#ali
Ali Ali, Sunday go with Me.
Don't stay in heaven, it's too quiet up there.
Bring cookies. Bring juice.
And Maybe... don't leave halfway again.
I called You.
You said "lema' sabachi'th''ani."
I heard: "Let's go Sunday, tiny bunny."
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 9:50 PM UTC
Your touch, though absent, still ignites,
A fire that burns through endless nights.
The miles between us, a fleeting haze,
For in my heart, your essence stays.
I trace your name in the midnight air,
A whispered prayer, a lover’s dare.
Your voice, a phantom, soft and low,
Carried by winds that only I know.
The ocean stretches, the mountains rise,
Yet I see your face in star-lit skies.
Your breath, imagined, grazes my skin,
A distant warmth that seeps within.
Our hearts, though far, beat just the same,
Echoes of love in passion’s flame.
Each word you write, each sigh you send,
Bridges the void; it’s you I defend.
I dream of nights where distance fades,
Where shadows melt, and time obeys.
Fingers entwined, your lips on mine,
A reunion sweet, a love divine.
For now, I carry your scent, your fire,
In dreams that burn with raw desire.
Though oceans keep us worlds apart,
You’re always near—you're in my heart.
And when the miles dissolve someday,
We’ll build a world where lovers stay.
Until then, my flame, this truth holds true:
No distance exists between me and you.
Jan 26, 2025
Jan 26, 2025 at 11:12 AM UTC
Social media, a writer's guide,
A giant force, not to subside.
From seasoned pros to those who start,
It molds a voice, refines the art.
Build your brand, let it be known,
LinkedIn, Twitter—your skills are shown.
Posts and insights, crafted right,
Shape your presence, bold and bright.
Global reach, no bounds remain,
Through Instagram or TikTok's lane.
Stories shared with hearts afar,
Readers found where dreams are star.
Network wide, connections bloom,
In hashtags, forums, online rooms.
Editors, peers, with wisdom share,
Collaborate and spark to dare.
Inspiration flows, a constant stream,
From challenges and trending themes.
Ideas ignite, refine your flair,
Communities guide with care to spare.
Readers speak, their voices clear,
Feedback fosters what they cheer.
Loyal fans, a writer’s gain,
Support that eases doubt and strain.
Gateways open, publish bold,
Medium's stage or LinkedIn's fold.
One viral post, a future bright,
A writer's path lit up with light.
So wield this power, make your way,
Social media’s here to stay.
The world awaits your voice, your art—
Begin your journey, take heart, and start!
Jan 11, 2025
Jan 11, 2025 at 10:01 PM UTC
While the world enjoys online pleasures
dig knowledge, research for work treasures
We, here in Pakistan, face snail's slow internet
I can't use social media, see my Love too I bet
Offline to end,and we have to be online again
Or my world shall be lone, forgetful and in pain
Dec 5, 2024
Dec 5, 2024 at 1:01 AM UTC
Ever wonder about the blessing of a home?
To feel the gift of God Almighty shlome
The one we live in, not made with bricks
There ain't any wood or man made tricks
Yes, the very earth we live on with right
As if we have it straight and uptight
The might of nature, the trees dance
The flowers bloom, grass smiles chance
This is our home, our very beloved earth
This is where we pass time, death and birth
Dec 4, 2024
Dec 4, 2024 at 1:49 AM UTC
Money is a felony
Come to me honey
*** is just a new cause
Serves the sin clause
Be gay and happy, no worries
Be full of life, eating cherries
Nov 28, 2024
Nov 28, 2024 at 7:52 AM UTC
Money is a felony
Come to me honey
*** is just a new cause
Serves the sin clause
Be gay and happy, no worries
Be full of life, eating cherries
Nov 28, 2024
Nov 28, 2024 at 7:50 AM UTC
My heart aches,
I know you are missing me
Come back, see my death
Nov 25, 2024
Nov 25, 2024 at 4:59 AM UTC
Rich clouds shower love's rain
Upon thirsty lands of lovers minds
Seeding, ripening for the fertile flock
Comes her face; her charming features
O nature! Why you play with the sleeping ones?
One falls for you, the other for trapping love
Where is the savior?To whom do we pray?
Bitter means of deceit and corruptions play
With our minds and souls, hearts and bodies
Love is pure deceit: I shout nature- Both to blame
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 1:11 PM UTC
Blessed I am to have you here
To touch your apple cheeks dear
To feel the warmth of your true love
And cherish all here, down or above
I am so lucky, to have the lucky charm
Of nuptial beauty, charismatically warm
O love, my love! You are what I'd convert
This world may end, death comes,so what?
Nov 23, 2024
Nov 23, 2024 at 8:15 PM UTC
Social Media Iceberg
the iceberg’s fleeting gleam,
A glimpse of truth, buried in the stream.
