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Ellis Reyes Feb 2010
Last night I dreamed

I dreamed of Kiki playing in the driveway.
I dreamed a beach ball and a jump rope.
I dreamed a smile and love.

I dreamed a slow moving car
Guns pointed out tinted windows
I dreamed shooting, POP POP POP
I dreamed tires squealing
And blood.
So much blood.

I dreamed the life leaving Kiki's body
next to the beach ball and the jump rope.

I dreamed of three boys begging for mercy

When I dreamed none,
I dreamed of Kiki's smile once again.
Frank Ruland Oct 2014
I dreamed...
I dreamed of my perfect girl.

I dreamed of cigarette-scented hair;
a sobering kiss, and knowing she cares.

I dreamed of eyes to get lost in--
vivacious green pools of perfection.

I dreamed of a dainty hand on my chest.
Closing our eyes as we laid to rest.

I dreamed of tattoos and old scars.
Solemn symbols and shooting stars.

I dreamed of words softly spoken.
Whimsical whispers; nubile notions.

I dreamed of promises meant to be kept.
Having some reason to love and protect.

I dreamed of being mended once more.
I dreamed of a girl that I truly adored.
Where are you?
Martin Fugitive May 2012
I Dreamed of Peace  


                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where games cannot touch my saddened heart;
                                 where the winters spray of discontent cannot
                                 make my blood cold, cannot make my marrow
                                 ache and my inner force limp wounded to the gray
                                 and weeping bank.

                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where fire words shot to take me down
                                 miss their target and fall harmlessly in joyous fields
                                 of ripened corn, standing strong, smiling, repelling
                                 all the pointed barbs; whose yellow husks cannot be pierced
                                 but in reflecting provide a  nourishment so replete
                                 the archers arm is wearied by the load.

                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where no longer do I wake at night
                                 seeking reassurance from apparitions that their calling
                                 means no harm;
                                 where the raven sitting on the drooping branch
                                 is not waiting for my soul’s ascent;
                                 where the soot covered face peering from the bracken
                                 is not the axe man arrived to take me home.

                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where the fire in my brain is quelled
                                 by knowledge, accomplished thoughts of reason and
                                 not prone to dissatisfaction;
                                 where thirst is quenched in rivers so deep
                                 my dive can never touch or scrape the sides and
                                 in whose fear I need not fear;
                                 where my essence is left untouched , my spirit not assaulted
                                 by ego and forced appraisal.
                
                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where false disinterest lies split and gaping
                                 and hypocrisy oozes its puerile bile across cracked and
                                 concrete stagnant floors;
                                 where beggars no longer assault my passing
                                 with arms outstretched and hope etched into canyon
                                 city faces;
                                 where the malcontent is driven to the slackened shallows
                                 and forced to face their own reflection.

                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where lightening skipped and danced across the waves
                                 and thunder played the most delicate of notes;
                                 where wind swirled not in anger but caressed
                                 the sparse sand dune grass and the stilt legged
                                 petrel bobbed in anticipation;
                                 where the fuss of self induced stress is placed inside the trench
                                 and covered by the dirt of self awareness.

                                 I dreamed of peace
                                 where only peace may step and no intrusion
                                 may be entered;
                                 where neither the able nor the vacuous may encroach;
                                 where neither the sun drenched and rich may acquire that which
                                 others have stooped to learn;
                                 where the essence of time is encased and made bare
                                 and does not beat to a false clock;
                                 where all I have been and all I am to be is in the one,
                                 and there is no need to climb a further set of stairs.

                                 I dreamed of peace.
Shahid Meer Nov 2017
Written on: 02/11/2017
He dreamed of a happy life,
He dreamed of that smile.
He went through the dark clouds,
Which he was afraid of.
He dreamed of a glory future,
He dreamed of that shine.
He got lost in sheeny forest.
Which he couldn't come out of.
He dreamed of a fairytale,
He dreamed of that fib.
He walked through the realist world,
Which vanished that life of which he dreamed of.
He dreamed of a lovely soul,
He dreamed of that charm.
He got drenched by awful rain,
Which he had never aim of.
Oh! The faded dreams when will you come true,
He dreamed of a life which is surrounded by you.
Why you got vanished why you got fade,
Tell me How can he heal this wale.
He dreamed of you now and then,
You got vanished as he was none.
-  Shahid Meer
A VANISHED DREAM
it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when(being fool to fancy)i have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds

