Happy Birthday! Shel Silverstein

I was 29 when I first met Shel Silverstein—
Well, his book met me, while I read to my niece.

A Light in the Attic, that flicked on my soul—
His poems, like laughter, patched up a hole.

I cried. I laughed. I felt quite absurd,
Like I’d missed a whole world, made of rhythm and word.

He had just passed that May, but it felt like fate—
That Shel’s crooked drawings knocked at my gate.

So here's a gift, for those looking afar...
Let Shel himself tell you about his stars.

Hello! Hello! Come closer, dear friend,
I’ll tell you a tale where the heavens bend.

See that chart? That circley thing?
That’s where my birth stars dance and sing.

I popped on the planet in ol' Chi-town,
September the 25th when the leaves fell down.

At twelve twenty-four, give or take a sneeze,
Under a Saggy-tarius rising breeze.

(That’s the Archer! The Clown! With a wanderin’ knee—
And a suitcase full of mischief and poetry!)

My Sun's in Libra, the balancing beam,
With a head full of riddles and a pocket of dream.

I liked things fair, I liked them right,
But I’d scribble weird things in the dark of night.

I wore a smile, but squared my Sun
With Saturn in Cap, which wasn’t much fun.

That ol' Saturn, he's the serious chap—
He slapped my jokes with a discipline slap.

But that’s how the children’s books came to be,
I wrote ‘em with whimsy, and structure, you see.

The funnies I spun, the giggles I grew—
Had a backbone of rules (but I broke a few).

My Moon in Scorpio, oh heavens to tell—
That Moon was moody, and secret as shell.

She dove in the deep, where the dark ideas dwell,
And sang with Venus, the love bombshell.

Both in Scorpio, kissing in ink,
They made me write stuff that made some folks blink.

Some poems for kids, some... not for their eyes—
Some pages with punchlines, some grown-up surprise.

I loved with a fire, I hurt with a grin,
But I put it in verses with shadows and spin.

Don’t judge me too harsh, for the corners I peeked—
The heart is a jungle, and mine always leaked.

Now here’s a pot that boils and pops:
Mars, Jupiter, Pluto all hugging non-stop.

In Cancer, no less! That watery sign—
Where feelings are soup, and family’s the spine.

Mars gave me hustle, Jupiter gave show,
Pluto dug tunnels where the weird things grow.

I cartooned for the army (Stars and Stripes, hooray!)
And flirted with shadows in a Saturday way.

But wouldn’t you know—those three squared Uranus,
The rebel, the shocker, the zap-you-in-Arse.

That’s why my lines zigzagged off beat,
Why my sidewalk ends on a one-legged street.

My Mercury sat in Virgo's class,
A grammar nerd with a shiny glass.

He dotted the i’s, crossed every t,
But let my rhymes run wild and free.

That’s why my nonsense was always neat,
And my limericks landed on two left feet.

He helped me find the perfect phrase,
To build a trapdoor in your brainy maze.

Let’s not forget Uranus, wild-eyed lad,
In Aries, no less—oh boy, he was mad.

He zapped my brain with rebellious juice,
Made me draw elephants tight in a noose.

You ever seen a sidewalk grow a tongue?
Or a walrus sing with a human lung?

Blame Uranus. He bent the rules,
He dunked my muse in nonsense pools.

Old Neptune in Virgo, neat as a nun,
Dreamed in decimals and labeled the fun.

He made sure the dreams had structure and order—
That the boat I drew wouldn’t fall off the border.

It means I was crooked, but gloriously so—
Like a ladder to nowhere or a backwards rainbow.

I had rules in my bones and rebellion in toes,
And I wrote for the ones who still pick their nose.

So if you’ve a chart, take a peek, have a look—
Your soul’s scribbled up like a storybook.

And if your Moon howls or your Mercury barks,
You just might be meant to leave curious marks.

And me? I’m up here, still writing in chalk,
On Saturn’s sidewalks and Uranus’s rock.

I’ll save you a spot in my library of stars—
We’ll rhyme with the planets and doodle on Mars.

"Draw a crazy picture,
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-gumble song,
Whistle through your comb..."

— Shel (probably waving from the Moon)