SILVERSTEIN, Shel


Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout

would not take the garbage out
She'd scour the pots and scrub 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
That filled the can and covered the floor,

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
Gluppy glumps of cold oat meal,

pizza crust and withered greens
And soggy beans and tangerines

and crust of black burned buttered toast
And gristly bits of beefy roast

The garbage rolled on down the hall,

it raised the roof, it broke the wall
I mean, greasy napkins, cookie crumbs
Globs of gooey bubble gums,

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 it finally touched the sky
And all the neighbors moved away
And none of her friends would come to play
And finally, Sarah 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 Sarah met an awful fate
That I cannot, right now relate
Because the hour is much too late
But children, remember Sarah Stout
And always take the garbage out

The Little Boy And The Old Man

Said the little boy, sometimes I drop my spoon.

Said the little old man, I do that too.

The little boy whispered, I wet my pants.

I do too, laughed the 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.

Poet’s Tree

Underneath the poet tree

come and rest a while with me,

and watch the way the world-web weaves

between the shady story leaves.

The branches of the tree

reach from the mountains to the sea.

So come and dream, or come and climb –

just don’t get hit by falling rhymes.


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.


Sylvia’s mother

Sylvia's mother says: "Sylvia's busy,
Too busy to come to the phone."
Sylvia's mother says: "Sylvia's tryin'"
"To start a new life of her own."
Sylvia's mother says: "Sylvia's happy"
"So, why don't you leave her alone?"

And the operator says:
"40 cents more for the next 3 minutes."

Please, Mrs. Avery, I just gotta talk to her,
I'll only keep her a while.
Please Mrs. Avery,
I just wanna tell 'er goodbye.

Sylvia's mother says: "Sylvia's packin’”
"She's gonna be leavin' today."
Sylvia's mother says: "Sylvia's marryin'"
"A fella down Galveston way."
Sylvia's mother says: "Please don't say nothin'"
"To make her start cryin' and stay."

And the operator says:
"40 cents more for the next 3 minutes."

Please, Mrs. Avery, I just gotta talk to her,
I'll only keep her a while.
Please Mrs. Avery,
I just wanna tell 'er goodbye.

Sylvia's mother says: "Sylvia's hurryin'"
"She's catchin' the nine o'clock train."
Sylvia's mother says: "Take your umbrella,"
"cause Sylvie, it's startin' to rain."
And Sylvia's mother says: "Thank you for callin',"
"And, sir, won't you call back again?"

And the operator says:
"40 cents more for the next 3 minutes."

Please, Mrs. Avery, I just gotta talk to her,
I'll only keep her a while.
Please Mrs. Avery,
I just wanna tell 'er goodbye.

Tell her goodbye.

Please.
Tell her goodbye.


The Ballad Of Lucy Jordan

The morning sun touched lightly on

The eyes of Lucy Jordan

In her white suburban bedroom

In a white suburban town,

As she lay there 'neath the covers,

Dreaming of a thousand lovers,

Till the world turned to orange

nd the room went spinning 'round.

At the age of 37

She realized she'd never ride

Through Paris in a sports car

With the warm wind in her hair.

So she let the phone keep ringing

As she sat there, softly singing

Little nursery rhymes she'd memorized

In her daddy's easy chair.

Her husband is off to work,

And the kids are off to school,

And there were, oh, so many ways

For her to spend the day:

She could clean the house for hours

Or rearrange the flowers

Or run naked through the shady streets,

Screaming all the way!

At the age of 37

She realized she'd never ride

Through Paris in a sports car

With the warm wind in her hair.

So she let the phone keep ringing

As she sat there, softly singing

Little nursery rhymes she'd memorized

In her daddy's easy chair.

The evening sun touched gently on

The eyes of Lucy Jordan

On the roof top, where she climbed

When all the laughter grew too loud.

And she bowed and curtsied to the man

Who reached and offered her his hand,

And he led her down to the long white car

That waited past the crowd.

At the age of 37

She knew she'd found forever,

As she rolled along through Paris

With the warm wind in her hair.

I got stoned and I missed dit

I was sitting in my basement I just rolled myself a taste

Of something green and gold and glorious to get me through the day

Then my friend yelled through the transom "Grab your coat and get your hat son

There's a nut down on the corner, givin' dollar bills away"

But I sat around a bit and then I had another hit

And then I rolled myself a bomber thought about my momma

Looked around fooled around played around while and then

I got stoned and I missed it I got stoned and I missed it

I got stoned and it rolled right by…..
I got stoned and I missed it

Now it took seven months of urging just to get that local virgin

With the sweet face up to my place to fool around a bit

Next day she woke up rosy and she snuggled up so cosy

When she asked me how I liked it Lord it hurt me to admit

I was stoned and I missed it

Now I ain't makin' no excuses for the many things I uses

Just to sweeten my relationships and brighten up my day

But when my earthly race is over and I'm ready for the clover

And they ask me how my life has been I guess I'll have to say

I was stoned and I missed it

A Light in the Attic

…..
Last night while I lay thinking here

Some Whatifs crawled inside my ear

And pranced and partied all night long

And sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I’m dumb in school ?

Whatif they’ve closed the swimming-pool ?

…..
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 will break.

So none of the other kids can use 'em....

Amen.

…..


The Voice

There is a voice inside of you

That whispers all day long,

"I feel this is right for me,

I know that this is wrong."

No teacher, preacher, parent, friend

Or wise man can decide

What's right for you--just listen to

The voice that speaks inside.