the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

—turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.
Softly spoken Apr 2010
Sometimes when im looking in her eyes
I find myself asking the inner me why
Sometimes when i hold her i question is this real
all the love i have for her do i really feel
When i kiss her i wonder is this love what it seems
I'm telling you the type of happiness i never dreamed
Never dreamed of loving you as much as i do
my whole world revolves around you
When i hold u in my arms going to sleep
I still find u being involved in my dreams
Never dreamed of waking up to the woman i love
Or finding warmth and comfort in one of your hugs
I love you so much i dont know how to act
Wanting you forever and that is a fact
See i never dreamed of settling down so young
But this dream im dreaming can only be dreamed once
So ill keep dreaming a dream I never dreamed
And i wont wake up as long as your with me
Thomas Little May 2016
We dreamed of stars adrift in galaxies hundreds of lightyears away
We gazed at the infinite heavens, thanking it for every day.
We forgave each others' sins, We embraced each others' selves,
We dreamed of a world as kind to us as we were to ourselves.
We dreamed of distant systems full of new and different things
We gazed straight into heaven, ignoring all it brings.
We forgave each others' sins, but with disdain for each others' selves,
We dreamed of a world as far away as we were from ourselves.
We dreamed of a paradise, and yet, we left the one we made.
We gazed into the heavens, wishing things were still the same.
We forgave each others' sins, but there was one thing we could not
We could not forgive ourselves for what we did to what we bought.
We dreamed of once again feeling good and feeling whole,
We gazed into the heavens, wishing they contained our souls.
We forgave ourselves for everything,
Because we knew that time would bring
Our souls back home, where they belonged.
In a distant tune, a distant song.
One we had written in a time long gone.
One you and I would sing along,
Healing pain we thought would be lifelong...
We dreamed of each other, all along.
listen
beloved
i dreamed
  it appeared that you thought to
  escape me and became a great
  lily atilt on
  insolent
  waters    but i was aware of
  fragrance and i came riding upon
  a horse of porphyry    into the
  waters i rode down the red
  horse shrieking    from splintering
  foam caught you clutched you upon my
  mouth
listen
beloved
  i dreamed    in my dream you had
  desire to thwart me and became
  a little bird and hid
  in a tree of tall marble
  from a great way i distinguished
  singing and i came
  riding upon a scarlet sunset
  trampling the night    easily
  from the shocked impossible
  tower i caught
  you strained you
  broke you upon my blood
listen
  beloved i dreamed
  i thought you would have deceived
  me and became a star in the kingdom
  of heaven
  through day and space i saw you close
  your eyes    and i came riding
  upon a thousand crimson years arched with agony
  i reined them in tottering before
  the throne and as
  they shied at the automaton moon from
  the transplendant hand of sombre god
  i picked you
as an apple is picked by the little peasants for their girls
'I slept, and dreamed that life was beauty;
I woke, and found that life was duty.
Was thy dream then a shadowy lie?
Toil on, sad heart, courageously,
And thou shall find thy dream to be
A noonday light and truth to thee.'
Sam Knaus Oct 2014
I dreamed that
I was my own god,
that I had more control over myself
than you, but
2. I must have dreamed that
I was filled with air
and tied to a string
because when I woke up that morning in October
all I wanted was to get high
and hammered as hell, so
3. like Sean Thomas said,
I must have dreamed I was a nail.
4. I must’ve dreamed that I was deathly ill
because I wanted your touch more than anything
but woke up completely isolated from you,
and reacquaintance comes at a great cost;
I really shouldn’t be feeling
as lost as I do when out of the blue
you show up to my house at 1:30 a.m.
5. I’m sorry.
The few hours between kissing another man
and my decision not to tell you,
to leave you instead,
haunts me, but
6. I dreamed that he was the one holding me
for weeks on end
for weeks on end
for weeks on end
I did not say a word.
7. I dreamed I had a crush on him,
but I’m fairly certain I woke up
falling in love.
Erin Hankemeier Apr 2014
There was a time when men were kind
When their voices were soft
And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting
There was a time
Then it all went wrong
I dreamed a dream in times gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid

No song unsung
No wine untasted

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shame
He slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn came
And still I dream he'll come to me
That we'll live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed
The dream I dreamed.
"I Dreamed A Dream" from the hit movie Les Miserables is about a woman, Fantine (Anne Hathaway), who was with a man and had a child with her. But he left Fantine and his daughter, Cosette (Isabelle Allen/Amanda Seyfried). Fantine was a factory worker, until she got thrown out. It was then, she turned to prostitution to keep her young Cosette alive. She did not want to go this far, but she felt that she had no other choice. She explains how she thought Cosette's father loved her, but it turns out he did not, now she has to pick up the pieces. She dreams the dream of love, hope, and happiness - but she feels so hopeless.

This is a song where each audience member has their own perspective of the song, but what I wrote above is MY point of view, so PLEASE keep negative comments to yourself... Thank You, and Enjoy the lyrics! :)
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
Dayton Apr 2017
Last night I dreamed of you.
There you were, right in front of me.
I heard your unfamiliar laugh.
I saw your once real smile.
I recognized the look of uncertain joy.
I swore I could feel you if I had just reached out and tried.
I didn't though.

Last night I dreamed of you.
For the first time it wasn't a nightmare,
Nor some long forgotten memory.
Everything was as it ever was.
A simple moment in the time that was us.
A truly peaceful moment absent of all actions besides existing.
It was purely nothing but itself.
That nothingness brought bliss in a way that is unable to be described.
I considered trying to save that feeling.
I didn't though.

Last night I dreamed of you.
After I woke I tried to remember you.
Who you were.
Not who you are,
Or who I think you will be.
I tried to remember who you were
To remind me who I was.
I wanted to find you and myself,
Everything and everyone I'm looking for.
I didn't though.

Last night I dreamed of you.
Tonight I won't.
Bob B Oct 2016
It’s been said that HOPE springs eternal—
That it elevates one’s point of view.
Three cheers to Alexander Pope!
Perhaps my DREAM may yet come true.
 
I DREAMED that people worked together,
Eager to put their differences aside;
Their beliefs in no way clouded their reason;
And this happened worldwide.
 
I DREAMED that nations conquered hunger—
All people had enough to eat.
Everyone shared without begrudging
Those who struggled to make ends meet.
 
I DREAMED that tolerance and acceptance
Were the order of the day—
That hatred and discrimination
Finally both died away.
 
I DREAMED that people realized
The world did not revolve around them—
That their selfishness and egoism
Had only stifled them and drowned them.
 
I DREAMED that people loved the Earth
And taught their children to respect it;
In so doing their children learned
To appreciate it and protect it.
 
I DREAMED that anger dissipated
And that out of vengeance no one killed;
Wars became nonexistent;
Therefore, no more blood was spilled.
 
