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Poems On / About CHICAGO  8/1/2014 6:49:34 AM
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Best Poems About / On CHICAGO
 
 
 
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  205.     

A Poem For Myself

I was born in Mississippi;
I walked barefooted thru the mud.
Born black in Mississippi,
Walked barefooted thru the mud.
But, when I reached the age of twelve
I left that place for good.
My daddy chopped cotton
And he drank his liquor straight.
Said my daddy chopped cotton
And he drank his liquor straight.
When I left that Sunday morning
He was leaning on the barnyard gate.
Left my mama standing
With the sun shining in her eyes.
Left her standing in the yard
With the sun shining in her eyes.
And I headed North
As straight as the Wild Goose Flies,
I been to Detroit & Chicago
Been to New York city too.
I been to Detroit & Chicago
Been to New York city too.
Said I done strolled all those funky avenues
I'm still the same old black boy with the same old blues.
Going back to Mississippi
This time to stay for good
Going back to Mississippi
This time to stay for good-
Gonna be free in Mississippi
Or dead in the Mississippi mud.
 
Etheridge Knight

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  206.     

In The Car Lot

Taken from the Lyrics of 'In The Ghetto' by Elvis Presley
and rewritten to reflect the current state of GM and it's Dealerships.


In The Car Lot by Matt Matherne

As the snow flies,
On a cold and grey Chicago mornin'
Another new batch of cars arrives at the car lot
And he cries
'Cause if there's one thing that he don't need
It's another bunch of GM cars to sell on his car lot

People, don't you understand
The dealer needs a helping hand
Or he'll grow to be an angry old man some day
Take a look at your new car,
Are we too blind to see,
Or do you simply turn your head and look the other way?

Well the world turns
And this hungry dealer with the runny nose
Stays at his desk as the cold wind blows at the car lot
And his hunger burns
So he starts to roam the car lot at night
And he learns how to cheat
And he learns how to steal in the car lot

Then one night in desperation
The old man breaks away
He buys a gun, steals a Toyota, tries to run,
But he don't get far
And his salesmen cries

As a crowd gathers round an angry old man
Face down on the cement with a gun in his hand in the car lot
And as this once young man dies,
On a cold and grey Chicago mornin'
Another load of GM cars at the car lot
And his salesmen cries
In the car lot
In the car lot
 
Matt Matherne

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  207.     

My Chicago

The touch of a warm breeze
Across my face
Through an open window
Shift curtains of lace

As I sit and listen
To the laughter of children
Girls jumping rope
Boys with toy engines

A flood of memories
Rush through my mind
Hop-scotch, Double Dutch
Start to unwind

The classrooms of old
Worn wooden floors
The screeching of chalk
On the blackboard

The old schoolyard songs
We often sang
In the playground
After first bell rang

Saturdays and Sundays
Spent at the park
Laughing and playing
Till well after dark

Raised in a city
Rich in diversity
Surrounded by people
Of every ethnicity

Days as a teen
With groups of friends
Boom boxes roaring
Placed close to our heads

At night we all gathered
In a T- shaped alley
Watched super rats crossing
And kept a tally

Fields of flowers
Lovely green meadows
All but a dream
In Chicagoland ghettos

Downtown, Uptown
North side and South
East side and West
The homeless abound

Lingering on sidewalks
Beneath neon signs
Countless pedestrians
Blindly walk by

Traffic in the city
The movie shows
Bright lights of Chicago
At night aglow

Days of high school
The metro academy
Laces, threads
Patted down anatomy

Gang colors, weapons
Paraphernalia
Big city life
A venture, I tell ya

While Chicagoans go on
With their daily routine
As CTA riders
Browse magazines

Hustlers and hoodlums
Prowl every corner
And wails of sirens
Play over and over

Muting the rumbling
Of Chicago's 'L' trains
While communal brigands
Seek hidden space

On summertime visits
To Millennium Park
Or Buckingham Fountain
A place well marked

A cascade of waters
And medley of colors
Fiercely sparkle
Near structures much taller

By vibrant displays
Of prized architecture
As divine as any
Michelangelo sculpture

Some might call it
A city of ghosts
Haunted by the likes
Of Holmes and Capone

I claim it a city
Of verve and culture
A school of thought
Unlike any other

It's theatre, it's jazz
It's rhythm and blues
It's soaring high
With innovation breakthrough

It's my past, my life
My heart, and my home
It's who I am
It's all the complexities I own.

Camille Rose Castillo 2010
 
Camille Rose Castillo

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  208.     

Chicago Stepper

I’m keeping it smooth, stepping so tight,
a Chicago Stepper’s in the house tonight.

It’s the end of the day, I’ve been patiently waiting.
Now I’m headed home to shower and change.
Looking at the guys in their fly gear, checking out
themselves in the mirror. I see you ladies in your
high stepping heels and you’re looking as good as you feel.

I don’t have to wait until Friday to find what I seek,
In Chi-town there’s a steppers set every day of the week.

I’m haunting the clubs looking for the crowd
to hit the floor, stepping proud.
All the heavy hitters out to shine,
if you want to step with them you gotta get in line.

I don’t even play and I can’t rest
as I’m taking notes from the best of the best.
I feel the beat of the music as I stay on count,
when it’s all done right there’s no coming down.

I’m keeping it smooth, footwork is tight,
‘cause Chicago steppers are out tonight.
 
Cassandra Boyd

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