AutumnGal
01-28-2007, 02:41 PM
Remembering Shel Silverstein (1930 - 1999) the American poet, musician, songwriter, etc. Among other things, he wrote poems for children in such books as Where the Sidewalk Ends and A Light in the Attic. He also wrote the lyrics to “A Boy Named Sue,” which was performed by Johnny Cash, and “The Unicorn Song.” Anyway, “Uncle Shelby,” as he was known, helped form my earliest attachment to poetry. At that time in my youthful life, I didn’t know about iambic nor dactylic meter, alliteration, assonance, nor what made a good rhyme; I just knew I liked the way the words sounded together—and they made for an enjoyable read. My sisters and I must have giggled for hours over some of the stories he created through his poetry; most notably “Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout (Would Not Take the Garbage Out).”
Below is my tribute to Uncle Shelby. I hope you will join with me in posting your whimsical poems here, either in remembrance of Shel Silverstein, or as a tribute to that child in all of us.
Stinky Stanley
Stanley is a boy, who is numbering age six,
And with other children he does not mix.
It’s because of his odor, this author supposes,
For everyone runs from him holding their noses.
His hair is disheveled, the color dirty blond.
Some say of its filth he is really too fond.
And never is mother allowed to wash it.
Lately she tried, and he threw a huge fit.
Through gaps in his teeth, he smiles a strange grin,
While oodles of drool flows onto his chin,
Where in his dimple it forms a small lake—
No Prince Charming will this little boy ever make.
His fingernails are dirty, and jagged, and torn,
Categorically, the worst on any boy ever born.
His shoelaces are gone, and nearly the soles, too
Because his foot fungus has eaten them through.
A truckload of dirt is ground into his pores,
And his clothes? The habitat for stinkbugs galore!
In fact, the other day he was seen talking to them.
They are this stinky boy’s only true friends.
‘Tis rumored his underwear crawled away in the night
And wouldn’t be captured without a big fight.
His pants stood militantly in the corner ‘til dawn
Fervently wishing they too could be gone.
To this dilemma there was no end in sight
‘Til one day in class the love bug did bite.
Into the classroom the new girl, Betty Lou, did arrive
And as his heart was ensnared, all heard a small sigh.
Then Tommy turned to Stanley and cruelly said,
“You’re too smelly for her. Can’t you get that into your head?”
At these words the smile fled from Stanley’s poor face,
And Tommy turned back, having put Stanley in his place.
Walking home Stanley moped, “What Tommy said is true;
I’m too stinky for a girl as fine as Betty Lou.”
At these words, up popped Stanley’s favorite gray louse.
“Come on,” she said. “Show them you’re a man—not a mouse!”
At her words of encouragement Stanley sullenly replied,
“But, between her and me, there’s a great divide.”
He shrugged his troubled shoulders. “What should I do, Imogene?”
To this she said, “Wait ‘til we get home; I’ll show you what I mean.”
At home, Imogene directed from the pocket of his shirt,
“Now, up to the bathroom, Stanley. We’ve got a lot of work.
Pull back the blue curtain; now turn that crystal knob.
We’ll show them you’re not some hopeless little slob.”
As Stanley stepped into the shower there came a loud CRACK!
When his crusty butt broke open, our President thought it an attack.
From the nation’s capital came the imperative orders,
“Call out the National Guard; we must protect our borders!”
Down Stanley’s street the Guardsmen and news crews did swarm.
Inside his house, up the stairs, and into the shower warm
Came the black rifle barrels and the shiny news camera lenses.
It took a moment to comprehend, but soon all came to their senses.
So, there on TVs all across the vast land,
Stanley told the nation the noise had come from his can.
And though Stanley’s sudden fame instigated Tommy’s jealousy,
Betty Lou saw the news and liked what she did see.
So now they walk arm ‘n arm on the playground,
And often hip-hip-hoorays erupt all around.
Well, thus concludes my account of this waif.
Silverstein fans, I believe his art is yet safe.
Below is my tribute to Uncle Shelby. I hope you will join with me in posting your whimsical poems here, either in remembrance of Shel Silverstein, or as a tribute to that child in all of us.
Stinky Stanley
Stanley is a boy, who is numbering age six,
And with other children he does not mix.
It’s because of his odor, this author supposes,
For everyone runs from him holding their noses.
His hair is disheveled, the color dirty blond.
Some say of its filth he is really too fond.
And never is mother allowed to wash it.
Lately she tried, and he threw a huge fit.
Through gaps in his teeth, he smiles a strange grin,
While oodles of drool flows onto his chin,
Where in his dimple it forms a small lake—
No Prince Charming will this little boy ever make.
His fingernails are dirty, and jagged, and torn,
Categorically, the worst on any boy ever born.
His shoelaces are gone, and nearly the soles, too
Because his foot fungus has eaten them through.
A truckload of dirt is ground into his pores,
And his clothes? The habitat for stinkbugs galore!
In fact, the other day he was seen talking to them.
They are this stinky boy’s only true friends.
‘Tis rumored his underwear crawled away in the night
And wouldn’t be captured without a big fight.
His pants stood militantly in the corner ‘til dawn
Fervently wishing they too could be gone.
To this dilemma there was no end in sight
‘Til one day in class the love bug did bite.
Into the classroom the new girl, Betty Lou, did arrive
And as his heart was ensnared, all heard a small sigh.
Then Tommy turned to Stanley and cruelly said,
“You’re too smelly for her. Can’t you get that into your head?”
At these words the smile fled from Stanley’s poor face,
And Tommy turned back, having put Stanley in his place.
Walking home Stanley moped, “What Tommy said is true;
I’m too stinky for a girl as fine as Betty Lou.”
At these words, up popped Stanley’s favorite gray louse.
“Come on,” she said. “Show them you’re a man—not a mouse!”
At her words of encouragement Stanley sullenly replied,
“But, between her and me, there’s a great divide.”
He shrugged his troubled shoulders. “What should I do, Imogene?”
To this she said, “Wait ‘til we get home; I’ll show you what I mean.”
At home, Imogene directed from the pocket of his shirt,
“Now, up to the bathroom, Stanley. We’ve got a lot of work.
Pull back the blue curtain; now turn that crystal knob.
We’ll show them you’re not some hopeless little slob.”
As Stanley stepped into the shower there came a loud CRACK!
When his crusty butt broke open, our President thought it an attack.
From the nation’s capital came the imperative orders,
“Call out the National Guard; we must protect our borders!”
Down Stanley’s street the Guardsmen and news crews did swarm.
Inside his house, up the stairs, and into the shower warm
Came the black rifle barrels and the shiny news camera lenses.
It took a moment to comprehend, but soon all came to their senses.
So, there on TVs all across the vast land,
Stanley told the nation the noise had come from his can.
And though Stanley’s sudden fame instigated Tommy’s jealousy,
Betty Lou saw the news and liked what she did see.
So now they walk arm ‘n arm on the playground,
And often hip-hip-hoorays erupt all around.
Well, thus concludes my account of this waif.
Silverstein fans, I believe his art is yet safe.