I DREAMED that people in all nations
Acknowledged everybody’s rights,
Pushing the goals of inclusiveness
And caring to amazing heights.
 
I DREAMED that our entire world
Worked together to vanquish disease;
Health care and housing everywhere
Were automatic guarantees.
 
Precious HOPE, I’ll hold you tight;
If my visions are mistaken
And the world becomes more hostile,
Then from this DREAM let me not waken.

- by Bob B
DC raw love Mar 2015
I knew someone who dreamed of being lonely and they remain lonely
I knew someone who dreamed of being poor and they remained poor
I knew someone who dreamed of going nowhere and they went nowhere
I knew someone who dreamed of death and they died

I knew someone who dreamed of friends and they had many friends
I knew someone who dreamed of being wealthy and they became rich
I knew someone who dreamed of traveling and they went to exotic places
I knew someone who dreamed of love and they fell in love
Mary Gay Kearns May 2018
Mum dreamed she was an intellectual
Well read and well versed
Mum dreamed she was a lady
Her behaviour never adversed
Mum dreamed she was beautiful
The prettier of the two.

She dreamed she married her sweet heart
But that could never come true
She dreamed things always got better
But they did not as the years passed
She dreamed there was an afterlife
But at the end that did not last.

Mum wanted children to be by her side
Those she did get, Richard and I
Mum wanted to be loved
More than anything
She found it in a gentle man
That he did bring.

Mum thought of her rose - garden
The one up the hill
The one she built from optimism
I know she sits there still.

Love Mary. **
Bruised Orange Feb 2013
Last night I dreamed of roughened hands,
And pristine walls with spackled sand,
And feeling less,
But wanting more,
Of windows open,
And a creaking door.

Last night I dreamed of voices mild,
And smiling faces, and laughter loud,
I dreamed of grackles in parkling lots,
Of finding familiar and imagining what.

I dreamed of witchcraft and of lore,
And linen hidden in a dresser drawer.

I dreamed of you,
I dreamed of you,
And all the things I'd like to do.
Redshift Feb 2013
last night i dreamed
that we took that great
flying leap
at last.
i dreamed
you met my mother
and that you loved her...
even though i still can't.

i dreamed that you kissed me
on a couch that contained
every thought we'd refrained
from speaking
that at last they had a being
a shape.

i dreamed that you held a lock
of my thick red hair
curled it around your finger
enjoying how it glinted gold
in the lamp light.
i dreamed that we enjoyed
every piece of each other
like a cheesecake
to be savored
i dreamed that all you wanted to do
was kiss my nose
laugh
smile
tickle
tackle
breathe.

i dreamed last night
that we both wanted to be held
like so many times before
and we kidded and joked
that since there was no one else around
darling,
you'd have to do
but once done
you wouldn't let go
and i realized
that you never
wanted
to.
she dreamed of a man to stand at her side
she dreamed of a man to take her as his bride
she dreamed of a man who'd hold her ever so tight
she dreamed of this man every night

her long held dream
of this man
finally became real

she met him
at the
local fund raising appeal

they gazed into each others eyes
and instantly they knew
that love
would
be
theirs
and
always
so
true

through the seasons
their love
bloomed
and
grew
into
a
serenade
of
bright robin blue


she dreamed of a man
all those years ago
they met
and
fell
in
love
twas
a
lovely
show
Caroline Jul 2016
I dreamed of traveling alone.
Booking hotels in the middle of the night,
Emptying out the piggy bank I've used since I was 9,
Packing only 4 pairs of clothes,
And buying a one-way ticket to somewhere.

I dreamed of traveling alone.
Seeing the beauty of each city, of each town, of each country.
Trying out food I've never heard before,
Dancing in the streets with the locals,
And learning the language used in my destination.

I dreamed of traveling alone.
Now I'm in the middle of a street I can't pronounce,
In the 18th city on my diary,
watching people go on with their lives.
I find them so fascinating that I could watch them all day.

But I have to go,
Move on to my next pinned place.
My heart is filled with happiness,
my mind is enchanted with how precious everything is.

I dreamed of traveling alone.
Now I am living my dream,
And I hope this goes on.
FIRST DAY

1.
Who wanted me
to go to Chicago
on January 6th?
I did!

The night before,
20 below zero
Fahrenheit
with the wind chill;
as the blizzard of 99
lay in mountains
of blackening snow.

I packed two coats,
two suits,
three sweaters,
multiple sets of long johns
and heavy white socks
for a two-day stay.

I left from Newark.
**** the denseness,
it confounds!

The 2nd City to whom?
2nd ain’t bad.
It’s pretty good.
If you consider
Peking and Prague,
Tokyo and Togo,
Manchester and Moscow,
Port Au Prince and Paris,
Athens and Amsterdam,
Buenos Aries and Johannesburg;
that’s pretty good.

What’s going on here today?
It’s friggin frozen.
To the bone!

But Chi Town is still cool.
Buddy Guy’s is open.
Bartenders mixing drinks,
cabbies jamming on their breaks,
honey dew waitresses serving sugar,
buildings swerving,
fire tongued preachers are preaching
and the farmers are measuring the moon.

The lake,
unlike Ontario
is in the midst of freezing.
Bones of ice
threaten to gel
into a solid mass
over the expanse
of the Michigan Lake.
If this keeps up,
you can walk
clear to Toronto
on a silver carpet.

Along the shore
the ice is permanent.
It’s the first big frost
of winter
after a long
Indian Summer.

Thank God
I caught a cab.
Outside I hear
The Hawk
nippin hard.
It’ll get your ear,
finger or toe.
Bite you on the nose too
if you ain’t careful.

