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Mamie

Mamie beat her head against the bars of a little Indiana town and dreamed of romance and big things off somewhere the way the railroad trains all ran.
She could see the smoke of the engines get lost down where the streaks of steel flashed in the sun and when the newspapers came in on the morning mail she knew there was a big Chicago far off, where all the trains ran.
She got tired of the barber shop boys and the post office chatter and the church gossip and the old pieces the band played on the Fourth of July and Decoration Day
And sobbed at her fate and beat her head against the bars and was going to kill herself
When the thought came to her that if she was going to die she might as well die struggling for a clutch of romance among the streets of Chicago.
She has a job now at six dollars a week in the basement of the Boston Store
And even now she beats her head against the bars in the same old way and wonders if there is a bigger place the railroads run to from Chicago where maybe there is
romance
and big things
and real dreams
that never go smash.

poem by Carl Sandburg
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I Like Canadians

By A Foreigner

I like Canadians.
They are so unlike Americans.
They go home at night.
Their cigarettes don't smell bad.
Their hats fit.
They really believe that they won the war.
They don't believe in Literature.
They think Art has been exaggerated.
But they are wonderful on ice skates.
A few of them are very rich.
But when they are rich they buy more horses
Than motor cars.
Chicago calls Toronto a puritan town.
But both boxing and horse-racing are illegal
In Chicago.
Nobody works on Sunday.
Nobody.
That doesn't make me mad.

[...] Read more

poem by Ernest Hemingway
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I'm In Love With You

I'm in love with you,
I fell in love with you during a difficult situation.
I adore the brisk wind that lifts up off of the lake,
that pertrudes to my face.
I mean, I'm digging you.
I long to court you, not to marry you,
yet get a spot to get to know you.
Frequent visits stir my heart to believe,
that we could last forever!
Your foundation is deep like the sea,
captivating my emotions for eternity.. wwwwwwwhhhhhhooooooo!
You are the wind, you are the wind, that blows
and stirs my heart in the right direction.
I'm telling you, I'm digging you more than you will ever know.
My desire has been fulfilled, and I've made my confession, and request.
I look forward to giving you my best.
Chicago, I'm in love with you.
Can it be true that I, discovered a city as beautiful as you,
I long to visit you, ever so often.
The wind breathes against my face soft like cotton,

[...] Read more

poem by Sallie Marie Tompkins
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My birthday was different this year

As I was rummaging through
the file boxes my wife had left for me
in the garage
I found a yellow legal pad
scribbled with hand written poems
I had written one night
in a almost crowded coffeehouse
waiting for a poet friend from Chicago
to come up north to read

The poems talked about
how I waited and waited
before too long
several anxious poets
ran up to the microphone
not afraid to trip over themselves
share their delicate poems
about romance and almost romance
detailing having a job they don't like
and it seemed to me

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poem by Oscar Mireles
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Chick-Fil-A vs. Chicago

With all the violence going on in the world there is one controversy,
And it is not about an Alderman's or Chicago Mayor's idiosyncrasy,
It has to do with all pertinent things notwithstanding, a Chick-Fill-A,
The denial of opening an eatery because of what the owner had to say.

Mind you, this is Chicago where gang violence is on par with Iraq,
Going to public school is like Afghanistan as you might come back,
Certified dead, not from RPG's or IED's but from gunshot wounds,
7 year-old Heaven Sutton killed selling lemonade was way too soon.

Rham Emanuel lashed out at thugs responsible, "Who raised you? "
Well, actually Mr. Mayor, the exact same question is proposed too,
For your agreeing with Alderman Proco "Joe" Moreno on this ban,
As company President Dan Cathy agrees with God & not with man.

'Chick-Fil-A values are not Chicago values, ' this mayor has said,
I should hope so, imagine eating chicken fingers ending up dead,
While drug transactions, car jacking & all felonies continue to rise,
I've never heard of death by gunshot for not turning over your fries.

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poem by Luke Easter
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The Great Chicago Fire

The great Chicago Fire, friends,
Will never be forgot;
In the history of Chicago
It will remain a darken spot.
It was a dreadful horrid sight
To see that City in flames;
But no human aid could save it,
For all skill was tried in vain.

In the year of 1871,
In October on the 8th,
The people in that City, then
Was full of life, and great.
Less than four days it lay in ruins,
That garden City, so great
Lay smouldering in ashes,
In a sad and pitiful state.

It was a sad, sad scene indeed,
To see the fire arise,

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poem by Julia A Moore
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Visiting a Dead Man on a Summer Day

In flat America, in Chicago,
Graceland cemetery on the German North Side.
Forty feet of Corinthian candle
celebrate Pullman embedded
lonely raisin in a cake of concrete.
The Potter Palmers float
in an island parthenon.
Barons of hogfat, railroads and wheat
are postmarked with angels and lambs.

But the Getty tomb: white, snow patterned
in a triangle of trees swims dappled with leaf shadow,
sketched light arch within arch
delicate as fingernail moons.

The green doors should not be locked.
Doors of fern and flower should not be shut.
Louis Sullivan, I sit on your grave.
It is not now good weather for prophets.
Sun eddies on the steelsmoke air like sinking honey.

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poem by Marge Piercy
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Hiraeth and Chewing Gum: Tropical botanist Llewelyn Williams 1901-1980

The clans are splintered
Evans Williams Griffiths Price
title bearers of half-dark past,
side by side, alike
yet individual as the trees

We crossed roads not to meet
sweet hidden goosegogs,
illicit pleasures of the boys
while our sisters learned sewing,
décor and decorum.

Ach y fi! In the docks
the lame, the beggars
grimy from engine coke,
Welsh speaking, Portuguese speaking.
Tea-clippers. Hiraeth.

Llewelyn went to Assam.
Already scholar, already

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poem by Sally Evans
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A Sea of Melancholy

She sailed upon a gentle sea of melancholy-brave oars dipping.

She was awash with long ago laments which I could not guess.
Her movements were slow.
Her eyes never darted-they oozed from side to side-
tiny lagoons abutting her sea-
and languidly
she spoke to me.

'I have had so much sadness in my life
young'un and time was I was a bright young thing
but life can wear you down-only so many things can go wrong
before you put your finger to your head and imagine its a gun.'

Friends die, she said, I'm 93 and three husbands buried,
even most of the children dead.
Yet God keeps me lingering on, I think, way past my time.'

My great grandmother had this sad dignity, layers of laments
speaking to herself as much as to me.

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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To The Kill

Aint had no fun
All the time jacking around
Aint had no fun
All the time messin mind
I kick it around
But if its alright with you
If its alright yes I will
Aw cmon babe
Go ahead to the kill
I aint no kid chicago
I aint no al capone
But theres a windy city
In my bedroom alone
I said I dont live in chicago
I dont know no al capone
That bitch took my money
And went to chicago
If I aint already enough
Sick and alone
Whers it at

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song performed by Violent Femmes
Added by Lucian Velea
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