|Best Poems About / On CHICAGO
##38 (Vivekananda) Arrival at Chicago
Swami Vivekanandas train
Reached Chicago Station
Late in the evening time.
None came to receive him.
He had lost the address
Of the head of delegates,
And there was no one
To give him information.
In that strange foreign land,
None gave a helping hand.
As his dress appeared peculiar,
They took him as a wanderer.
On the sidewalk, he sat.
A lady saw his pitiable plight
Gave him food and shelter,
As her guest of honor.
Mrs. George W. Hale was
That kind lady, his hostess,
Who took him to the Office
Of Parliament of Religions.
Dr. J.H. Barrows was
One of her friends.
As well as the President
Of that Parliament.
The President invited him
To represent Hinduism
And he was then free from
The admission problem
Both the kind hearted families
Of Hale and John B Lyons
Became his lifelong friends
And he stayed in their house.
It was the mercy of God
That, in fact, guided
This well deserving soul,
For his ever-sincere role.
Amidst all his difficulties
There came many helpers
As if it was pre-planned
Always by the will of God.
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most of my friends who went to Chicago
on care giving jobs
finally left for good the marriage
they had in the Philippines,
just this morning i had a chat with a
close friend whose husband had her
declared presumptively dead in court
so he can marry another,
she says it's a trend
marriages are bound to be broken
vows have no meaning
she did not mind at all if she is
'dead' to him and to the law,
she too has a man of her own now
a work to attend to,
another summer vacation in California
and in Paris sometime
and then she enumerates other names
who marriages are
it is not that time is cruel, it is just that
with money now,
they are free to find love
(and lust) .
so long, i may meet other names.
RIC S. BASTASA
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Welcome To The Chicago Commercial Club
January 14, 1880
CHICAGO sounds rough to the maker of verse;
One comfort we have--Cincinnati sounds worse;
If we only were licensed to say Chicago!
But Worcester and Webster won't let us, you know.
No matter, we songsters must sing as we can;
We can make some nice couplets with Lake Michigan,
And what more resembles a nightingale's voice,
Than the oily trisyllable, sweet Illinois?
Your waters are fresh, while our harbor is salt,
But we know you can't help it--it is n't your fault;
Our city is old and your city is new,
But the railroad men tell us we're greener than you.
You have seen our gilt dome, and no doubt you've been told
That the orbs of the universe round it are rolled;
But I'll own it to you, and I ought to know best,
That this is n't quite true of all stars of the West.
You'll go to Mount Auburn,--we'll show you the track,--
And can stay there,--unless you prefer to come back;
And Bunker's tall shaft you can climb if you will,
But you'll puff like a paragraph praising a pill.
You must see--but you have seen--our old Faneuil Hall,
Our churches, our school-rooms, our sample-rooms, all;
And, perhaps, though the idiots must have their jokes,
You have found our good people much like other folks.
There are cities by rivers, by lakes, and by seas,
Each as full of itself as a cheese-mite of cheese;
And a city will brag as a game-cock will crow
Don't your cockerels at home--just a little, you know?
But we'll crow for you now--here's a health to the boys,
Men, maidens, and matrons of fair Illinois,
And the rainbow of friendship that arches its span
From the green of the sea to the blue Michigan!
Oliver Wendell Holmes
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O'Leary, from Chicago, and a first-class fightin' man,
For his father was from Kerry, where the gentle art began:
Sergeant Dennis P. O'Leary, from somewhere on Archie Road,
Dodgin' shells and smellin' powder while the battle ebbed and flowed.
And the captain says: 'O'Leary, from your fightin' company
Pick a dozen fightin' Yankees and come skirmishin' with me;
Pick a dozen fightin' devils, and I know it's you who can.'
And O'Leary, he saluted like a first-class fightin' man.
O'Leary's eye was piercin' and O'Leary's voice was clear:
'Dimitri Georgoupoulos!' And Dimitri answered 'Here!'
Then 'Vladimir Slaminsky! Step three paces to the front,
For we're wantin' you to join us in a little Heinie hunt!'
'Garibaldi Ravioli!' Garibaldi was to share;
And 'Ole Axel Kettleson!' and 'Thomas Scalp-the-Bear!'
Who was Choctaw by inheritance, bred in the blood and bones,
But set down in army records by the name of Thomas Jones.
'Van Winkle Schuyler Stuyvesant!' Van Winkle was a bud
From the ancient tree of Stuyvesant and had it in his blood;
'Don Miguel de Colombo!' Don Miguel's next of kin
Were across the Rio Grande when Don Miguel went in.
'Ulysses Grant O'Sheridan!' Ulysses' sire, you see,
Had been at Appomattox near the famous apple-tree;
And 'Patrick Michael Casey!' Patrick Michael, you can tell,
Was a fightin' man by nature with three fightin' names as well.
'Joe Wheeler Lee!' And Joseph had a pair of fightin' eyes;
And his granddad was a Johnny, as perhaps you might surmise;
Then 'Robert Bruce MacPherson!' And the Yankee squad was done
With 'Isaac Abie Cohen!' once a lightweight champion.
Then O'Leary paced 'em forward and, says he: 'You Yanks, fall in!'
And he marched 'em to the captain. 'Let the skirmishin' begin.'
Says he, 'The Yanks are comin', and you beat 'em if you can!'
And saluted like a soldier and first-class fightin' man!
James W Foley
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