Thank God,
I’m not walking
the Wabash tonight;
but if you do cover up,
wear layers.

Chicago,
could this be
Sandburg’s City?

I’m overwhelmed
and this is my tenth time here.

It’s almost better,
sometimes it is better,
a lot of times it is better
and denser then New York.

Ask any Bull’s fan.
I’m a Knickerbocker.
Yes Nueva York,
a city that has placed last
in the standings
for many years.
Except the last two.
Yanks are # 1!

But Chicago
is a dynasty,
as big as
Sammy Sosa’s heart,
rich and wide
as Michael Jordan’s grin.

Middle of a country,
center of a continent,
smack dab in the mean
of a hemisphere,
vortex to a world,
Chicago!

Kansas City,
Nashville,
St. Louis,
Detroit,
Cleveland,
Pittsburgh,
Denver,
New Orleans,
Dallas,
Cairo,
Singapore,
Auckland,
Baghdad,
Mexico City
and Montreal
salute her.



2.
Cities,
A collection of vanities?
Engineered complex utilitarianism?
The need for community a social necessity?
Ego one with the mass?
Civilization’s latest *******?
Chicago is more then that.

Jefferson’s yeoman farmer
is long gone
but this capitol
of the Great Plains
is still democratic.

The citizen’s of this city
would vote daily,
if they could.

Chicago,
Sandburg’s Chicago,
Could it be?

The namesake river
segments the city,
canals of commerce,
all perpendicular,
is rife throughout,
still guiding barges
to the Mississippi
and St. Laurence.

Now also
tourist attractions
for a cafe society.

Chicago is really jazzy,
swanky clubs,
big steaks,
juices and drinks.

You get the best
coffee from Seattle
and the finest teas
from China.

Great restaurants
serve liquid jazz
al la carte.

Jazz Jazz Jazz
All they serve is Jazz
Rock me steady
Keep the beat
Keep it flowin
Feel the heat!

Jazz Jazz Jazz
All they is, is Jazz
Fast cars will take ya
To the show
Round bout midnight
Where’d the time go?

Flows into the Mississippi,
the mother of America’s rivers,
an empires aorta.

Great Lakes wonder of water.
Niagara Falls
still her heart gushes forth.

Buffalo connected to this holy heart.
Finger Lakes and Adirondacks
are part of this watershed,
all the way down to the
Delaware and Chesapeake.

Sandburg’s Chicago?
Oh my my,
the wonder of him.
Who captured the imagination
of the wonders of rivers.

Down stream other holy cities
from the Mississippi delta
all mapped by him.

Its mouth our Dixie Trumpet
guarded by righteous Cajun brethren.

Midwest?
Midwest from where?
It’s north of Caracas and Los Angeles,
east of Fairbanks,
west of Dublin
and south of not much.

Him,
who spoke of honest men
and loving women.
Working men and mothers
bearing citizens to build a nation.
The New World’s
precocious adolescent
caught in a stream
of endless and exciting change,
much pain and sacrifice,
dedication and loss,
pride and tribulations.

From him we know
all the people’s faces.
All their stories are told.
Never defeating the
idea of Chicago.

Sandburg had the courage to say
what was in the heart of the people, who:

Defeated the Indians,
Mapped the terrain,
Aided slavers,
Fought a terrible civil war,
Hoisted the barges,
Grew the food,
Whacked the wheat,
Sang the songs,
Fought many wars of conquest,
Cleared the land,
Erected the bridges,
Trapped the game,
Netted the fish,
Mined the coal,
Forged the steel,
Laid the tracks,
Fired the tenders,
Cut the stone,
Mixed the mortar,
Plumbed the line,
And laid the bricks
Of this nation of cities!

Pardon the Marlboro Man shtick.
It’s a poor expostulation of
crass commercial symbolism.

Like I said, I’m a
Devil Fan from Jersey
and Madison Avenue
has done its work on me.

It’s a strange alchemy
that changes
a proud Nation of Blackhawks
into a merchandising bonanza
of hometown hockey shirts,
making the native seem alien,
and the interloper at home chillin out,
warming his feet atop a block of ice,
guzzling Old Style
with clicker in hand.

Give him his beer
and other diversions.
If he bowls with his buddy’s
on Tuesday night
I hope he bowls
a perfect game.

He’s earned it.
He works hard.
Hard work and faith
built this city.

And it’s not just the faith
that fills the cities
thousand churches,
temples and
mosques on the Sabbath.

3.
There is faith in everything in Chicago!

An alcoholic broker named Bill
lives the Twelve Steps
to banish fear and loathing
for one more day.
Bill believes in sobriety.

A tug captain named Moe
waits for the spring thaw
so he can get the barges up to Duluth.
Moe believes in the seasons.

A farmer named Tom
hopes he has reaped the last
of many bitter harvests.
Tom believes in a new start.

A homeless man named Earl
wills himself a cot and a hot
at the local shelter.
Earl believes in deliverance.

A Pullman porter
named George
works overtime
to get his first born
through medical school.
George believes in opportunity.

A folk singer named Woody
sings about his
countrymen inheritance
and implores them to take it.
Woody believes in people.

A Wobbly named Joe
organizes fellow steelworkers
to fight for a workers paradise
here on earth.
Joe believes in ideals.

A bookkeeper named Edith
is certain she’ll see the Cubs
win the World Series
in her lifetime.
Edith believes in miracles.

An electrician named ****
saves money
to bring his family over from Gdansk.
**** believes in America.

A banker named Leah
knows Ditka will return
and lead the Bears
to another Super Bowl.
Leah believes in nostalgia.

