Captain Hook • National Poetry Month (Close Enough)

I told you we wouldn't quit poetry cold turkey. Enjoy this delightful bit by Shel Silverstein, courtesy of my friend Pete. (While you're at it, check out his blog, A Very Sneaky 2017.

Where the Sidewalk Ends — Poem in Your Pocket Day — National Poetry Month

  
Happy Poem in Your Pocket Day! I visited the Academy of American Poets, who offered a page of pocket poems with only a single-word clue. Mine was "chalk." Below is the poem they offered. What a lovely surprise. Click here to choose your own pocket poem!

Where the Sidewalk Ends

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

By Shel Silverstein

Courtesy poets.org — Click here to have printable pocket poems for sharing!

Poem in Your Pocket Day is Today!

Jot down this poem and put it in your pocket, like my friend Beth Field does.  (However, I suspect she has memorized it, the Peety-Swie she is!)

Runny's Rig Bomance

Runny had a firlgriend,

Her name was Sunny Bue.

He called her nots of licknames,

Like "kitchy-Itchy Koo."

Sometimes he called her "Boney-Hun,"

And sometimes "Dovey Lear,"

But he only called her "Peety-Swie"

When no one else could hear.

- Shel Silverstein

What's your pocket poem?

Go Have Fun!

Shel Silverstein, may he rest in peace, seemed like a fun-loving guy. Visit his Web site and see if you agree.

In the meantime, here's one of his poems.


Bear In There

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.

by Shel Silverstein
With thanks to Famous Poets and Poems.

Don't let this keep you from going to his Web site — it's too fun to miss!