Poem of the Day

It’s been quite some time since I posted anything by Shel Silverstein. Technically speaking, this is a song, but it’s Shel Silverstein, so I’m letting it slide.

A Front Row Seat to Hear Ole Johnny Sing
By Shel Silverstein

Now you know some fellahs, they want fame and fortune
Yeah, and other fellahs they just wanna swing
But all I wanted all my life
Was a TV set and a truck and a wife
And a front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.

Yeah the TV and the truck I got on credit.
And I got that girl with a little old Woolworth ring
And life was warm and life was sweet
But still, it was kinda incomplete
Without a front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.

Hey, John you walk the line,
Do “Delia” one more time
And when you do them Cottonfields
You warm this heart of mine.

So, one day I thought, Hey, I’m gonna do it!
(That’s what I said)
So, I mortgaged the farm and pawned her wedding ring.
I sold the gold tooth out of my mouth
And jumped in the pickup and headed South.
For a front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.

I hit Nashville cold and wet and hungry.
I said, “I’m here, bring him on let him do his thing.”
But they told me down at the Old Pit Grill
I’d have to go all the way to Andersonville
For a front row seat to hear ole Jonny sing.

I found his house knocked on the door and it was opened
By a brown-haired girl and a baby with a teethin’ ring.
I said “I seen you somewhere before
but don’t stand there and block the door
I want a front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.”

Hey, John you walk the line,
Do “Delia” one more time
And when you do them Cottonfields
You warm this heart of mine.

She said I’d have to go down to The Opry
And the feller there said I’d have to wait till Spring.
He said, “We’ve been sold out for months and months
And this poor insane fellah wants
A front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.”

Well, he said a couple more things, and I started cryin’
And then he laughed at me and that’s when I started to swing.
Well I bust through the doors in a roaring rage,
Crawled over the crowd till I reached the stage
For a front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.

Hey, John you walk the line,
Do “Delia” one more time
And when you do them Cottonfields
You warm this heart of mine.

Then some crazy guard started shootin’
I shot back, and the next thing I know I was winged
and on the floor
When a guy in a voice kinda deep and low
Says, “Boy that’s a mighty long way to go
For a front row seat to hear ANYBODY sing.”

And I guess that judge, he weren’t no music lover.
I got fifteen months but that don’t mean a thing.
Cos’ yesterday in the prison yard
A show come through and HAR! de HAR!
I had a front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.

Hey, John you walk the line,
Do “Delia” one more time
And when you do them Cottonfields
You warm this heart of mine.

Current Tea: Thai chai (green tea blended with coconut, ginger and lemongrass)

My A/C has been “temperamental” for the last month or so. It runs and runs and runs, but the apartment stays at about 85F, which is quite uncomfortable for me, not to mention my obscene electric bill last month. It stopped working last Monday, and I spoke to the management twice before leaving town on Thursday. Imagine my dismay when I got home tonight and it was still hot. This poem immediately came to mind. Here’s to another sleepless night! (RAH!)

It’s Hot
By Shel Silverstein

It’s hot!
I can’t get cool,
I’ve drunk a quart of lemonade.
I think I’ll take my shoes off
And sit around in the shade.

It’s hot!
My back is sticky,
The sweat rolls down my chin.
I think I’ll take my clothes off
And sit around in my skin.

It’s hot!
I’ve tried with ‘lectric fans,
And pools and ice cream cones.
I think I’ll take my skin off
And sit around in my bones.

It’s still hot!

Avast, me hearties! Top o’ the mornin’ to yeh! It be International Talk Like a Pirate Day! ARRRRRRRRRR!!!

The Pirate
By Shel Silverstein

Oh, the blithery, blathery pirate
(His name, I believe, is Claude),
His manner is sullen and irate,
And his humor is vulgar and broad.

He has often been known to imprison
His friends in the hold dark and dank,
Or lash them up high on the mizzen,
Or force them to stroll down a plank.

He will selfishly ask you to dig up
Some barrels of ill-gotten gold,
And if you so much as just higgup,
He’ll leave you to fill up the hole.

He may cast you adrift in a rowboat
(He has no reaction to tears)
Or put you ashore without NO boat
On an island and leave you for years.

He’s a rotter, a wretch and a sinner,
He’s foul as a fellow can be,
But if you invite him to dinner,
Oh, please sit him next to me!

How about a little something funny? I memorized this poem and recited it in two voices for my sixth grade English class.