A cantor named Samuel
prays for another 20 years
so he can properly train
his Temple’s replacement.

Samuel believes in tradition.
A high school girl named Sally
refuses to get an abortion.
She knows she carries
something special within her.
Sally believes in life.

A city worker named Mazie
ceaselessly prays
for her incarcerated son
doing 10 years at Cook.
Mazie believes in redemption.

A jazzer named Bix
helps to invent a new art form
out of the mist.
Bix believes in creativity.

An architect named Frank
restores the Rookery.
Frank believes in space.

A soldier named Ike
fights wars for democracy.
Ike believes in peace.

A Rabbi named Jesse
sermonizes on Moses.
Jesse believes in liberation.

Somewhere in Chicago
a kid still believes in Shoeless Joe.
The kid believes in
the integrity of the game.

An Imam named Louis
is busy building a nation
within a nation.
Louis believes in
self-determination.

A teacher named Heidi
gives all she has to her students.
She has great expectations for them all.
Heidi believes in the future.

4.
Does Chicago have a future?

This city,
full of cowboys
and wildcatters
is predicated
on a future!

Bang, bang
Shoot em up
Stake the claim
It’s your terrain
Drill the hole
Strike it rich
Top it off
You’re the boss
Take a chance
Watch it wane
Try again
Heavenly gains

Chicago
city of futures
is a Holy Mecca
to all day traders.

Their skin is gray,
hair disheveled,
loud ties and
funny coats,
thumb through
slips of paper
held by nail
chewed hands.
Selling promises
with no derivative value
for out of the money calls
and in the money puts.
Strike is not a labor action
in this city of unionists,
but a speculators mark,
a capitalist wish,
a hedgers bet,
a public debt
and a farmers
fair return.

Indexes for everything.
Quantitative models
that could burst a kazoo.

You know the measure
of everything in Chicago.
But is it truly objective?
Have mathematics banished
subjective intentions,
routing it in fair practice
of market efficiencies,
a kind of scientific absolution?

I heard that there
is a dispute brewing
over the amount of snowfall
that fell on the 1st.

The mayor’s office,
using the official city ruler
measured 22”
of snow on the ground.

The National Weather Service
says it cannot detect more
then 17” of snow.

The mayor thinks
he’ll catch less heat
for the trains that don’t run
the buses that don’t arrive
and the schools that stand empty
with the addition of 5”.

The analysts say
it’s all about capturing liquidity.

Liquidity,
can you place a great lake
into an eyedropper?

Its 20 below
and all liquid things
are solid masses
or a gooey viscosity at best.

Water is frozen everywhere.
But Chi town is still liquid,
flowing faster
then the digital blips
flashing on the walls
of the CBOT.

Dreams
are never frozen in Chicago.
The exchanges trade
without missing a beat.

Trading wet dreams,
the crystallized vapor
of an IPO
pledging a billion points
of Internet access
or raiding the public treasuries
of a central bank’s
huge stores of gold
with currency swaps.

Using the tools
of butterfly spreads
and candlesticks
to achieve the goal.

Short the Russell
or buy the Dow,
go long the
CAC and DAX.
Are you trading in euro’s?
You better be
or soon will.
I know
you’re Chicago,
you’ll trade anything.
WEBS,
Spiders,
and Leaps
are traded here,
along with sweet crude,
North Sea Brent,
plywood and T-Bill futures;
and most importantly
the commodities,
the loam
that formed this city
of broad shoulders.

What about our wheat?
Still whacking and
breadbasket to the world.

Oil,
an important fossil fuel
denominated in
good ole greenbacks.

Porkbellies,
not just hogwash
on the Wabash,
but bacon, eggs
and flapjacks
are on the menu
of every diner in Jersey
as the “All American.”

Cotton,
our contribution
to the Golden Triangle,
once the global currency
used to enrich a
gentlemen class
of cultured
southern slavers,
now Tommy Hilfiger’s
preferred fabric.

I think he sends it
to Bangkok where
child slaves
spin it into
gold lame'.

Sorghum,
I think its hardy.

Soybeans,
the new age substitute
for hamburger
goes great with tofu lasagna.

Corn,
ADM creates ethanol,
they want us to drive cleaner cars.

Cattle,
once driven into this city’s
bloodhouses for slaughter,
now ground into
a billion Big Macs
every year.

When does a seed
become a commodity?
When does a commodity
become a future?
When does a future expire?

You can find the answers
to these questions in Chicago
and find a fortune in a hole in the floor.

Look down into the pits.
Hear the screams of anguish
and profitable delights.

Frenzied men
swarming like a mass
of epileptic ants
atop the worlds largest sugar cube
auger the worlds free markets.

The scene is
more chaotic then
100 Haymarket Square Riots
multiplied by 100
1968 Democratic Conventions.

Amidst inverted anthills,
they scurry forth and to
in distinguished
black and red coats.

Fighting each other
as counterparties
to a life and death transaction.

This is an efficient market
that crosses the globe.

Oil from the Sultan of Brunei,
Yen from the land of Hitachi,
Long Bonds from the Fed,
nickel from Quebec,
platinum and palladium
from Siberia,
FTSE’s from London
and crewel cane from Havana
circle these pits.

Tijuana,
Shanghai
and Istanbul's
best traders
are only half as good
as the average trader in Chicago.

Chicago,
this hog butcher to the world,
specializes in packaging and distribution.

Men in blood soaked smocks,
still count the heads
entering the gates of the city.

Their handiwork
is sent out on barges
and rail lines as frozen packages
of futures
waiting for delivery
to an anonymous counterparty
half a world away.

