|Best Poems About / On CHICAGO
My Favorite Things (Manly Version) for Christmas
Chicago style pizza and microwave nachos
Tales of adventure with monsters and heroes
Balsa wood gliders with unbroken wings
These are a few of my favorite things
A finely tuned engine, a new set of tires
A full set of wrenches and channel lock pliers
Football in autumn and baseball in spring
These are a few of my favorite things
Girls in tight sweaters with long brunette tresses
A dog who will fetch and not make big messes
A cold frosty beer after mowing the lawn,
These are the things I can think fondly on
When the boss yells, when a bone breaks
When Im feeling sad, I simply remember
My favorite things and then I dont feel
Read more poems from Jeffrey Stultz >>>
This poem was written for someone very special to me, who recently received her Masters Degree from Loyola University, Chicago, IL:
We all a certain someone have,
One whom illuminates our lives.
Tis one whose presence is a salve,
Whose heart on goodness thrives.
This one of whom I mention here,
Has always been a dear,
Her heart is full of love and cheer;
Her eyes and smile, sincere.
She sparkled as an infant so,
Not knowing of her gift.
As each year passed, her radiant glow
Brought to us such a lift!
This girl, this woman, cousin of mine,
Of whom I am so proud!
Has nobly chosen a path so fine!
Aiding others, she has vowed.
Read more poems from Janice McCann >>>
Humor Relating to Being Poor- Chicago Style
We were so poor that eating out in winter was snowball sandwiches
We were so poor we had possum slices in our lunch-pails.
We were so poor that the mice brought us cheese.
We were so poor we ate air sandwiches every night.
We were so poor that we had sliced bean sandwiches, just one bean
We were so poor we had dirt on stick in our lunch-pails.
We were so poor we that the coal in our stocking at Christmas was a snack
We were so poor that when a fly flew in our mouth, we swallowed.
We were so poor, we made sauces out of our own spit.
We were so poor we thought airplanes were UFO's
We were so poor in our family that DNA tests didn't work
We were so poor we would take turns licking the spoons
We were so poor we took turns resting in the oven for heat.
We were so poor that people had only four fingers when they tried to stuff themselves on the last bean left.
We were so poor that my sisters hid bread in their hair for later.
We were so poor that finger-licking good was real without the chicken
We were so poor that every night we had mayonaise sandwiches
We were so poor that we had rabbit paw for dessert.
We were so poor we evicted praire dogs from their burrows for the extra space.
We were so poor that the wolves brought us sheep
We were so poor that we sucked the leather off baseball gloves
We were so poor that every morning we had sugar sandwiches for breakfast.
We were so poor that friends took the shirts off their backs and we made snacks of them
We were so poor that the church mice took up collections for us
We were so poor we ate the apple page in Genesis.
We were so poor we put a little salt on the apple iphone and munched.
We were so poor we caught bees, ate them, and hoped for honey
We were so poor the cows ran away
We were were so poor that the termites in our house were on welfare.
We were so poor that in winter going out to eat was slush balls and snowmen.
Read more poems from Lonnie Hicks >>>
In Search Of Americans
In search of Americans!
There was a new comer in our town, a noisy suburb of Chicago,
With planes above, and four wheels below,
Not mentioning railroad tracks and
The trains passing by day and night, too fast or too slow!
The newcomer moved next door, to 1434 Main street, to the old lady's,
Mrs. Fodyle's place, an old red brick bungalow from the thirties.
I guess he must have seen the 'Rooms for Rent' sign in the front window!
First time, when I laid eyes on him, I got a strange feeling, a bittersweet feeling,
As if I knew him, had seen him before..., a long time ago...
A thirtyish, rather tall and thin young fellow,
Wearing an old farmer's hat, odd to see nowadays
And his jacket which had seen better days!
Just the way he was dressed,
The way he walked...,
And his beat up dusty
GMC filled up with his worldly possessions blocking the car's windows...
It took me a while..., I was sure, I had seen him before..., but where...?
Yes! Indeed: 'Tom Joad' from the Grapes of Wrath...!
He did bare an uncanny resemblance to him! Just like an apple cut in half
Who was he? What was he doing in our neck of the woods? !
His name was Ivan, an ιmigrι from the Eastern Europe
Had lived a couple of years in Philadelphia,
Had been conned by the scam artists there
It seemed he was running away from them, or from something,
Maybe looking for a place to settle down?
One day, early in the morning of a warm July day,
I noticed the newcomer, Ivan, after a few weeks, was leaving Mrs. Fodyl's place for good.
He approached me and asked me (in his thick accent) like a confused little kid:
'Mr. Joe! Where are Americans? !
At work, in the factory, it seems everyone speaks Spanish, I guess they are Mexicans.
At school, it seems they are all Asians, Indians, koreans, Pakistanis, ..., even the only movie house
in town is owned by them, they are playing Asian movies...
Mr. Joe! where do you suppose Americans are! ? '
I hadn't quite come up with an answer, Ivan, the newcomer, hastily added:
'I am on my way to Minnesota, then to Oregon...,
I am sure I am going to meet Americans there...
Goodbye Mr. Joe! '
Then, he got in his old beat up GMC and drove away...
I yelled: 'Ivan! Wait a minute! You asked me a question!
I have to answer you! Ivan! '
Then, again! I really didn't have an answer...
Ivan had to find out for himself!
Read more poems from Joe Sadeghloo >>>