Best Torchbearer Poems
how much hate does it take to burn a nations flag ~ who sets this standard
u CHOOSE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
#13 Flag burning
How many syllables 17
04/07/22
When love's bright colors turn shades of blue,
Changed by separation, where love will dream
A deep yearning asks the soul to pursue,
Cross eternity as a lonely gleam
Could its soft glister reach you in flight?
Would you hear my soul calling through the mist?
This torchbearer from love's endless blue night
That hungers for your touch I can't resist
When souls connect in this timeless meeting
Find comfort in its sacred bonds of need
To hold lonely times are never fleeting
And dream that this traveler will succeed
How empty the space not filled with yearning
To feel each separation with hearts burning
contest Gren's Evergreens #2
Unchained Melody
4/23/16
Where we live is universal
It is men’s abode, they fight for it
Only to become lethal
Man now without mercy is cruel
We love the EARTH and man is wise
To be a fool, he abuses trees for his use
Be it for personal and commercial
He does irresponsible mining to his detriment
His garbage and waste are left uncontrolled.
But sure in pageantry we are not forgetful
Of the monumental EARTH HOUR of this event!
Each one representing
The air, the water, the land, the fire, the rain, the trees
And, Miss Earth is found and crowned
A great face, an advocate , an ambassador
Torchbearer of environmental protection
Mindful of man’s obligation to save this planet
By the second, by the minute, by the hour!
Note: I will diligently sort my garbage into 3 categories: real garbage, recyclable and food scraps (recycled as fertilizers), my humble way of preserving our planet Earth!
Dalila G Agtani
4/25/12
Entered in a contest:
Sponsor nikko palmario
Contest Name: Beyond Earth Hour Writing Challenge
It continues to befuddle my inquisitive mind
why many of you have attacked and maligned
vaccines, and have decided to become aligned
with other naysayers. Are you physically blind?
It's not amusing when false dogma spreads terror
Your claims are outrageous and uttered in error
Open your eyes to the truth, and be a torchbearer
instead of creating hysteria as a rankled despairer.
I'm not suggesting you wear rose-colored shades,
but stop throwing darts at hearts and live grenades
at those fighting for the right cause in the crusades.
Life or death is not a game to play like charades.
I wonder how you'd feel if one you loved had died
for refusing to allow a needle to pierce their hide.
Would you admit your theories had been cockeyed
or pig-headedly insist, "Vaccinations are unjustified."
Remove the cloth binding your eyes. Set yourself free
of lies sweetened with rhetoric, so we all might be
safer in a world that's not destined for its apogee.
Listen, if you refuse to see. Please consider this plea.
October 5, 2021
This or That, Vol 7 Contest - Hysterical Blindness
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
School bullies will always call you names,
but would they if they knew I was your blood?
Maybe the insults would have stopped.
There would have been a lot less scraps.
I would be a man without unhealed scars.
If only my mum had not caught your eye..
Why couldn't you have been like Charles Darwin.
Taught me the difference between right and wrong.
Built me a tree house or shown me how to shave,
but you were no torchbearer for my flame.
I wanted to be as tough as you,
but my strength was trapped with fear.
Your anger meant, I was too afraid to ask.
Silently, I questioned your hypocrisy.
If only, you had not walked away.
Instead of blaming each other,
I wonder if we would have formed a bond,
but stubbornness tasted like bitter gourd.
If we took time to explain - possibly apologised.
Maybe, you would not have died without talking.
In the land of Aotearoa, where stories intertwine,
Where the waves caress the shores, and mountains proudly shine,
I raise my voice to honor those who came before,
As a descendant of Karitane, a Maori forevermore.
From the ancient mists of time, our ancestors arose,
Guided by the stars, their wisdom always shows,
In Karitane's embrace, they lived, they thrived,
And their spirits still dance, keeping our heritage alive.
In the sacred whispers of the wind, their voices softly speak,
Echoes of resilience, strength, and courage that we seek,
They stood upon these shores and signed a historic pact,
The Treaty of Waitangi, a promise never to retract.
