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Poems On / About CHICAGO  3/15/2010 3:59:03 PM
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Best Poems About / On CHICAGO
 
 
 

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  1.     

Tough Streets Of Chicago

Tough streets of Chicago, you made me who I am.
Tough streets of Chicago, for me you had a plan.
You forced me to observe, what kids my age did not.
You taught me to look and see, always looking for a plot.
You taught me to react, and kept me on my toes.
You taught me to examine, the actions of my foes.
You forced me to react, in situations dire.
You made sure I would function, when I came under fire.
You made sure I was tough, made sure I'd understand,
the skills that I would need, when I joined uncle Sam.

Tough streets of Chicago, I almost went insane.
Tough streets of Chicago, you caused me so much pain.
You made me grow up fast, always dodging death.
You made me run from danger, could hardly catch my breath.
You took most of my friends, why, I'll never understand.
You made it possible to count, all my friends on one hand.
You took them in their teens, you took them very young.
You took them way before, to live they had begun.

Tough streets of Chicago, my tour is almost up.
Tough streets of Chicago, with your gangster posting up.
Tough streets of Chicago, can't get you off my mind.
Tough streets of Chicago, I miss those streets of mine.
Tough streets of Chicago...............................
 
rico avila

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  2.     

Will I Go To Bed With You

Will I?
I dunno, I might like you enough
in Chicago
enough to go to bed with you
yes, maybe Chicago in the fall
but come to think of it, sorry, no
not even in Chicago, not even in the fall
But perhaps, maybe in Vienna
yes, i'm certain of it now
Definitely in Vienna
yes, in Vienna in the spring,
I would go to bed with you
But Then
it isn't spring, we aren't in Vienna
so No
 
Cin Sweet Fields

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  3.     

Chicago Streets

So good to be home
and out of the heat.
All those excess people reminded I'm alone
as I explored the busy Chicago streets.

So good to be mild
and not full of heat.
All those old buildings reminded I'm only a child
as I explored the ancient Chicago streets.

So good to be recognized
and not sweating in the heat.
All those dollars spent reminded me of the love I'm still denied.
as I explored the poor Chicago streets.

So good to be back from running away
and back from the heavy, humid heat.
All of the luggage and vacations reminded me problems come to stay.
as I left, for a long time, those Chicago streets.
 
Delilah Miller

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  4.     

Chicago Sestina

I am surprised by the streets of Chicago
when the palm of winter grips them with snow
as if to forgive the city’s mistakes
and give it a canvas that’s new, white, and clean–
its fingers, the branches on all of the trees
kneading the air that blows in from the lake.

I’ve never lived next to the pulse of the lake
(until I set foot down the side of Chicago)
breathing in through the streets and out through the trees
welcoming the cool of the wet, numbing snow.
It lets my mind slip into thinking it’s clean
as if to personally forgive my mistakes.

“But what have you done to forgive your mistakes? ”
Did I ask this? Or is that the voice of the lake?
Some days, not even does it appear clean,
worn down from its tall standing neighbor, Chicago.
It scrapes at the sky, asking it for more snow
to stick to and freeze the trunks of the trees.

If I were a branch on one of these trees
incapable of making a single mistake,
I’d grab at the sky as it shook out the snow
and grow my roots thick till they tasted the lake.
But I wouldn’t bend to the force of Chicago
that’s constantly keeping me from being clean.

And what does it mean to try to be clean?
I don’t understand the stillness of the trees
when they’re being attacked by the size of Chicago
as if to glorify the city’s mistakes
that glisten like stars at night on the lake
before it all froze and was covered with snow.

Ah! To imagine how long there’s been snow.
How can something this old still feel so clean
and dance through the wind that swoops in from the lake?
Is it the kneading by the spiny branches on trees
trusting that there will be no more mistakes
that leaves these the only pure thing in Chicago?

Here comes the snow that seeks out the trees
Am I now clean? Where are my mistakes?
Chicago belongs where it lay with the lake.
 
Brian Maloney

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Poems On / About CHICAGO