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Poems On / About CHICAGO  7/25/2016 4:59:09 AM
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Not Turning Back

The velvet sky of dusk
borken hearts made of rust
shattered trust,
lies, lurking in the shadows

Roaming the lonley streets of chicago
full of sorrow
head held high with the lie
of being strong

But i'll see it be done,
i had won,
and i'll look through
the black and blue on my arm
because i know i wasnt wrong

I'll work through the darkest night
with my pride, and want to cry
I'll look at the past and still feel the
pain. but, i wont turn around or walk back
but trust me, i'm not the same
Becuase i know
I wasnt wrong
Bekki Butler

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The Carpenter

With a nail in your right hand,
and a nail in your left hand,
and a nail or two to keep your feet in place...
up there on that cross - - -
I am just guessing that you are not here
to fix the roof!

He is not directing traffic like that - - -
and, yes, I know, that it is hot today - - -
... But, a loin cloth?
I am guessing that that is not tomato sauce,
and even I could pick a better hat than that!

You could use a haircut and a shave, by the way!
I don't mean to misbehave - - -
but, you must admit - - - this is a little unexpected!
BUT - - - You did say, you would be back!

Although your mothers image is on the odd potato chip,
or on a cement wall under a Chicago train bridge...
or on a grilled cheese sandwich, according to believers,
I tend to think that that's not what you meant by ' Faith '.
Barry Van Allen

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Sunrise In Chicago River West

Showering down an arc of meteors as it clacks across an off-kilter joint,
The 'L' grumbles above Lake Street,
Smearing early morning as the Kosher butchers trundle their loads up ramps into the hungering maw of road behemoths snoring in anticipation.

The sky moves from bruised to blue.
There's chocolate in the air at the corner of Halsted
Inviting me to cross the backward flow of home's river rushing toward the glacial scar the city embraces.

The spider web of streets converge at Grand Avenue
As diesel-spewing buses, empty for a few more hours, huff
And a bowler-hatted Buddha smiles and invites all comers in for patchouli and jasmine tea at a bistro down the block.

Taxis chuff quietly in queues as do their Babel of drivers at Finkel's Deli at North Branch.
No fares to collect until the third edition wheels out of the Tribune's presses just up the road
Even though the bulldog is already scattered and tattered in the parking lot.

Teeter tottering above the canal as a mast makes its way past at road level,
An exclamation point slowly passing while the bridge stands at attention,
The roadway rumbles as the steel slowly lowers to kiss the further shore.

Such is the greeting Sol gets each Chicago morning as I saunter through the core
And it climbs from floor to floor up the gaudy Hancock with its pronged crown.
Sinatra said its all razzmatazz, but I know it really rumbles at dawn.
Robert J Meyer

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Why Do I Write Such Silly Stuff?

the wind blows my window
i'ts near time to go

across the cold alley way
the dried leaves blow

outside every one's looking at me
but, their eyes look down; afraid to talk

is it them or me, my sanity or vanity
that makes them balk!

it's a San Francisco wind
blowing in

blowing the leaves around
i wanted to travel

but i'm locked in Chicago
with the Alburquerque blues

with all i have to lose
with the whole world from to choose

i'm back in my room, alone
with the any where i'm at, i'm still the same blues!
francis e.rudy

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Poems On / About CHICAGO