With ink and heart, they forged a bond, a shared destiny,
Uniting cultures, weaving threads of harmony,
Their vision, though challenged, remains steadfast and true,
To preserve our Maori heritage, for me and for you.
Oh, Karitane, your beauty, your mana, I embrace,
In your rugged landscapes, I find my solace and grace,
From the rugged cliffs to the sandy beaches fair,
The spirit of my ancestors, I proudly bear.
Their names etched in history, their deeds never fade,
Through trials and triumphs, their legacy pervade,
With gratitude in my heart, I honor their sacrifice,
Their struggle, their hope, their infinite advice.
Karitane, a treasure trove of ancestral lore,
Where the past and the present merge to the core,
I stand here today, their proud descendant,
With love and respect, my heritage resplendent.
With each breath I draw, with every step I tread,,
I carry their spirit, their wisdom, as they once led,
From Karitane, I rise, embracing my soul,
A torchbearer of culture, to help make us whole.
So, let us celebrate, in song, in dance, in prayer,
The legacy of Karitane, a flame we all share,
For our ancestors who signed that fateful treaty,
We carry their torch, forever strong and mighty.
mixed verse
The Pied Piper was our town's private eye.
He rode alone on his piebald horse,
kept his nose in everyone’s pie
declaring humble pie of course.
Piety overrode his able grace
when last fall, he alit in some cow pies.
There he earned a pie in the face,
free gift from our local magpie.
translated from the Geek (below):
Altogether armed, a tricky young torchbearer
strode our streets on his multicolored mount -
Our intrusive inspector, had a flair for abuse,
abject apologies too numerous to count.
One autumn, alighting in a field, offensive odor
rivaled his religious reek. Wading a stream
he entered the dwelling of a loquacious goose
who gladly greeted him - à la charity cream.*
*charity cream refers to the practice of throwing pies in the face (whipped cream sometimes shaving cream) to support a favorite charity..
The essence of your emerald eyes engulfs me
into romantic rainbow realms
of sensitive sensual surrender
that spins my heart in Twilight's timeless texture
leading us to a kind kingdom of lush kisses
where pleasing persuasive passions are a precious pleasure
that we share in love's lasting elegant emotion
as our hearts become a torchbearer for tenderness
that cross the reverent regions of our sacred sanctuary
where we watch a stunning splendid sunset
that captures our souls
until night arrives with stars of glorious glittering glow
of wondrous wonders
YOU CAN
You can LAUGH
when you have lost
all the things you thought were important
and have nothing more to lose,
You can be HAPPY
when what remains
are the things that are
to be treasured forever..
Good character, courage,
Unselfishness and Love
are the traits that never fail,
No matter how many times relationships
and things material, abandon,
You can be VICTORIOUS
when you conquer
envy, anger, ill-will,
fear and greed,
'cause these are your
real and greatest enemies,
You can be GLAD
when you rightly guide lost souls
leading them to their own treasures,
as the torchbearer!
Yet, You can still SMILE
without any reason!
Can't you?
Freely forming metrical mainstays
poetic occasion to phrase
the fairer and gentler sex,
thus the following turns of phrase
to bestow acknowledgement
regarding wonderful wise ways
of collective she who assays
to create safe/secure home/ hearth
as bedrock and fount of ample
maternal duties tiredly sashays
with keeping house receiving praise
the second Sunday each May, her
tired body sprawled on chaise
lounge, perhaps basking in solar rays
communing with Gaia, who whiz
bruiting with sky goddess
defying forecasters prediction, no slate grays
pose dampening effect on huzzahs
regaling torchbearer diploid as amaze
zing newlife, where loving labor pays
more than fine spun gold cherishing
offspring in her nurturing ways.
Paean dutiful daily deference, I dole
ensconced with pineapple getup
surfing the cyber sea, this hyperbowl
lee, yet deserved dignity deifying dames,
who bear brunt whole
ding potent biological reproductive role
de facto duty honorably decreed
tribute paid despite commercialized
money making hyped up rigamarole,
nonetheless yours truly accentuates sole
sans, progenitor of human race
saddled with disproportionate/ unfair toll.
Astonishing self-assured warrior.
Rough acts entail his mettle and intrepidity.
Idoneous healer, he uses dauntlessness.
