|Best Poems About / On CHICAGO
On October 8th at 9 pm a fire flared from OLearys farm,
In the city of Chicago, fires from hell raged at 9: 40 am when someone pulled the alarm,
Firefighters were sent out to the left when the fires flared to the right,
One flame caught onto another where screams were heard from fright,
The fires spread to houses and sheds from superheated winds,
Winds so powerful it burned through human skin,
From the West of the Chicago River it burned down the local church,
The house of God lit up in flames that in rapid pace flared and lurched,
Until it swarmed southbound to the branch of the river,
Reality was hell on earth the devastation it delivered,
With firewood packed closely next to wooden buildings the storm never calmed,
From Sunday night through Monday morning hell raged fury in napalm,
The flame got bigger and spread across the land,
While the city burned hundreds fell into the fire that ran,
A catastrophe that will forever scar Chicago land,
Fires that grabbed hundreds of innocent lives from hells hand,
Embers from the fire flooded the city streets,
Burned down buildings, houses, and the grounds beneath,
Hell on Earth the fires burned everything in sight,
The sky burned above fires that lit the night,
Firefighters tried to wash it away but couldnt,
A natural disaster from hell that could cease but wouldnt,
For two days the Chicago land was lit in flames,
The Great Chicago fire that destroyed the city and took names,
It was until later Monday night that drizzles from the tears in sky calmed the storm,
The beautiful Chicago city to destruction and ruin was the aftermath of transform,
The causalities claimed about 300 lives,
Where fires caught the 300 in a natural disaster comprised,
Never will Chicago forget the flames the scourged the land,
A false tale of a cow kicking over a lantern from the barn that was a scam,
The lives that ate the superheated winds when they ran,
Never will Chicago forget when hell won over the 300 lives of man.
Read more poems from Kurt Kacich >>>
I am surprised by the streets of Chicago
when the palm of winter grips them with snow
as if to forgive the citys mistakes
and give it a canvas thats new, white, and clean
its fingers, the branches on all of the trees
kneading the air that blows in from the lake.
Ive never lived next to the pulse of the lake
(until I set foot down the side of Chicago)
breathing in through the streets and out through the trees
welcoming the cool of the wet, numbing snow.
It lets my mind slip into thinking its clean
as if to personally forgive my mistakes.
But what have you done to forgive your mistakes?
Did I ask this? Or is that the voice of the lake?
Some days, not even does it appear clean,
worn down from its tall standing neighbor, Chicago.
It scrapes at the sky, asking it for more snow
to stick to and freeze the trunks of the trees.
If I were a branch on one of these trees
incapable of making a single mistake,
Id grab at the sky as it shook out the snow
and grow my roots thick till they tasted the lake.
But I wouldnt bend to the force of Chicago
thats constantly keeping me from being clean.
And what does it mean to try to be clean?
I dont understand the stillness of the trees
when theyre being attacked by the size of Chicago
as if to glorify the citys mistakes
that glisten like stars at night on the lake
before it all froze and was covered with snow.
Ah! To imagine how long theres been snow.
How can something this old still feel so clean
and dance through the wind that swoops in from the lake?
Is it the kneading by the spiny branches on trees
trusting that there will be no more mistakes
that leaves these the only pure thing in Chicago?
Here comes the snow that seeks out the trees
Am I now clean? Where are my mistakes?
Chicago belongs where it lay with the lake.
Read more poems from Brian Maloney >>>
Southside Chicago Blues
Stumbled out of bed this mornin'
Don't know where I been.
Don't know what the haps last night
But it must have been a sin.
Cause today I got the lowdown blues,
The Southside Chicago mind-numbin' blues
I know my baby left me
That much I will confess.
Said I was a no-good worthless bum
And my life was in a mess.
Gave me the sorrowful blues,
The Southside Chicago pate-scramblin' blues.
Got out the frying pan
Made me some eggs and ham.
What a miserable life you lead
When you're livin' on the lam.
It's enough to give an old ex-con the lowlife blues
The Southside Chicago brain-dead blues.
Got to get my act together
Got to get my baby back
Cause I'm no good without her
And that's a goddurn fact.
Got to shake these dreadful blues,
These Southside Chicago drivin'-me-crazy blues.
Called her on the phone today
Begged her come on home
Promised I would shape up good
And never more to roam.
These awful blues are killin' me
These Southside Chicago ball-breakin' blues
She said Don't call me up no more
You're just a no-good cheatin' liar
I wouldn't even piss on you
If you was caught afire
I hope you keep your freakin' blues
Those Southside Chicago pot-smokin' blues.
Please don't give up on me
Try to show some pity
Cause without you life is empty
In this lonely windy city
While I suffer with these desolation blues
These Southside Chicago mind-numbin',
Pate-scramblin' brain-dead, drivin'-me-crazy,
Ball-breakin', pot-smokin' BLUES!
Read more poems from George Hunter >>>
I'm goin' to Chicago
I'm goin' back that way, someday
I'm headin' back to Chicago.
I'm goin back to Chicago
And you know I mean to stay
At the Hotel Blackstone when I go.
Though winds may winge and blow
Off th' lake and freeze my face;
Though it may heavily snow
Sideways and hit ten below,
It'll be warm at my baby's place-
That much I do know.
I'm gonna' ride that old Metro
To th' museum down the way-
See Mista's Wood and Georgie Bellows, too.
There I'll sip pernod
And watch the icicles grow
When I go back to Chicago.
Read more poems from Morgan Michaels >>>