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Poems On / About CHICAGO  1/27/2015 10:10:02 PM
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Best Poems About / On CHICAGO
 
 
 
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  181.     

The Doorman And The Dormouse

I have noticed this semester,
that the ant has antennas!
Derek made fun of me
because I didn't know this before!
That rascal deserves to be lashed!
I am aware of antennas!
And this reminds me of a little tale
titled 'the doorman and the dormouse'
for there was a doorman working
in a Chicago building,
who had a dormouse as a pet!
 
Ivo Cosentino

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  182.     

Making Rhythmic Memories

Rhythms roaming across the United States, touching
down in New York, Chicago, Texas, Arizona and
landing eventually in California's bright and sunny
shores at the Atlantic Ocean.
Finding rhythms at the beach, zoo, Disneyland, etc.
Wherever people gather to have fun and reminisce.
Making photographic memories to keep with them
forever.
Looking at them in later life when unable to create
any new memories because they're too frail to travel
anymore.
 
RoseAnn V. Shawiak

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  183.     

Chicago Teachers Union To March On Washington In Support Of Travon?

First of all, did not 3 Black teens savagely beat & stomp a kid who is White?

On a Public School Bus no less in Florida while the driver watched the fight?

This innocent 13 year old kid received two black eyes and a fractured hand,

No Al Sharpton, no Jesse Jackson but the march on D.C they helped plan.



Of all indignities, The Chicago Teachers Union is going in unified support,

The Travyon killing but not Black murders in Chicago, they should abort,

Because for every 1 young Martin since that fateful Sanford, Florida day,

Hundreds of Blacks in their city have been shot close to 100 passed away.



Does Al’s, “National Action Network” & Jesse’s, “Rainbow Coalition, ”

Really have a united cause or do they only supply Racist ammunition?

Whereas, this White youth viciously attacked by three older Black teens,

Sparked very little if any outrage by these guys seeking support in green.



Donations to the cause are sought online, in church, in person, at rallies,

Nationally, Blacks killing Blacks in the thousands, the death toll tallies,

The four children of Martin Luther King Jr. also will be hosting as well,

Wondering if the senseless beating by 3 Blacks on 1 White any will tell?



August 21-28, is celebrating 50 years since MLK’s, “I Have A Dream, ”

Would Martin not berate those responsible for killing and beating a teen?

The Chicago Labor Freedom Riders bus trip is merely a slap in the face,

School begins August 26, yet some teachers are absent, what a disgrace.



A mass email sent to the entire Chicago Teachers Union, urges a protest,

Attend the march for foreclosures, the verdict, not students doing their best?

“We are marching for Trayvon, jobs, schools, health care, justice & dignity, ”

Ok, should not these educators begin not in D.C. but their own community?



A Black Cleveland RTA Bus Driver left his seat when a girl spit in his face,

But the Black school bus driver sat on his butt in Florida, what a disgrace,

This driver in Cleveland stood up for his rights and he should be rehired,

Yet the coward in Florida who barely raised his voice needs to be fired.



“Highlights the structural racism in our society, ” the email beseeches as well,

May they be referring to the continued attack on the White teen after he fell?

“Mass incarceration of our youth, ” is another of the Teachers Union concerns,

Possibly they’ll begin by teaching respect is only given after it’s been earned.
 
Luke Easter

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  184.     

poetic thoughts

Pure poets think poetic thoughts,
and never write them down,
subjecting them to poet courts
to bury with a frown,
but I write nearly all of mine
in verses all the world
can read, and do not wilt or whine
when some abuse is hurled,
because the purpose of my writing
poetic thoughts is not
to be regarded as exciting,
sensitive and hot,
but to engage with my own mind,
and what is overheard
are shades of thoughts I leave behind
to bury, word by word.

Dana Goodyear writes in the New Yorker (“The Moneyed Muse: What can two hundred million dollars do for poetry? ” February 19 and 26,2007) , about Ruth Lilly’s two hundred million dollar bequest to Poetry, and the problems facing the boar in its quest to promote poetry to the general audience rather than to people within the poetic academy:
The Wayfarers’ Club, a century-old organization that John Barr joined when he moved to Chicago, meets in a formidable stone building with a large awning across from the Art Institute. The Wayfarers’ membership typically includes the presidents of both the University of Chicago and Northwestern, the director of the Art Institute, business leaders, and, in the past, according to David Hilliard, the club’s secretary and treasurer, “real moguls.” The smell of cigar smoke lingers in the halls. On a foggy, chilly night late last year, Barr was scheduled to make a twenty-minute PowerPoint presentation about the foundation and the Lilly gift. Hilliard’s wife, Celia, a Chicago historian, has been on the board of Poetry for nearly thirty years and is on the committee to select an architect for the new building. “The magazine was always a very important anchor for poetry in Chicago—with Carl Sandburg and the hog butchers and all that, and Gwendolyn Brooks and Bronzeville, ” she said. “It was a headquarters for poets, even if they didn’t come from Chicago. There used to be a little restaurant called Le Petit Gourmet, on Michigan Avenue. Harriet Monroe would have readings, with Sandburg playing his guitar.”
A server hit a glockenspiel to signal that dinner was prepared, and the Wayfarers and their guests adjourned to a panelled room with casement windows and heavy upholstered valances. Barr arrived in a crisp white shirt, navy blazer, and striped tie, and sat at a table with Penny—petite, blond, coral lipstick, gold watch—the Hilliards, and a couple of other board members and foundation employees. Conversation turned to the controversy over Barr’s essay. Celia politely said that she still hadn’t read the latest letters to the editor. “Make sure you’re sitting down, ” John said. “We got a lot of mail—it was one of the higher mail-drawers yet.”
Ethel Kaplan, the chair of the board, said, “It’s exciting to me that people are excited about it. Whether they’re for us or against us. They feel passionate about it and are talking passionately about it. I’ve been on the board for thirty years. For so many of those years, Poetry was a quaint little oddity. If we’ve been part of stimulating this debate and starting the conversation, that’s wonderful.”
As dinner was served, David Hilliard went up to a podium and began an introduction. He joked that the foundation, seeing as it was so flush, might dedicate a new award to “Pure Poets”—those who think poetic thoughts but never write them down. “Nothing lavish—say, fifty thousand dollars to the Pure Poet of the year.” Then he asked for some investment tips, perhaps something in natural gas. Barr rose and stood before the room. “Thank you for a unique introduction, ” he said. “I have been called the world’s largest supply of natural gas in the past.” Chuckle.



2/17/07
 
gershon hepner

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