This nation’s hub
has grown into the
premier purveyor
to the world;
along all the rivers,
highways,
railways
and estuaries
it’s tentacles reach.

5.
Sandburg’s Chicago,
is a city of the world’s people.

Many striver rows compose
its many neighborhoods.

Nordic stoicism,
Eastern European orthodoxy
and Afro-American
calypso vibrations
are three of many cords
strumming the strings
of Chicago.

Sandburg’s Chicago,
if you wrote forever
you would only scratch its surface.

People wait for trains
to enter the city from O’Hare.
Frozen tears
lock their eyes
onto distant skyscrapers,
solid chunks
of snot blocks their nose
and green icicles of slime
crust mustaches.
They fight to breathe.

Sandburg’s Chicago
is The Land of Lincoln,
Savior of the Union,
protector of the Republic.
Sent armies
of sons and daughters,
barges, boxcars,
gunboats, foodstuffs,
cannon and shot
to raze the south
and stamp out succession.

Old Abe’s biography
are still unknown volumes to me.
I must see and read the great words.
You can never learn enough;
but I’ve been to Washington
and seen the man’s memorial.
The Free World’s 8th wonder,
guarded by General Grant,
who still keeps an eye on Richmond
and a hand on his sword.

Through this American winter
Abe ponders.
The vista he surveys is dire and tragic.

Our sitting President
impeached
for lying about a *******.

Party partisans
in the senate are sworn and seated.
Our Chief Justice,
adorned with golden bars
will adjudicate the proceedings.
It is the perfect counterpoint
to an ageless Abe thinking
with malice toward none
and charity towards all,
will heal the wounds
of the nation.

Abe our granite angel,
Chicago goes on,
The Union is strong!


SECOND DAY

1.
Out my window
the sun has risen.

According to
the local forecast
its minus 9
going up to
6 today.

The lake,
a golden pillow of clouds
is frozen in time.

I marvel
at the ancients ones
resourcefulness
and how
they mastered
these extreme elements.

Past, present and future
has no meaning
in the Citadel
of the Prairie today.

I set my watch
to Central Standard Time.

Stepping into
the hotel lobby
the concierge
with oil smooth hair,
perfect tie
and English lilt
impeccably asks,
“Do you know where you are going Sir?
Can I give you a map?”

He hands me one of Chicago.
I see he recently had his nails done.
He paints a green line
along Whacker Drive and says,
“turn on Jackson, LaSalle, Wabash or Madison
and you’ll get to where you want to go.”
A walk of 14 or 15 blocks from Streeterville-
(I start at The Chicago White House.
They call it that because Hillary Rodham
stays here when she’s in town.
Its’ also alleged that Stedman
eats his breakfast here
but Opra
has never been seen
on the premises.
I wonder how I gained entry
into this place of elite’s?)
-down into the center of The Loop.

Stepping out of the hotel,
The Doorman
sporting the epaulets of a colonel
on his corporate winter coat
and furry Cossack hat
swaddling his round black face
accosts me.

The skin of his face
is flaking from
the subzero windburn.

He asks me
with a gapped toothy grin,
“Can I get you a cab?”
“No I think I’ll walk,” I answer.
“Good woolen hat,
thick gloves you should be alright.”
He winks and lets me pass.

I step outside.
The Windy City
flings stabbing cold spears
flying on wings of 30-mph gusts.
My outside hardens.
I can feel the freeze
deepen
into my internalness.
I can’t be sure
but inside
my heart still feels warm.
For how long
I cannot say.

I commence
my walk
among the spires
of this great city,
the vertical leaps
that anchor the great lake,
holding its place
against the historic
frigid assault.

The buildings’ sway,
modulating to the blows
of natures wicked blasts.

It’s a hard imposition
on a city and its people.

The gloves,
skullcap,
long underwear,
sweater,
jacket
and overcoat
not enough
to keep the cold
from penetrating
the person.

Like discerning
the layers of this city,
even many layers,
still not enough
to understand
the depth of meaning
of the heart
of this heartland city.

Sandburg knew the city well.
Set amidst groves of suburbs
that extend outward in every direction.
Concentric circles
surround the city.
After the burbs come farms,
Great Plains, and mountains.
Appalachians and Rockies
are but mere molehills
in the city’s back yard.
It’s terra firma
stops only at the sea.
Pt. Barrow to the Horn,
many capes extended.

On the periphery
its appendages,
its extremities,
its outward extremes.
All connected by the idea,
blown by the incessant wind
of this great nation.
The Windy City’s message
is sent to the world’s four corners.
It is a message of power.
English the worlds
common language
is spoken here,
along with Ebonics,
Espanol,
Mandarin,
Czech,
Russian,
Korean,
Arabic,
Hindi­,
German,
French,
electronics,
steel,
cars,
cartoons,
rap,
sports­,
movies,
capital,
wheat
and more.

Always more.
Much much more
in Chicago.

2.
Sandburg
spoke all the dialects.

He heard them all,
he understood
with great precision
to the finest tolerances
of a lathe workers micrometer.

Sandburg understood
what it meant to laugh
and be happy.

He understood
the working mans day,
the learned treatises
of university chairs,
the endless tomes
of the city’s
great libraries,
the lost languages
of the ancient ones,
the secret codes
of abstract art,
the impact of architecture,
the street dialects and idioms
of everymans expression of life.

All fighting for life,
trying to build a life,
a new life
in this modern world.

Walking across
the Michigan Avenue Bridge
I see the Wrigley Building
is neatly carved,
catty cornered on the plaza.