One Two
By Shel Silverstein

One two, buckle my shoe.
     ”Buckle your own shoe!”
Who said that?
     ”I did. What are you doing with those silly buckles on
     your shoes anyway?”
Three four, shut the door.
     ”You shut it—you opened it.”
Er… five six, pick up sticks.
     ”Why should I pick them up—do you think I’m your
     slave? Buckle my shoe, shut the door, pick up sticks,
     next thing you’ll be telling me to lay them straight.”
But it’s only a poem… Nine ten, a big fat… oh never mind.

I thought it would be best if I didn’t post this on Sunday. (heh)

Prayer of the Selfish Child
By Shel Silverstein

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
And if I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my toys to break.
So none of the other kids can use ‘em…
Amen.

This has always been one of my favorite Shel Silverstein poems. What is it about poems about nobody? Of course I dedicate it to my lovely Ellie and Killy!

Nobody
By Shel Silverstein

Nobody loves me,
Nobody cares,
Nobody picks me peaches and pears.
Nobody offers me candy and Cokes,
Nobody listen and laughs at my jokes.
Nobody helps when I get in a fight,
Nobody does all my homework at night.
Nobody misses me,
Nobody cries,
Nobody thinks I’m a wonderful guy.
So if you ask me who’s my best friend, in a whiz,
I’ll stand up and tell you that Nobody is.
But yesterday night I got quite a scare,
I woke up and Nobody just wasn’t there.
I called out and reached out for Nobody’s hand,
In the darkness where Nobody usually stands.
Then I poked through the house, in each cranny and nook,
But I found somebody each place that I looked.
I searched till I’m tired, and now with the dawn,
There’s no doubt about it—
Nobody’s gone!

Today is my dad’s birthday (happy birthday, Dad!). I have to post this poem because of my sister’s former philosophy that if she did her chores badly, Dad would do them for her. (To be fair, she’s grown up quite a bit since those days.)

How Not To Have To Dry the Dishes
By Shel Silverstein

If you have to dry the dishes
(Such an awful, boring chore)
If you have to dry the dishes
(‘Stead of going to the store)
If you have to dry the dishes
And you drop one on the floor—
Maybe they won’t let you
Dry the dishes anymore.

After spending the greater part of the day either proctoring, generating a key for, or grading the final exam for my kiddies, I’m a bit drained. I think Shel Silverstein will pep me up! My favorite thing about this poem is the illustration, which I couldn’t find online. If you have A Light in the Attic, you should check it out!

Wild Strawberries
By Shel Silverstein

Are Wild Strawberries really wild?
Will they scratch an adult, will they snap at a child?
Should you pet them, or let them run free where they roam?
Could they ever relax in a steam-heated home?
Can they be trained to not growl at the guests?
Will a litterbox work or would they leave a mess?
Can we make them a Cowberry, herding the cows,
Or maybe a Muleberry pulling the plows,
Or maybe a Huntberry chasing the grouse,
Or maybe a Watchberry guarding the house,
And though they may curl up at your feet oh so sweetly,
Can you ever feel that you trust them completely?
Or should we make a pet out of something less scary,
Like the Domestic Prune or the Imported Cherry,
Anyhow, you’ve been warned and I will not be blamed
If your Wild Strawberry cannot be tamed.

Here’s another Shel Silverstein poem. This one is not so ridiculously funny as many of his others. In fact, I can even relate to it.

Peckin’
By Shel Silverstein

The saddest thing I ever did see
Was a woodpecker peckin’ at a plastic tree.
He looks at me, and “Friend,” says he,
“Things ain’t as sweet as they used to be.”

Here’s another Shel Silverstein for Ryan, though I should dedicate it to my dear (and messy) roommate Heather. (hee hee)

Messy Room
By Shel Silverstein

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater’s been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or—
Huh? You say it’s mine? Oh dear,
I knew it looked familiar!

As requested by my dear Ryan, here is a Shel Silverstein poem. I dedicate it to myself and all the others who suffered through the oppressive heat at ACL last weekend. I only went as far as the actions in the first verse, but I feel confident that had I taken my skin off and sat around in my bones, I’d still have been hot!

It’s Hot!
By Shel Silverstein

It’s hot!
I can’t get cool,
I’ve drunk a quart of lemonade,
I think I’ll take my shoes off
And sit around in the shade.

It’s hot!
My back is sticky,
The sweat rolls down my chin.
I think I’ll take my clothes off
And sit around in my skin.

