Reading Level: Grade 5

Poems suitable for reading by 10-11 year olds.

When Pigs Fly

I’ve heard it said that pigs will fly
and someday soon they’ll rule the sky.
That may sound strange but, if it’s right,
I don’t suppose they’ll fly a kite.
I’ll bet, instead, they’ll have to train
so they can learn to fly a plane,
or join the Navy where they’ll get
to learn to fly a fighter jet.

Or maybe they’ll grow piggy wings,
or put on shoes with giant springs,
or fly in huge hot-air balloons,
or seaplanes with those big pontoons,
or biplanes like a flying ace,
or shuttles into outer space,
or rocket ships for trips to Mars,
or flying saucers to the stars.

However pigs decide to fly,
as long as they are way up high
and busy buzzing all around
instead of grunting on the ground,
I think it’s safe to say I’ll love
to see them soaring up above.
I’m sure I won’t be shocked or shaken.
Still, I’ll prob’ly miss the bacon.

Frog Ball

In summertime, and through the fall,
whenever frogs are playing ball,
it’s normally a boring show,
for frogs do not know how to throw,
or bat, or steal, or slide, or run,
which means their games are never fun.

Instead, they simply sit around
the outfield and the pitcher’s mound
and hope that someone hits the ball
and sends it sailing toward the wall,
for this should come as no surprise:
They’re always good at catching flies.

Don’t Ever Ask a Centipede

Don’t ever ask a centipede
to play a game of soccer.
Remember, he has 50 pairs
of sneakers in his locker.

He dribbles 50 soccer balls
with 50 pairs of shoes,
and kicks them all concurrently.
He doesn’t often lose.

He’s such a fierce competitor
that, if you ever meet,
at first you’ll see his hundred legs
and then you’ll see defeat.

The Weasel and the Whale

Have you ever heard the story of the weasel and the whale?
Well, I’ll tell you, as it truly is an entertaining tale.
Let me introduce you, firstly, to the weasel, who, we note,
had a lifelong dream to waterski, but didn’t own a boat.

No, he didn’t have a speedboat or a rowboat or a raft.
Not a kayak or container ship or any kind of craft.
Not a steamship or a sailboat or a dinghy or a yacht.
Well, I think I’ve made my point, so I’ll continue with the plot.

He was walking down the beach one morning, sad to be on land,
when he came upon a whining whale that whimpered on the sand.
She was glad to see the weasel and she blubbered, “Help. I’m stuck.”
Then the weasel, in his kindness, answered, “Let me get my truck.”

So the weasel hustled home and got his Chevy 4X4,
and he backed it from the driveway and he drove it to the shore
where he gave the whale a gentle nudge and pushed her in the sea.
“Thank you!, thank you!” cried the whale, for she was happy to be free.

Then she told him, “Mr. Weasel, that was generous of you.
To repay you for your kindness, is there something I can do?”
It was then the weasel realized that maybe this could be
the solution to the problem of his dream to waterski.

So he told the whale his troubles, and explained about his dream,
and described how she could help him; how the two could be a team.
She was awfully glad to help him, and she instantly agreed,
so he got a pair of skis (because it’s all he thought he’d need).

Then he brought them to the shoreline where he walked up to the whale,
and he stuck them on his feet and quickly grabbed her massive tail.
When the weasel hollared, “Go!” she gave it everything she’d got,
and she flipped her mighty tail and promptly took off like a shot.

But the weasel, sad to say, went flying wildly through the air.
and it may be that he landed, but I couldn’t tell you where.
Though it’s rumored that he made it, his demise is widely feared,
and the only thing that’s certain is he never reappeared.

And he may be skiing somewhere, or it could be that he’s dead;
just that no one knows for certain is the best that can be said.
So the moral of the story of the weasel and the whale
is don’t ever, ever, ever touch a whale upon her tail.

The Dancing Baboon of Djibouti

The Dancing Baboon of Djibouti
is known for his breakdancing skills.
He flips on his hips and his booty
from Boston to Beverly Hills.

He’ll bounce from his back to his belly.
He’ll hop on his hands and his chin.
He’ll scissor from Dublin to Delhi,
then drop to his shoulders and spin.

He’ll windmill from here to Helsinki.
He’ll rocket from Reno to Rome,
then pike on the point of his pinky
and pretzel hop into your home.

But if the Baboon of Djibouti
starts dancing inside your abode,
to run for your life is your duty,
for things are about to explode.

He’ll smash all your glasses and vases.
He’ll trash all your tables and chairs.
He’ll pull all your books from their cases,
then throw your TV down the stairs.

He’ll shatter your platters and pictures.
He’ll crash through the windows and walls.
He’ll fracture your bathtubs and fixtures.
He’ll rip up the rugs in the halls.

It may be his footwork is funky,
but dancing just isn’t enough,
for though he’s a breakdancing monkey,
he’s happier breaking your stuff.

If You Give a Mouse a Motorcycle

If you give a mouse a motorcycle,
don’t be too surprised
if he starts behaving strangely
once he knows he’s motorized.

He may act a bit bizarrely.
He may dress a little weird.
He might buy a leather jacket
and then grow a honkin’ beard.

When he straps a helmet on his head
and boots upon his feet,
then you’ll see him pop a wheelie
and go racing down the street.

Pretty soon he’ll find he’s fond
of doing motorcycle tricks.
He’ll be jumping over cars and trucks
and buses just for kicks.

He’ll start working at the circus
where he’ll take away your breath
as he rides with other rodents
in the flaming cage of death.

When he accidentally crashes
he’ll have no more fun and games;
just the screech of twisting metal
as his bike explodes in flames.

And without his motorcycle
he’ll be fired from his job.
He’ll become depressed and lonely
and a sad and smelly slob.

And the only way to save him
from this misery and pain
is to buy another motorbike
so he can start again.

So remember this advice:
Don’t even trust him with your keys.
If you need to give a mouse a gift,
it’s best to stick with cheese.

If You Happen to Hop

If you happen to hop on a boa constrictor,
you’ll find it’s a fabulous ride,
just as long as you’re strong and can hop on the top,
for it’s never as fun from inside.

Katy Ate a Crate of Dates

Katy ate a crate of eighty
“rated Grade A” dates.
(Grade A dates are rated “Grade A”
mainly for their weights.)

Eighty dates made plates and plates
and Katy ate all eighty.
Katy met her fate that date,
and now the crate holds Katy.

Bigfoot’s Shoe Emporium

At Bigfoot’s Shoe Emporium
you’ll find a dozen aisles
of shoes and boots and slippers too,
in all the latest styles.

At Bigfoot’s you can try on
nearly any kind of shoe.
They’ve shoes with springs and blinking lights,
and fancy air pumps too.

The prices are fantastic.
You’ll find all the greatest deals
on running shoes and penny loafers,
moccasins and heels.

They even offer friendly help
without an added charge,
and all their shoes are comfy
extra, extra, extra large.

My Nostril Smells Awesome

My nostril smells awesome inside of my nose,
a bit like the bloom of a newly-picked rose.
It started this morning–I couldn’t say why–
and all day it’s smelled like banana cream pie.

It has the aroma of freshly-baked bread
with hot melted butter and blackberry spread,
and maybe the breeze of a warm afternoon,
that follows a thunderstorm early in June.

It smells like a pine forest, right by a lake,
and chocolate chip cookies my mom likes to bake,
like kettle corn pop-popping over a fire,
and laundry, the moment it’s out of the dryer.

My nostril smells awesome, so I have a plan
to sit and enjoy it as long as I can.
Don’t ask how it happened; I really can’t say.
Perhaps it’s my finger that’s smelling this way.