I wonder if Old Man Wrigley
watched his barges
loaded with spearmint
and double-mint
move out onto the lake
from one of those Gothic windows
perched high above the street.

Would he open a window
and shout to the men below
to quit slaking and work harder
or would he
between the snapping sound
he made with his mouth
full of his chewing gum
offer them tickets
to a ballgame at Wrigley Field
that afternoon?

Would the men below
be able to understand
the man communing
from such a great height?

I listen to a man
and woman conversing.
They are one step behind me
as we meander along Wacker Drive.

"You are in Chicago now.”
The man states with profundity.
“If I let you go
you will soon find your level
in this city.
Do you know what I mean?”

No I don’t.
I think to myself.
What level are you I wonder?
Are you perched atop
the transmission spire
of the Hancock Tower?

I wouldn’t think so
or your ears would melt
from the windburn.

I’m thinking.
Is she a kept woman?
She is majestically clothed
in fur hat and coat.
In animal pelts
not trapped like her,
but slaughtered
from farms
I’m sure.

What level
is he speaking of?

Many levels
are evident in this city;
many layers of cobbled stone,
Pennsylvania iron,
Hoosier Granite
and vertical drops.

I wonder
if I detect
condensation
in his voice?

What is
his intention?
Is it a warning
of a broken affair?
A pending pink slip?
Advise to an addict
refusing to adhere
to a recovery regimen?

What is his level anyway?
Is he so high and mighty,
Higher and mightier
then this great city
which we are all a part of,
which we all helped to build,
which we all need
in order to keep this nation
the thriving democratic
empire it is?

This seditious talk!

3.
The Loop’s El
still courses through
the main thoroughfares of the city.

People are transported
above the din of the street,
looking down
on the common pedestrians
like me.

Super CEO’s
populating the upper floors
of Romanesque,
Greek Revivalist,
New Bauhaus,
Art Deco
and Post Nouveau
Neo-Modern
Avant-Garde towers
are too far up
to see me
shivering on the street.

The cars, busses,
trains and trucks
are all covered
with the film
of rock salt.

Salt covers
my bootless feet
and smudges
my cloths as well.

The salt,
the primal element
of the earth
covers everything
in Chicago.

It is the true level
of this city.

The layer
beneath
all layers,
on which
everything
rests,
is built,
grows,
thrives
then dies.
To be
returned again
to the lower
layers
where it can
take root
again
and grow
out onto
the great plains.

Splashing
the nation,
anointing
its people
with its
blessing.

A blessing,
Chicago?

All rivers
come here.

All things
found its way here
through the canals
and back bays
of the world’s
greatest lakes.

All roads,
rails and
air routes
begin and
end here.

Mrs. O’Leary’s cow
got a *** rap.
It did not start the fire,
we did.

We lit the torch
that flamed
the city to cinders.
From a pile of ash
Chicago rose again.

Forever Chicago!
Forever the lamp
that burns bright
on a Great Lake’s
western shore!

Chicago
the beacon
sends the
message to the world
with its windy blasts,
on chugging barges,
clapping trains,
flying tandems,
T1 circuits
and roaring jets.

Sandburg knew
a Chicago
I will never know.

He knew
the rhythm of life
the people walked to.
The tools they used,
the dreams they dreamed
the songs they sang,
the things they built,
the things they loved,
the pains that hurt,
the motives that grew,
the actions that destroyed
the prayers they prayed,
the food they ate
their moments of death.

Sandburg knew
the layers of the city
to the depths
and windy heights
I cannot fathom.

The Blues
came to this city,
on the wing
of a chirping bird,
on the taps
of a rickety train,
on the blast
of an angry sax
rushing on the wind,
on the Westend blitz
of Pop's brash coronet,
on the tink of
a twinkling piano
on a paddle-wheel boat
and on the strings
of a lonely man’s guitar.

Walk into the clubs,
tenements,
row houses,
speakeasies
and you’ll hear the Blues
whispered like
a quiet prayer.

Tidewater Blues
from Virginia,
Delta Blues
from the lower
Mississippi,
Boogie Woogie
from Appalachia,
Texas Blues
from some Lone Star,
Big Band Blues
from Kansas City,
Blues from
Beal Street,
Jelly Roll’s Blues
from the Latin Quarter.

Hell even Chicago
got its own brand
of Blues.

Its all here.
It ended up here
and was sent away
on the winds of westerly blows
to the ear of an eager world
on strong jet streams
of simple melodies
and hard truths.

A broad
shouldered woman,
a single mother stands
on the street
with three crying babes.
Their cloths
are covered
in salt.
She pleads
for a break,
praying
for a new start.
Poor and
under-clothed
against the torrent
of frigid weather
she begs for help.
Her blond hair
and ****** features
suggests her
Scandinavian heritage.
I wonder if
she is related to Sandburg
as I walk past
her on the street.
Her feet
are bleeding
through her
canvass sneakers.
Her babes mouths
are zipped shut
with frozen drivel
and mucous.

The Blues live
on in Chicago.

The Blues
will forever live in her.
As I turn the corner
to walk the Miracle Mile
I see her engulfed
in a funnel cloud of salt,
snow and bits
of white paper,
swirling around her
and her children
in an angry
unforgiving
maelstrom.

The family
begins to
dissolve
like a snail
sprinkled with salt;
and a mother
and her children
just disappear
into the pavement
at the corner
of Dearborn,
in Chicago.

Music:

Robert Johnson
Sweet Home Chicago


jbm
Chicago
1/7/99
Added today to commemorate the birthday of Carl Sandburg
I dreamed my genesis in sweat of sleep, breaking
Through the rotating shell, strong
As motor muscle on the drill, driving
Through vision and the girdered nerve.

