|Best Poems About / On CHICAGO
Home is where the heart is
If its true
Why am I so uncomfortable here?
This is my home
I have a house here
And I love my friends here
So why do i feel so out of place?
I miss Chicago
And I miss my house there
And I miss my friends there
I felt whole there.
I miss the sounds of Chicago
And I miss when people
Yell at each other in traffic
I may be older
But my wounds haven't healed
My heart is missing here
Because my home
Is in Chicago.
Read more poems from Charlotte Lidia >>>
3-year old among 13 shot in Sanford Fla., or Chicago? (9/19/13)
Thursday night basketball at a south side Chicago park,
Gunfire amidst chaos as shots echoed loudly in the dark,
Our culprits? DreadLocked men in a dark colored sedan,
The tally would have been even greater had some not ran.
Mr. George Zimmerman did not get dressed up in a wig,
Isnt this incident & those like it worse than what he did?
How many Black Entertainers boycott Chicago, Illinois?
And why wasnt this 3-year old home playing with toys?
Ok, Chicagos the, Murder Capital of our society but alas,
Is there any truth to less gun violence if certain bills pass?
Tougher sentences & extended penalties with stiffer fines,
Enough of time off for good-behavior do every bit of time.
Julian Harris told the Sun-Times culprits shot at him first,
He escaped unharmed while his nephew received the worst,
3 are in critical condition with 10 reported serious or fair,
So late at night what in the heck was a toddler doing there?
Looking back at Delbert (88) Belton and Christopher (22) Lane,
In a car, jogging alongside a road now playing a basketball game,
All innocent victims to say the least but notice it is not confined,
First offense or not, a conviction of CCW requires serious time.
A guns no more dangerous than a car when the vehicles parked,
An idiot behind the wheel is dangerous in daylight & in the dark,
Police officials declined to discuss details of the investigation so far,
One things certain, it involves 2 deadly instruments, a gun & a car.
Shooting hoops at, Back Of The Yards before this incident begins,
Was there anyone in Chicago on the lookout for George Zimmerman?
The citys, Labor Day Weekend 20 were injured while 8 fell dead,
NAACP is still crying foul about Sanford, Fla. Im shaking my head.
Read more poems from Luke Easter >>>
(Written during the Jubilee at Chicago)
While thousands throng each crowded mart,
And gaze around in mute surprise,
I turn with an adoring heart
To thee, fair mirror of the skies.
Yet not in silence can I pour
My full heart out, fair Lake, to thee,
So, humbly kneeling on thy shore,
I chant thy praise, my Jubilee.
The purple clouds are all drawn back
From heaven's blue vault, that I may trace
Its distant verge, its shining track
Held to thy heart in close embrace.
The roseate flush that tinged the sky
Has slowly turned to burnished gold,
And every wave that hurries by
Clasps all of sunlight it can hold.
I saw thee not, Lake Michigan,
When all aglow a sheet of flame;
When forth the frenzied people ran
To shriek for help to- call thy name.
Chicago, thine own cherished bride,
Thou mightst not succor couldst not save;
But fettered lay as flames spread wide
And scooped for her a yawning grave.
The loss was ours; we mourned with thee
That she should fall, a nation mourned;
Nor deemed we then we e'er should see
Her hopes restored, her strength returned.
'Forever lost, forever gone! '
Came through thy murmuring wavelets' swell;
' Forever lost, forever gone! '
We echoed back, her funeral knell.
Yet now, so soon, a wondering throng
Crowd to thy shore in hushed surprise,
And there behold (grand theme for song)
Chicago, Phcenix-like, arise.
A world lamented when she fell,
And now, 'neath turret, tower, and dome,
A multitude of voices tell
Her year of Jubilee has come.
Chicago, City of the Lake,
Bride of this lovely inland sea,
Thy resurrection-glories wake
A dream of what thou yet shalt be.
Undaunted in thy darkest hour,
Thyself hast brought the awakening dawn;
Thy energy has been the power
That led, and still shall lead thee on.
Read more poems from Kate Harrington >>>
'Shoe Shine Boy'
Chicago train station, midst their porcelain tunnels
You would hear this young voice cry.
' Shine! ', 'Fifty cents! '
As daily commuters rushing home would pass on by.
Sitting on a shoeshine box
In the cold dim of this porcelain maize.
While down a bit, was a man who would sit
and on his torn violin, some old time tunes he'd play.
These sounds are as I remember them
of an era long now passed.
While at that time, I thought these days
cries of a shoe shine boy
and violin old time music would last.
How naive was I then, to have ever thought this way
for all eventually will fade from view.
I shall always remember, the cries of the shoe shine boy
and the violins oldtime songs, of the Chicago that I knew.
Read more poems from Linda Winchell >>>