Reading Level: Grade 1

Poems suitable for reading by 6-7 year olds.

Hello, My Name is Madison

Hello, my name is Madison.
I live on Lincoln Street.
I’m in the state of Washington.
I think that’s pretty neat.

My middle name is Kennedy.
My last name is Monroe.
My name has got more Presidents
than anyone I know.

My father’s name is Harrison.
My brother’s name is Grant.
My mother’s name is Reagan,
and Taylor is my aunt.

I go to Eisenhower School.
My family drives a Ford.
That’s way too many Presidents
to ever be ignored.

It can’t just be coincidence.
It’s not some chance event.
When I grow up, it’s obvious…
I’ll be the President!

I Tried to Take a Selfie

I tried to take a selfie
when I was all alone.
I never should have done it.
It broke my mobile phone.

I guess I’m not so pretty.
I thought that I was cuter.
I snapped one with my laptop
and busted the computer.

I cracked my father’s camera.
My mother’s iPad too.
This shouldn’t be so difficult.
I don’t know what to do.

At last I got a selfie;
perhaps the worst one yet.
I posted it online today.
It broke the Internet.

Not-So Fast Food

Burgers, pizzas, chicken wings.
Tacos, French fries, onion rings.
Ice cream, donuts, cookies, cakes.
Soda, chips, and chocolate shakes.
These are things I like to munch,
breakfast, dinner, snack and lunch.

Every meal I eat includes
more, and more, and more fast foods.
Yet with every meal I eat
I grow slower on my feet.
This is why I want to know
why does fast food make me slow?

This Winter I Went Sledding

This winter I went sledding.
I crashed into a tree.
I ran into another one
while learning how to ski.

I slipped upon the sidewalk;
I didn’t see the ice.
A snowball hit me in the face.
(My sister’s not too nice.)

My snowman toppled over.
It landed on my head.
My tongue got frozen to a pole.
I pulled it off. It bled.

I froze my toes and fingers.
They hurt so much I cried.
So, yes, the snow is pretty,
but I think I’ll stay inside.

Autumn Is the Time of Year


Autumn is the time of year
when changes start to happen here.
The days grow short. It’s cold outside.
The birds fly south. The squirrels hide.
The leaves fall off of all the trees.
The garden pond begins to freeze.
Another summer’s left behind.
It’s winter soon, but I don’t mind.
For autumn is the time when I
begin to dream of pumpkin pie.

I Bought a Balloon


I bought a balloon that weighs more than a pound.
I can’t make it float. It just drags on the ground.
I drag it behind me wherever I go.
It wasn’t the smartest decision. I know.
So that’s why I’m thinking, the next time around,
I’ll only buy one that weighs less than a pound.

I’m Not Picky


I’m not picky.
I’m not rude.
Why, I’ll eat any
kind of food.
Except for foods
called “beets” or “greens.”
Or “beef.” Or “beans.”
Or “tangerines.”

I won’t eat foods
called “fish fillets.”
Or “pies.” Or “fries.”
Or “mayonnaise.”
Or “grapes.” Or “crepes.”
Or “chicken wings.”
Or “clams.” Or “hams.”
Or “onion rings.”

Or anything
called “baked” or “stewed.”
Or “boiled” or “broiled.”
Or “barbecued.”
Or “dried” or “fried.”
Or “smoked” or “steamed.”
Or “roasted,” “toasted,”
“mashed,” or “creamed.”

No, I’m not picky.
I’m not rude.
Why, I’ll eat any
kind of food,
and ask for more
and then say, “Please.”
As long as it’s called
“mac and cheese.”

Pitta Patta, Pitta Patta


Pitta patta,
Pitta patta.
Boom. Boom. Boom.

Wiggle waggle,
Wiggle waggle.
Vroom. Vroom. Vroom.

Wicka wicka,
Wucka wucka.
Bang. Bang. Bang.

Chicka chicka.
Chucka chucka.
Clang. Clang. Clang.

Ratta tatta.
Ratta tatta.
Bam. Bam. Bam.

Fudda ludda,
Fudda ludda.
Wham. Wham. Wham.

Every day and
Every night it’s
Noise. Noise. Noise.

That’s the way my
Baby brother
Plays with toys.

I Love to Do the Laundry


I love to do the laundry.
I mean it. I don’t mind
because I get to keep
whatever money I might find.

I know it sounds ridiculous.
I’m sure it must seem strange.
But every time I wash the clothes
I find some pocket change.

I found a dollar yesterday.
Today I found a ten.
I’m certain that tomorrow
I’ll find money once again.

You see, I have a strategy.
(I guess that’s what you call it.)
And sometimes I just accidentally
wash my father’s wallet.

Waiter, There’s a Dog in My Soup


There’s a doggy in my soup dish.
There’s a canine in my cup.
The waiter brought a bowl out
and I found this grubby pup.

His fur is simply sopping.
He’s wet from head to toes.
He’s got some peas upon his paws
and noodles on his nose.

He doesn’t look too happy.
His eyes are filled with tears.
Or maybe that’s just chicken soup
that’s dripping from his ears.

I’m sure I asked for noodles.
I got this dog instead.
I wonder how this happened.
Was it something that I said?

I guess I must have mumbled.
I’m such a nincompoop!
It seems the waiter heard me ask for
Chicken Poodle Soup.