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Best Poems About / On CHICAGO
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189.
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Feeling Like Mike Hammer
I feel like Mike Hammer after the third or
fourth attack by a gunman in one day, I
feel all fatigued and evil, finding the noise
in my downtown Chicago just too much;
I need the care of an electrifying beauty
to restore me to my macho bravery
I want to solve this crime so I can reach
the last page and take a momentary
break before the next attacker come
again, I want to feel the joy of seeing
how the criminal pointing his gun at me
is gunned down himself by the hair-trigger
Rifle of the skeleton who had been killed
by him thirty years ago, then turn to Velda,
my lifes love, and show her where is
paradise
Mickey Spillane The Snake
Robert Smith
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190.
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Black N White (Cloak N Dagger Poem)
I've always been a man who treasures black and white.
One either is still breating or one must be dead,
all cats are gray due to the colour of the darkest night
so black and white is king and that is what I said.
Be flexible said he whose bow was made of pine,
there came a point when nothing could extend it more,
the splinter took his eye, he fell into the vat of wine
his ship was lost at sea and never did return to shore.
A friend named Malcolm Williams, Nigger though to me
was quite ashamed of being black, me being white,
went through Chicago after curfew, it was hard to see
I figured it could be an asset to be dark without the light.
Herbert Nehrlich
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191.
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Ramblings in a phone booth
I'm trying to remember
When last was I stuck
In a phone booth on pavement
Without card or a buck.
Twas in Chicago Illinois
When trying to phone home,
(ET comes to mind)
That reminds me of Rome -
Frantic calls to the bank
To send me more money,
Pickpockets had cleaned mine
Now that wasn't funny.
And the film, ah yes
Colin Farrell; never saw it,
Preferring the red phone booths
In a typical English village.
Inspector Morse and Miss Marple
More my cup of tea.
Is that the time already?
Enough ramblings from me!
Harriet James
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192.
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Cat On Hat
I would not wear my old spats
so long as I had cat on hat,
We'd step in puddles water splat
but high and dry is cat on hat,
Piρata, piρata chant brats with bats
but safe from reach is cat on hat,
In winter warm my hat hair mat
love is a cosy cat on hat,
On windy days the hat sits pat
anchored by the cat on hat,
Geriatric romance is never flat
with a wing fur ball cat on hat,
The older ladies stop to chat
but always to the cat on hat.
Postscript:
With limited information,
well merely photographic interpretation
I offer the following observation.
Originally from Paris
Then Chicago by car
Ever so mysterious
The old chat nior.
Danny Draper
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