pieces of shel

Posted: February 10, 2012 | Author: christy kramer | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: amazon.com, children's books, christy kramer, christy kramer vintage, christykramervintage, giving tree, light in the attic, poems, poetry, shel silverstein, where the sidewalk ends | Leave a comment »

Once when I was little, I had the great fortune to witness Mr. Shel Silverstein reading his work aloud at an assembly.  To read Where the Sidewalk Ends, or A Light in the Attic, or even the Giving Tree is fun it and of itself, but to have it attached to such a great memory makes it all the better.  These are some of my favs from Where the Sidewalk Ends, pretty profound for allegedly silly children’s poetry.  Enjoy.

until next time…

peace & love, ck

Tree House

a tree house, a free house,

a secret you and me house,

a high up in the leafy branches

cozy as can be house.

A street house, a neat house,

Be sure and wipe your feet house

Is not my kind of house at all–

Let’s go live in a tree house.

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Magic

Sandra’s seen a leprechaun,

Eddie touched a troll,

Laurie danced with witches once,

Charlie found some goblin’s gold.

Donald heard a mermaid sing,

Susy spied an elf,

But all the magic I have known,

I’ve had to make myself.

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Colors

My skin is kind of sort of brownish

pinkish yellowish white.

My eyes are greyish blueish green,

But I’m told they look orange in the night.

My hair is reddish blondish brown,

But its silver when it’s wet.

And all the colors I am inside

Have not been invented yet.

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Listen to the Mustn’ts

Listen to the MUSTN’TS, child,

Listen to the DON’TS

Listen to the SHOULDN”TS

The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON’TS

Listen to the NEVER HAVES

Then listen close to me–

Anything can happen, child,

ANYTHING can be.

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Hector the Collector

Hector the Collector

Collected bits of string,

Collected dolls with broken head

And rusty bells that would not ring.

Pieces out of picture puzzles,

Bent-up nails and ice-cream sticks,

Twists of wire, worn-out tires,

Paper bags and broken bricks.

Old chipped vases, half shoelaces,

Gatlin’ guns that wouldn’t shoot,

Leaky boats that wouldn’t float

And stopped-up horns that wouldn’t toot.

Butter knives that had no handles,

Copper keys that fit no locks,

Rings that were too small fingers,

Dried-up leaves and patched up socks.

Worn out belts that had no buckles,

‘Lectric trains that had no tracks,

Airplane models, broken bottles,

Three-legged chairs and cups with cracks.

Hector the Collector

Loved these things with all his soul–

Loved them more than shining diamonds,

Loved them more than glistenin’ gold.

Hector called to all the people,

“Come and share my treasure trunk!”

And all the silly sightless people

Came and looked…and called it junk.

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Enter this Deserted House

But please walk softly as you do.

Frogs dwell here and crickets too.

Ain’t no ceiling, only blue

Jays dwell here and sunbeams too.

Floors are flowers–take a few.

Ferns grow here and daisies too.

Whoosh, swoosh–too-whit, too-woo,

Bats dwell here and hoot owls too.

Ha-ha-ha, hee-hee, hoo-hoooo,

Gnoms dwell here and goblins too.

And my child, I thought you knew

I dwell here…and so do you.

And this last one was my absolute favorite as a child, it’s called Sick.  It’s kind of the most fitting selection of this entire post, as I have been stricken with the Cedar Fever so popular this time of year in Texas.  One hell of a welcome back gift.

SICK

“I cannot go to school today,”

Said little Peggy Ann McKay.

“I have a the measles and the mumps,

A gash, a rash, and purple bumps.

My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,

I’m going blind in my right eye.

My tonsils are as big as rocks,

I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox

And there’s one more–that’s seventeen,

And don’t you think my face looks green?

My leg is cut, my eyes are blue–

It might be instamatic flu.

I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke.

I’m sure that my left leg is broke–

My hip hurts when I move my chin,

My belly button’s caving in,

My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,

My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.

My nose is cold, my toes are numb,

I have a sliver in my thumb.

My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,

I hardly whisper when I speak.

My tongue is filling up my mouth,

I think my hair is falling out.

My elbow’s bend, my spine ain’t straight,

My temperature is one-o-eight.

My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,

There is a hole inside my ear,

I have a hangnail, and my heart is–what?

What’s that? What’s that you say?

You say today is…Saturday?

G’bye, I’m going out to play!”

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