I have no idea when or why I started writing the sort of silly rhymes you’ll find on this site—as far as I can tell they go back at least to 2010, though I suspect even further than that. Whenever it was, at some point I began posting my “Little Poems” on Facebook, and after a time my friend Claire (who is, in fact, “way out there”) made comparisons to Shel Silverstein in some of her comments to those posts. I knew the name, of course, but I had forgotten why, and it was only recently that I remembered hearing some of his comedic readings on The Dr. Demento Show ages ago. And I had heard of “The Giving Tree,” but had no distinct recollection of having read it. But I figured I should look Shel up, seeing as Claire was quite emphatic about the similarity, so eventually I purchased three of his illustrated books of poetry which I’ve read and enjoyed quite a bit.

            I would never claim to be in the same league as one of the greats (not publicly, anyway), but there are clearly general similarities between my rhymes and at least some of Mr. Silverstein’s—although a close look will reveal distinct differences in feel and subject matter. There are also structural differences—his rhythmic and rhyming schemes are often looser, and many of his poems are quite a bit longer than mine tend to be. This got me thinking that I should loosen up a bit and try some new approaches, for variety’s sake. So, reading Shel Silverstein’s poetry expanded the possibilities for me—built a bigger stage in my mind, as it were.

            But for a brief time—a few days or a week, perhaps—I fell into the trap of trying to do what the other guy is doing. I went beyond the larger, generic lessons learned, and let myself take too-specific cues from Shel’s work—things like subject matter, feel, device, etc.—which inevitably led to uninspired and disingenuous results. You know when you’re committing this artistic sin because it just feels wrong.

            To overstate it a bit, the path back from the brink was indistinct and messy. It was like changing your golf grip or taking the training wheels off your bicycle. Others have helped you build the bigger stage, but you still have to find yourself on it. And that just comes down to effort, like any other part of the creative process. You try something, it doesn’t work. Try something else, it doesn’t feel right. But sooner or later, you’ll hit something that does both—and now you’re on your way to a solution.

            So, what’s the takeaway from my brief literary misadventure? Trust your gut…if it feels wrong, it probably is. I think Shel would agree.