everywhere--pacing...standing...crying...
But I kept praying--"Don't let him be dying!"
Finally, they 'called it'...then let me go in...
I kissed him-- goodbye-- but felt they were lying--
Then told our son...he'd not see, DAD--again.
O' June...June...your mem'ry serves quite well...
Wish it'd been me...and he, this story tell.
deborah burch©
5/26/2012
Dizain