Poetry4kids.com Podcast

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. –Kenn Nesbitt Copyright © 2009 Kenn Nesbitt. All Rights Reserved.

At Hamster Sam's Rodeo, tickets are free, and, oh, the spectactular things that you'll see. We're hamsters with cowboy boots, lassos, and chaps, sombreros and saddles, bandanas and straps. We even have hamsters for rodeo clowns, with red rubber noses and painted-on frowns. We spend our days racing, and roping, and riding, and wrestling, and running, and bucking, and sliding. It's non-stop excitement and guaranteed thrills, with action and laughter and drama and spills. And what's even bett...

Has anyone seen my chameleon this morning? He has to be hiding somewhere. He asked me if we could play hide-and-go-seek, and then disappeared into thin air. I've looked high and low in the yard and the house and it seems like he's nowhere around. He's probably hiding right out in the open but doesn't yet want to be found. I'm guessing he looks like a leaf on a bush or the back of a sofa or chair. He could be disguised as a book or a bagel. Regardless, I don't think it's fair. If you come a...

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 mo...

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 fo...

My parrot doesn't care to fly. Although it sounds absurd, he much prefers to skydive. He's a most peculiar bird. You'll see him leap from airplanes in his zip-up nylon suit, with goggles and a helmet and, of course, a parachute. He plummets toward the earth and nearly breaks the speed of sound, then pulls the ripcord just in time before he hits the ground. He skydives almost every day. It leaves him feeling super. And this is why he doesn't fly: Yep, he's a parrotrooper. –Kenn...

We's pirates in bikinis singing proper pirate songs, while wearing scary pirate hats and teeny-tiny thongs. We prance around the poop-deck in our bathing suits because we plunders much more booty in our itsy-bitsy bras. In fact, when we attacks a ship we needn't lift a sword. We makes our victims laugh so hard they tumbles overboard. And as we takes their treasure we sings proper pirate songs, while wearing scary pirate hats and teeny-tiny thongs. So if you sees us coming, bag your swag without no fuss. We's pirates in bikinis and your loot belongs to us. –Kenn Nesbitt Copyright © 2009 Kenn Nesbitt All Rights Reserved

For my brother, on his birthday, I was generous and kind. As his sister, I was glad to get the best things I could find. I was sure he'd want a tutu and a purple mini-skirt, with some ballerina slippers and a sequin-covered shirt. I expected he'd want lots of dolls. I knew he'd need a bike, so I picked a pink and sparkly one I figured he would like. I selected a tiara like a princess ought to wear, plus a bunch of bows and ribbons and some scrunchies for his hair. I'm aware I'm much too generous with presents but, you see, he deserves it. On my birthday he bought baseball cards for me. –Kenn Nesbitt Copyright © 2009 Kenn Nesbitt All Rights Reserved

I'm learning to play the piano today. Tomorrow I'll learn the guitar. The day after that I'll get good on the drums, so I can become a big star. The next day I'll learn how to sing and to rap, and practice some dancing techniques. And, that way, I'm sure to be famous and rich in no more than one or two weeks. I just told my mother my excellent plan, explaining the millions I'll earn. She told me that, firstly, I'll need to learn patience. So, how long will that take to learn? –Kenn Nesbitt Copyright © 2009 Kenn Nesbitt All Rights Reserved

When Bad Bertie Bartigan strode into town, he held up the bank and his britches fell down. "Dad gum it!" he spluttered. "Gawl durn it! Aw, shoot!" then picked up his britches, but fumbled the loot. He lit out of town in a mad-scramble dash. He still had his pants, but he'd lost all the cash. The stagecoach was passing that moment, by chance. He held up the stagecoach, and down went his pants. "Dag nab it!" he blurted. "Dad blame it! Aw, no!" then hoisted his trousers, but dropped all the dough. He ran for the hills with his britches held high, but Bertie was broke and he wanted to cry. And, as he was running, he spotted the train, so Bertie, who wasn't renowned for his brain, said, "This is a hold up!" His pants hit the deck. "Garsh dang it!" he stammered. "Dog gone it. Aw, heck." He ran away clutching his britches again, straight into the sheriff and all of his men. They busted Bad Bertie and tossed him in jail, to wait for his sentence with no chance of bail. And, there in the hoose...