From limbs that had the measure of the worm, shuffled
Off from the creasing flesh, filed
Through all the irons in the grass, metal
Of suns in the man-melting night.

Heir to the scalding veins that hold love's drop, costly
A creature in my bones I
Rounded my globe of heritage, journey
In bottom gear through night-geared man.

I dreamed my genesis and died again, shrapnel
Rammed in the marching heart, hole
In the stitched wound and clotted wind, muzzled
Death on the mouth that ate the gas.

Sharp in my second death I marked the hills, harvest
Of hemlock and the blades, rust
My blood upon the tempered dead, forcing
My second struggling from the grass.

And power was contagious in my birth, second
Rise of the skeleton and
Rerobing of the naked ghost. Manhood
Spat up from the resuffered pain.

I dreamed my genesis in sweat of death, fallen
Twice in the feeding sea, grown
Stale of Adam's brine until, vision
Of new man strength, I seek the sun.
ok okay Sep 2018
Everyday he wandered a fragile path
A path Scarred and neglected
It ended abruptly
This was the type of path he knew best
The end of the path opened to a great escape
With no crossing for miles
The vast road offered an instant death
Cars sped past with no remorse
Everyday he watched but couldn’t pull through
He told himself ‘tomorrow I’ll be released’
If only he knew

Every night he dreamed of death
To live alone would be his only regret
His dreams were vivid and were soon to come
Just not in the way he once thought it would

One day it all changed
The boy found a true love
He smiled and forgot why he hated himself
A new path he followed
With a girl by his side
Finally he felt happy and no longer wanted to die

During the night
He no longer dreamed of death
He dreamed of his future
Too bad life is unfair

The following day offered many opportunities
The boy walked his new path with his utmost dignity
The path wasn’t neglected
It didn’t end abruptly
The path opened to a crossing which was new to his area
Who thought this would be the place where he got run over
Life is unfair
Emm Oct 2015
I dreamed of you,
you and your glorious spirit,
infectious and dangerous

I dreamed of you who is not mine,
of our times archived,
distant as if long lost and forgotten

I dreamed of you and our strong ties,
as if we're still together,
and times are easy

I dreamed of you and I long for you
as much as dreams don't make sense
feelings are true yet they deceive often
Wishes are only wishes,
I know

Not today,
for these 24 hours I will wallow in my memories of you,
of our odd encounters
basking in my sentiments,
before you leave again
just like I did before
Aynjul Feb 2017
I dreamed of you sending me pictures of relationship goals on Snapchat.
I dreamed of calling and finding out someone else had been replacing me.
I dreamed you told me he won't ever be us.
I dreamed of crying .
I dreamed of writing this.
I dreamed, despite the disasters we've been through our love carried through out time, unchanged, unconditionally, no matter the situation in space.

I dreamed,
I won't ever stop writing poetry for you.. .
Untill the day
I never wake again,

Good Morning
To the person who deserves nothing but the best and complete happiness . Your amazing. & I'll miss you for the rest of my time.
September Roses May 2018
Once we were on fire
Young    rebeliouse   free
We stormed the castles and took to the skies we flew we dreamed
We were ablaze our light setting raging screaming fire to the world around us
When our thoughts could not sit in silence any longer
When the kids were engulfed by a wave of fury of the injustice done by this world before we were even here
We screamed and demanded
OUR VOICES WOULD BE HEARD
But now it rains
Now the cold heavy water blankets the restless
The fire has been drenched in worry and stress
The brutal downpour has distracted all with false life or death
The blaze once 100 feet high now nothing but a charred soul

And all the ones put out by the rain
to tired to fight again,
pray on the generation next
That their fire is enough to best the storm
I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is your thoughts, my upset energies, and nightly turbulence.
Sleep provokes night and life and darkness prevailing in us.
When we wake up we are gone as our night precedes dawn
It is always the other way, bottom up and spaces spread.
At times we hear the police van’s shrieks, in night’s iron grill.

I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is not always the stick beating the road in rhythmic silence
And olive-green overcoat with flapped pockets and heavy boots
And six months old large-sized memories of a Himalayan home
With black-lined large dove’s eyes flitting among coal fires
Their smoke towering over the pines in snow-bound peaks.


I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is the turbulence we are speaking of, in the foggy sea we are
Or on the peaks where everything is bound in fuzzy snow
At the mountain passes where vehicles duly pass oiled by hot tea
Or in the mist-filled airports where aircrafts do not take off
Of politicians who decide mankind’s future in the apocalypse.


I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is my dreams as they were and the neighbor’s dreams
In the straw-roof, in the banyan trees with glints in their eyes
And much fine-powdered dust on their thick –coated leaves,
In lonely watchmen’s houses on the bleak stony spaces
And lonely watchmen keeping vigilant eyes on boulders
Strewn in brown spaces and scraggy bushes with strange lizards.


I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is the towering tombs and the trees that enveloped them
The children playing cricket in flying bats and stone stumps
Outside the vaults where kings and queens lay dead for ages
Their cold breath felt on the broken glass of Time’s windows.
I ask that you, I and women play a game of kabaddi in the trees
When it is still not dark enough in the minarets in the west
And children are still hitting ***** visible in the green of the trees.
Samantha Jan 2013
By Les Miserables

There was a time when men were kind
When their voices were soft
And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting
There was a time
Then it all went wrong
I dreamed a dream in times gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid

No song unsung
No wine untasted

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shame
He slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn came
And still I dream he'll come to me
That we'll live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed
The dream I dreamed.

— The End —