Effervescent, impulsive optimist, he is a torchbearer.
Self-confident, he is socially skilled and insightful.
Submitted on March 29, 2021
for contest STAR SIGN ACROSTIC
sponsored by CHARLOTTE PUDDIFOOT
surrender myself
in blood & honesty
through all of my life
you're the only one
who ever conquers me
building in you
forever i see
that blindness of hate
& desire for me
i am the one thing
unfiltered & true
remaining somehow
unreachable to you
yet i am all broken wings & failing dreams
a poison of shattered loves & forgotten truths
you are the test of my light
& the taste of my darkness
in your arms i lay,
broken & bleeding
begging, insatiable, for that temptation;
that bitter truth
could i ever be whole
without the chaos you're feeding me
if i rose on full wings to that highest destination
would i fall short without that taste of you
Ancestral Whispers
In the depths of the earth, the roots of time stretch like pulsing veins,
Nourishing the collective memory with the fertile essence of our past,
And I, a poet wandering through forgotten eras, gather crumbs of wisdom from the sacred soil.
Magical animals dance in my dreams, fluid contours of light and shadow,
Their eyes glisten with secrets as old as the world, their tongues speak in lost dialects,
And in every wing beat, in every footprint left in the dust, I read the story of creation.
Solitude envelops me like a cloak of mist, here at the border between worlds,
Visions overflow the edges of my mind like a turbulent river,
Words are born from silence, fragile at first, then growing in power and resonance.
Death and rebirth intertwine in a cosmic dance, eternal and implacable,
My body is a vessel of transformation, my mind—a cauldron where ancestral alchemies brew,
From the ashes of the old self rises, a reborn Phoenix, the poet initiated into the mysteries of the universe.
The ecstasy of the primordial dance envelops my being, the rhythm beats in my blood,
Feet strike the earth in sync with the heartbeat of Mother Gaia,
And in the whirl of movement, the boundaries between self and others melt into a sacred union.
The tribe's work is silent prayer, hands united in common effort,
Sweat of the brow mixed with earth becomes the bond that ties us to ground and sky,
In every gesture, in every breath, we are part of the great ritual of life.
I look back to history and forward to the wilderness, a tightrope walker on the thread of the present,
My words are bridges between past and future, between known and mystery,
In my verses reflects the true measure of things, a balance against the ignorance of the times.
I am the keeper of archaic values, the voice that whispers in the roar of modernity,
Torchbearer in the night of forgetting, sower of dreams in the barren fields of routine,
And my poems are seeds of magic planted in the fertile soil of souls that still know how to listen to the whispers of the Earth.
Written on April 19th 2025 for Sara Jama's The Chaos in my Heart Contest
I am wrapped in darkness, crippled by the chaos in my heart.
Swallowing tangled foxgloves of regret, I spiral.
Into a hays of eerie memories of his lemonade lies
From the distance, the torchbearer calls—
His voice a menacing howl, summoning my soul to surrender.
He entwines my essence into an unforgiving knot,
Threading me tight—I am now but a trembling bead upon his unholy rosary.
My withered heart blackens to the point of no return,
As I sink into the bowels of Dante’s Inferno.
I bartered my soul for the illusion of devotion,
Fled to barren lands where my only neighbours are
Ravenous sandworms.
I am haunted by the person I once was—
She coils herself around me like a burial shroud.
I exist without pulse,
Denied the mercy of rebirth.
Trapped in a loop of hollow memories,
The love I gave now lies in ruin,
Charred and calcified inside the sorrow-filled marrow of me.
I loved him the way he demanded,
But freedom only came after the death of a thousand small cuts,
Etched in the name of us.
Now, I drift—
A shattered mind among broken poets,
All of us bleeding ink in search of solace.
The titan has departed.
The legend has entered the hall of heroes.
The enigma has joined the pantheon of immortals.
Kenya’s torchbearer of democracy has crossed over.
Africa’s voice of conscience has become one with eternity.
The world’s statesman has slipped the surly bonds of earth.
His voice is stilled, yet his dream roars still.
His body is silent, yet his vision breathes on.
Rest in Power, Agwambo.