It’s hot!
I’ve tried with ‘lectric fans,
And pools and ice cream cones.
I think I’ll take my skin off
And sit around in my bones.

It’s still hot!

This is gross, but I love it.

Sahra Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out
By Shel Silverstein

Sahra Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Would not take the garbage out!
She’d scour the pots and scrape the pans,
Candy the yams and spice the hams,
And though her daddy would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of sour cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel,
Gloopy glumps of cold oatmeal,
Pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned buttered toast,
Gristly bits of beefy roasts…
The garbage rolled on down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall…
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery blubbery macaroni,
Peanut butter, caked and dry,
Curdled milk and crusts of pie,
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,
Cold french fries and rancid meat,
yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That finally it touched the sky.
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her friends would come to play.
And finally Sahra Cynthia Stout said,
“OK, I’ll take the garbage out!”
But then, of course, it was too late…
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate.
And there, in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sahra met an awful fate,
That I cannot right now relate
Because the hour is much too late.
But children, remember Sahra Stout
And always take the garbage out!

I’m not sick, but I certainly feel like making an excuse not to go to school today.

Sick
By Shel Silverstein

“I cannot go to school today,”
Said little Peggy Ann McKay,
“I have 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 bent, 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!”

Here’s a silly little poem before I head off to the airport!

Batty
By Shel Silverstein

The baby bat
Screamed out in fright,
“Turn on the dark,
I’m afraid of the light.”

I love this poem. My sister and I used to read it to each other, complete with voices.

The Little Boy and the Old Man
By Shel Silverstein

Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”
Said the old man, “I do that too.”
The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”
“I do that too,” laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
“But worst of all,” said the boy, “it seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean,” said the little old man.

I can’t bring myself to post an angsty poem for Heather. I’m feeling nostalgic for childhood and I had a great conversation about Shel Silverstein with Ann before I left Austin. I memorized this poem in sixth grade and it seemed longer then…

Bear in There
By Shel Silverstein

There’s a Polar Bear
In our Frigidaire—
He likes it ’cause it’s cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He’s nibbling the noodles,
He’s munching the rice,
He’s slurping the soda,
He’s licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he’s in there—
That Polary Bear
In our Fridgitydaire.

Since I’m in a good mood, I’m going to post something frivolous. I memorized this poem when I was in grammar school and recited it for my reading class. I think it’s hysterical!

The Meehoo with an Exactlywatt
By Shel Silverstein

Knock knock!
Who’s there?
Me!
Me who?

That’s right!
What’s right?
Meehoo!
That’s what I want to know!

What’s what you want to know?
Me, who?
Yes, exactly!
Exactly what?
Yes, I have an Exactlywatt on a chain!

Exactly what on a chain?
Yes!
Yes what?
No, Exactlywatt!

That’s what I want to know!
I told you - Exactlywatt!
Exactly what?
Yes!
Yes what?

Yes, it’s with me!
What’s with you?
Exactlywatt - that’s what’s with me.
Me who?
Yes!

Go away!

Knock knock…

I thought I’d take a break from “serious” poems and post a Shel Silverstein poem. I love Shel Silverstein. He cracks me up. This poem was always my favorite because I can be a bit of a drama queen myself (no comments, please!). It’s best read out loud with panache!

Little Abigail and the Beautiful Pony
By Shel Silverstein

There was a girl named Abigail
Who was taking a drive
Through the country
With her parents
When she spied a beautiful sad-eyed
Grey and white pony.
And next to it was a sign
That said,
FOR SALE—CHEAP.
“Oh,” said Abigail,
“May I have that pony?
May I please?”
And her parents said,
“No you may not.”
And Abigail said,
“But I MUST have that pony.”
And her parents said,
“Well, you can have a nice butter pecan
Ice cream cone when we get home.”
And Abigail said,
“I don’t want a butter pecan
Ice cream cone,
I WANT THAT PONY—
I MUST HAVE THAT PONY.”
And her parents said,
“Be quiet and stop nagging—
You’re not getting that pony.”
And Abigail began to cry and said,
“If I don’t get that pony I’ll die.”
And her parents said, “You won’t die.
No child ever died yet from not getting a pony.”
And Abigail felt so bad
That when she got home she went to bed,
And she couldn’t eat,
And she couldn’t sleep,
And her heart was broken,
And she DID die—
All because of a pony
That her parents wouldn’t buy.

(This is a good story
To read to your folks
When they won’t buy
You something you want.)