How to make my day: put a poem literally anywhere.
On my miserable, sick, and tired way to Chemistry (hell) Lab, I look down and see one of the most famous Shel Silverstein poems chalked out on the walkway, “Where the Sidewalk Ends”
I literally found a poem today you guys.
Quick anecdote about me and Shel Silverstein: I remember vividly in the 3rd or 4th grade spending entire weeks on Shel Silverstein in the English poetry unit, because he’s so kid friendly (though also an alleged racist). We had an assignment where we had to memorize two of his poems and act them out in a kind of showcase. Parents came and everything. So from Where the Sidewalk Ends, I illustrated a girl in wedding dress yelling and being abandoned, and recited this poem:
If you want to marry me, here’s what you’ll have to do:
You must learn how to make a perfect chicken-dumpling stew.
And you must sew my holey socks,
And soothe my troubled mind,
And develop the knack for scratching my back,
And keep my shoes spotlessly shined.
And while I rest you must rake up the leaves,
And when it is hailing and snowing
You must shovel the walk…and be still when I talk,
And-hey-where are you going?
I mean… literary genius, is it not? I wrote all of that from memory. So, thank you to whoever bothered to put that poem in my path and dredge up elementary memories of my younger poetess. I appreciate it. Any of you have experiences with Shel Silverstein? I get the feeling that it’s universal.
The only downside was that while I walked past this poem, I didn’t see anyone else appreciating it like I did. I didn’t even see many people bothering to read it, probably thinking it was some kind of advertisement or probably not even noticing. When I took pictures, I tried to do it discreetly (you can tell, they are horrible pictures), so that people wouldn’t think I was weird. Where has the appreciation for the little things gone???
Here’s the full poem for those who don’t know it:
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
Hopefully people will keep making my found poem work easier,