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Poems On / About CHICAGO  12/22/2014 3:47:48 AM
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Best Poems About / On CHICAGO
 
 
 
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  333.     

My Comments, When I Read An Excellent Poem.

Verily a poem of this artly expressed talent
did knock me over...
I originally hail from Chicago, not Dover.
I know of art in it's raw, rarest form...
This written piece, rates of very high marks
well above the averaged norm.
I enjoy being of a high intellegenced quota...
Of all i have written or thoughtly-wrot'a.
My head may explode from routinely
patting myself onto my back...
Some would say i'm full'a myself,
I don't care-Poetry's my talented knack.
 
Michael Gale

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  334.     

Poem (Chicago)

'My age, my beast!' - Osip Mandelstam

On the lips a taste of tolling we are blind
The light drifts like dust over faces
We wear masks on our genitals
You've heard of lighting cigarettes with banknotes we used to light ours with Jews
History is made of bricks you can't go through it
And bricks are made of bones and blood and
Bones and blood are made of little tiny circles that nothing can go through
Except a piano with rabies
Blood gushes into, not from, our wounds
Vietnamese Cuban African bloods
Constellations of sperm upon our bodies
Drunk as dogs before our sons
The bearded foetus lines up at the evolution-trough
Swarmy bloods in the rabid piano
The air over Chicago is death's monogram
This is the Were-Age rushing past
Speed: 10,000 men per minute
This is the species bred of death
The manshriek of flesh
The lifeless sparks of flesh

Covering the deep drums of vision
O new era race-wars jugular-lightning
Dark glance bursting from the over-ripe future
Know we are not the smilelines of dreams
Nor the pores of the Invisible
Piano with rabies we are victorious over
The drum and the wind-chime
We bite back a voice that might have emerged
To tame these dead bodies aid wet ashes
 
Bill Knott

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Read more: history poems, future poems, death poems, light poems, wind poems, dark poems, poem poems, son poems, war poems, dog poems, dream poems
   
 

   
   
 

  335.     

I'm From

I'm From The 70's Where My Eyes Have Seen Too Much Now I'm Desensitized To Violeces And I'm Numb To The Touch...You Could Put My Tongue On A Track And Smash It Wit' A Train...I Honestly Don't Think I'd Feel It As Pain Stop Pushing Me And Pull Me In Tha Right Direction I Broke The Mirror On The Wall For Fear Of Tha Reflection...Yet For Fear Of Rejection I Won't Go Outside You See I Congregate With The Multiples Inside Me I Hide...I'm A Single Parent Home With A Strong Mother...She Had Her Problems But Ask My Brothers, We Wouldn't ask For Another...I'm From Chicago Illinois, It Don't Matter What Side..We're The Best Proof People Come From Far And Wide...I'm From A Place Where Struggles Has Made Me Strong...There Is No Other Place I Would Call Home...
 
Erica Young

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  336.     

Man at the Bus Stop on Halloween

The others, of course,
are more rabid than he
but less apt to show it.
Whenever he strikes,
he never romps off.
He stands with the wrist
that he's snatched
from the lady
tight in his teeth
as he waits with a smile
for the wagon.
He's one of the few
wrist-snatchers still
on the streets of Chicago,
and he makes his rounds
in old tennies.
His technique is simple:
He dives for the purse hand,
gives it a whack, and severs
the wrist without slobber,
then stands like a Vatican Guard
with the wrist in his teeth
until he is certain
he has no pursuers.
At night in his dreams he sees
the women whose wrists
he has held in his teeth.
They stand at the bus stop
like Statues of Liberty,
shrieking and waving
their stumps like flares.
He prays their screams
will bring to a frieze
the patrol cars glowing
in the middle of the street
 
Donal Mahoney

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Poems On / About CHICAGO