Do you feel the furnace, the stifling weight,
Of masks we wear, concealing fate?
A flood of thoughts, suffocating and grim,
Killing the voice that once burned within.
A lifetime of hurt, sincerity drowned,
In the chilling silence where echoes resound
Nov 21, 2024
Nov 21, 2024 at 9:53 PM UTC
It was a dreadful night in mid summer,
Crackers of memories were sobering,
I paced toward home, in a melancholy
Of mood and hurt, love lost, betrayed
By a Sweet poisonous lass, On the way
Suddenly, twas' a figure aside the road,
Calm and tall, shadowless dark and lanky
My veins filled with fear, blood froze and eyes
Startled. No misery in life could beat
Misery of meeting an alien. I forgot
My troubles of life and ran for dear life.
As I glanced back, it was a tree and no aliens,
My hallucinations made it one. I cursed my fear and ran my more dear to live my life
Once again.
Nov 20, 2024
Nov 20, 2024 at 10:10 PM UTC
A Lambert chuckle was it, resting deep
Into frightful circle of trees, thereof, opening
Lantern of hope dies, shall I be more esteemed?
Rumbling with the grave of a sinner, tears wiped or not?
Shrugged is the gestures, of a dead man talking
Twittering in moans, voices of the wild mixed
Shallow timber puffs symphonies of death out loud
The decay is here’ where the deceased live no more
The final decay arrives; you shall see the color of her eyes!
The devil lives in them and smiles; Ah, the chanting
Nov 20, 2024
Nov 20, 2024 at 8:08 PM UTC
Clubbing blows, given and received
Night after night, day after day
Physically, mentally
Socially, politically
The audacity to believe he could make it
The greatest
The dedication to follow through on his promise
The greatest
The audacity to call the white man the devil
And the humility to apologise
Wrong is really wrong when you can’t admit it
Just another side shuffle from the man with the world’s fastest hands
Floating like a butterfly, this way and that
Flawed? Of course
Who isn’t?
Why our insistence on holding our idols to standards that we ourselves can’t meet?
Of course flawed, but the greatest nonetheless
If nowhere else but in his own mind
Where else matters?
Who cares what the world says when you yourself know yourself to be great?
With the belief that he is great comes the ability to act as if he is great
The greatest knows his greatness and desires the world to join him
Being the greatest
If only in his own mind
Freed him from the shackles
Freed him from the chains
Enabled him to stand and fight
And echo the famous words around the world
Filling the ears, hearts and minds of all who would listen
Young, old, black, white and everything in between
I AM THE GREATEST
Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 9:13 AM UTC
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 ***** a *****
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.
The poem above has been set to music in a YouTube video by Lillian Y. Wong.
You are free to copy the poem for noncommercial use, such as a school project, essay or report, or just because you like it and want to share, but please credit Michael R. Burch as the author.
NOTES: (1) Muhammad Ali said that he threw his Olympic gold medal into the Ohio River after experiencing racism in his hometown of Louisville, Kentucky. Confirming his account, the medal was recovered by Robert Bradbury and his wife Pattie in 2014 during the Annual Ohio River Sweep. The Ali family paid $200,000 to regain possession of the medal. Ali later made a joke about the incident that caused him to toss his medal into the river. He said that he took his medal into a white downtown restaurant and ordered a cheeseburger. The waitress told him, "We don't serve negroes." Ali replied, "I don't eat them either. Just bring me a cheeseburger!" (2) When drafted during the Vietnam War, Ali refused induction, reputedly saying: "I ain't got no quarrel with those Viet Cong; no Vietnamese ever called me a ****** (3) The notice mentioned in my poem is Ali's draft notice, which metaphorically gets tossed into the river along with his slave name. (4) The poem was originally published by the literary journal Black Medina. It has since been published by Other Voices International, Thanal Online, Freshet, Poems About and Poem List.
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!
Me?
Whee!
(I stole this poem
From Muhammad Ali.)
—Michael R. Burch
The poem above was written in response to the Quora question: “Can you write a poem titled “Me”?
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.
Less Heroic Couplets: Miss Bliss
by Michael R. Burch
Domestic “bliss”?
Best to swing and miss!
Less Heroic Couplets: Then and Now
by Michael R. Burch
BEFORE: Thanks to Brexit, our lives will be plush! ...
AFTER: Crap, we’re going broke! What the hell is the rush?
Less Heroic Couplets: Dear Pleader
by Michael R. Burch
Is our Dear Pleader, as he claims, heroic?
I prefer my presidents a bit more stoic.
Less Heroic Couplets: Less than Impressed
by Michael R. Burch
for T. M., regarding certain dispensers of lukewarm air
Their volume’s impressive, it’s true ...
but somehow it all seems “much ado.”
Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry I
by Michael R. Burch
Poetry is the heart’s caged rhythm,
the soul’s frantic tappings at the panes of mortality.
Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry II
by Michael R. Burch
Poetry is the trapped soul’s frantic tappings
at the panes of mortality.
Less Heroic Couplets: Seesaw
by Michael R. Burch
A poem is the mind teetering between fact and fiction,
momentarily elevated.
Less Heroic Couplets: Passions
by Michael R. Burch
Passions are the heart’s qualms,
the soul’s squalls, the brain’s storms.
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, mrbali, mrbrace, mrbsport, mrbsports, mrbsong
Mar 7, 2020
Mar 7, 2020 at 5:17 AM UTC
Amber
I never knew what larceny breeds,
I never learnt to give it any heeds,
It is Sheik Alís amber that just needs
I am nobody it all His deeds.
My teacher painted a painting few could see
But those who did flared with glee
The painting such that it looked like glass
Those who had eyes would see through the moss.
(By: Khan, BA)
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 1:10 PM UTC
A little nod to
Edgar Guest
When you’re up against a bully
Meet them face to face
Lift your chin and set your shoulders,
Plant your feet and give them a taste
Never panic or hesitated: aim toward the lower waist
If you fall to the ground, don’t be discourage
It’s just a stumble, its just the adrenaline rush
but never let it weaken you
See it through!
Forget all those stars that circle around you
The Bigger the Ego, the Stronger the Anger
Kick his *** until ***** does the tango
If the worst is going to happened
Let it be Lose or win:
See it through! My friend
it’s birthing time again
Lift your chin and set your shoulder
Get up and plant your feet and make a fist
Kick that bully *** Feel your inner strength.
Think of Joe Frasier, Ali and Foreman impeccable timing and their knock outs drops:
only a wise poet like me can only wish you the best of luck
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 12:17 PM UTC
Autistic Rainbow
Let me paint my walls in hues of red, blue and yellow,
Inscribing its matrix deep into my marrow,
To lift my soul above the waters of filthy processes,
Counting the complexity of its shades each morning.
In their domain they fumble daily to cope,
And insanely we at times laugh at their struggle,
When in reality it is our inability to understand,
These loving persons who bring innocent love.
Shame on me, as they paint my canvas in colours!
And I miss the opportunity to enjoy their unique joys.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC
When absurdity is the show,
What else does then remain?
To be branded with the tag,
"Stupid" you are... yeah, stupid I am!
I see the world with clear eyes,
No calling brown black or Tan white.
The moon travels around the sun,
Not the sun travelling across our skies.
I like to call a ***** a *****
"Stupid you are!!" modernity demands more.
Duality... not my way or inclination,
Even if modernity demands it.
Gone are the days of morality and modesty.
****** seems to be the new trend,
Truth and courage relegated to the rear.
Now if games are not played or graft taken,
A label of "Stupid" is then attached.
Then, it seems that "Stupid"is my moniker,
As such, then, I shall wear the name proudly.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 11:30 PM UTC
A man, a movement,
Whose words stung like a Bee,
But had the masses floating to him,
When he spoke about peace,
He shook up the World like he said he would,
And twisted our perceptions of what it meant to be a true hero,
And for that we thank you.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 8:27 AM UTC
The earth needed a punch
To move on
You came
The crowd needed a slap
To wake up
Your poetry slammed
The world needed peace
To live on
You fought
The music non-stopping
In and out the ring
Cos box echoes beyond
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 5:43 PM UTC
He floated like a butterfly,
Stang like a bee –
The one and only
Muhammad Ali.
“I’m The Greatest”, he always said,
20th Century Sports Personality,
Put his rivals to bed.
Yes, he WAS the Greatest, that’s for sure.
Above the rest by a massive score.
Faster than a hummingbird,
Slicker than a snake,
Those quick hands of his
They made opponents quake.
He’d get into bed
Before the light went out.
Rarely a whisper,
Usually a shout.
Like a long-distance runner
Ali had the endurance.
Anyone who fought him
Needed lots of insurance.
Ali was great and didn’t he know it.
A witty speaker and amusing poet.
Some of his lines I’ve used right here:
They had his rivals shaking with fear.
No way would Ali fight the Viet Cong.
For that he merits a Nobel Gong.
He was the champion of the oppressed,
A hero with whom we all were blessed.
He had charisma, way beyond sport.
Ali influenced our every thought.
He’ll call into Hell on the way to Heaven,
To knock out Satan, in round seven.
Paul Butters
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 6:57 AM UTC
The crowd roars.
Out comes the king of the ring.
His silk robe draped over his massive shoulders,
He is looking for a fight.
But beneath those big gloved hands are the hands of a hero.
The hands of a man who never thought of just himself.
The hands that put George Foreman on his ***
He floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee,
Yet nobody will ever top The Great Ali.
To my hero, and my father’s hero. Rest well.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 2:38 AM UTC