Reading Level: Grade 1

Poems suitable for reading by 6-7 year olds.

Christmas Cat

Meet our cat. He’s “Christmas Cat.”
His name, although it’s cute,
is not because he wears a hat
or festive Santa suit.

He doesn’t shout out, “Ho! Ho! Ho!”
He can’t make reindeer fly.
He doesn’t go out in the snow
and soar across the sky.

He doesn’t own a bright red sleigh.
He has no sack of toys
or games to play on Christmas Day
for all the girls and boys.

He never gives out dolls and blocks.
His name is just because
when he’s inside his litter box
his feet have Sandy Claws.

Cats in the Kitchen

Cats in the kitchen asleep in the sink.
Cats in the litterbox making a stink.
Cats in the living room clawing the couch.
Cats in the closet at play in a pouch.
Cats in the bedroom destroying the bedding.
Cats on the table tops rolling and shedding.
Cats in the bathroom inspecting the tub.
Out in the flowerbed under a shrub.
Up on the windowsill grooming their fur.
Stretching and yawning, preparing to purr.
Waiting for someone to open a door.
Climbing a curtain. Exploring a drawer.
Maybe I’m crazy. You may say I’m bats.
Still, you can never have too many cats.

Riding a Rainbow

riding-a-rainbow

I’ll ride on a rainbow
to soar through the sky.
I’ll ride on a kite
as it flies way up high.

I’ll ride on a dragon.
I’ll ride a balloon.
I’ll ride on a rocket
and ride on the moon.

I’ll ride on the wind
and the sun and the stars,
on floating bananas
and flying guitars.

I’ll ride on a cloud
and a unicorn too.
I’ll ride in the seat
of a magical shoe.

But why would I ride
on the sun and the stars?
It’s so much more fun
than just riding in cars.

My Very Long Poem

my-very-long-poem

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Wet Christmas

“Is it snowing outside?”
I expectantly cried.
“What’s that sound? Do you know?
Is that Santa I hear?”

“There is nothing outside,”
mother calmly replied.
“It’s not Santa or snow.
No, it’s only rain, dear.”

Our Teacher Sings the Beatles

our-teacher-sings-the-beatles

Our teacher sings The Beatles.
She must know every song.
We ask her please to stop
but she just sings, “It Won’t Be Long.”

And then she croons like Elvis.
She clearly thinks it’s cool.
And if we beg her not to
she just belts out, “Don’t be Cruel.”

She then does Michael Jackson.
It drives us nearly mad.
We have to cover up our ears
because she’s singing, “Bad.”

She winds up with The Wiggles
or else a Barney song,
and, even worse, she tells us all
that we should sing along.

It’s all my fault she does this.
I feel like such a fool.
I wish I’d never brought
my karaoke box to school.

Broccoli for Breakfast

Broccoli for breakfast.
Broccoli for lunch.
Broccoli that’s tender.
Broccoli with crunch.

Broccoli for dinner.
Broccoli for snacks.
Broccoli in boxes
and baskets and sacks.

Broccoli for weeks and
for months and for years.
It’s up to my eyeballs.
It’s up to my ears!

I used to like broccoli
but now, I’m afraid,
its beauty, at best,
is beginning to fade.

It’s lacking in luster.
It’s lost all its charm.
But that’s how it goes
on a broccoli farm.

My Dog Fred

my-dog-fred

I have a dog.
His name is Fred.
He won’t play fetch.
He won’t play dead.

He won’t shake hands
or sit or stay
or bark or beg
or run and play.

He won’t roll over,
jump or crawl.
In fact, he won’t
do tricks at all.

When people ask
I tell them that’s
because my dog
was raised by cats.

Bubble Wrap, Bubble Wrap

bubble-wrap-bubble-wrap

Bubble wrap, bubble wrap,
pop, pop, pop.
Wrapped around my bottom.
Wrapped around my top.

I’m double-wrapped in bubble wrap
It’s covering my clothes.
It’s wrapped around my fingers.
It’s wrapped around my toes.

I’ve wrapped myself in bubble wrap
exactly as I’d planned.
But now I’m tied so tightly,
I can barely even stand.

I’m having trouble walking.
I can hardly even hop.
I guess I’ll have to roll today.
Pop, pop, pop.

There Was an Old Woman

There was an old woman
who lived in a shoe.
The place was disgusting
and smelled like pee-eww!

The windows were drafty.
The roof was a leaker.
But that’s what you get
when you live in a sneaker.