Adult “W.O.M.” Poems

Each month this blog will feature a word of the month to stimulate a poem. Anyone who wishes to share a poem is invited to participate. The point is to enjoy the challenge of writing a poem inspired by a single word. It doesn’t matter if this is your first poem or five hundredth. It’s all done for the fun and exercise of writing.

Cutoff for posting the current Word of the Month poem is the last day of the month.

On the first day of each month, a new word will be posted to challenge your imagination for that month.

Please post your poems on this page, so everyone can find the poems easily. 

Thank you and have fun!

David

PS: The word for March is WONDER.

79 comments on “Adult “W.O.M.” Poems

  1. Monday Morning

    Then came our weekend
    for two days life we did do
    well together before Monday morning
    wanted more of my Saturday and Sunday with you

    small cafe eggs our way
    what did you say
    window shopping
    taxi cab hopping
    tickets to off broadway show
    marque nights reflecting your face glow

    wonder could this be my time asking to know
    would you stay over Monday
    if I didn’t want you to go

    William Joe Pyles

  2. Wonder Mill

    It grinds them out daily,
    those wonders we barely see
    any more miracles being
    too common for our jaded tastes.
    The red blot of cardinal
    on a winter leaf.
    A Vee or Cee of geese,
    the ones who decided to stay
    through the cold.
    A squirrel on its barrel slide
    across the slate roof
    while the dog goes crazy
    in its alarums.
    A fox in a small apostrophe
    finding it’s early meal.
    Waterfall in full spate
    giving the wintering-over
    otters a constant shower.
    Four female turkeys
    who pick through yesterday’s rubbish,
    ignoring it with Jurassic sneers.
    And I writing a poem
    without pulling up the shade,
    having seen all this many time before,
    waiting only to be surprised
    by an alien spaceship,
    or an angel, in full awful glory
    summonsing me to a heaven
    I left behind eighty years ago.

    ©2020 Jane Yolen all rights reserved

  3. Wonder poem:
    I wonder who’s kissing him now?
    licking his wounds?
    cutting his toenails?
    calluses?
    sweeping his crumbs?
    trimming his beard?
    manicures?
    buying his socks?
    laughing at his jokes?
    stocking his pantry?
    paying Verizon?
    buying the gas?
    trusting him each day?
    understanding?

    I wonder.

    Jeanne Poland
    all rights

  4. To Be

    A flower knows nothing of its beauty and appeal,
    It lives in the soil, it grows and blooms.
    A flower knows nothing of fear and death,
    Til we rip it out of the soil it calls home.
    We are drawn by its beauty,
    we give it to show love,
    while we introduce it to its death.
    But a flower, far from home,
    it knows nothing but to be.

    A parrot know nothing of its wisdom & bilingual,
    It hatches from its shell, it grows, it flies.
    A parrot knows nothing of cages & boxes,
    Til we catch it from the nature that is home.
    We say it is a companion,
    We teach it our language,
    We introduce it to its entrapment.
    But a parrot, locked in a cage,
    it knows nothing but to be.

    A child knows nothing of hate & bitterness,
    Born innocent, that is all it knows.
    A child is only filled with goodness & wonder,
    Who will I be, what will I see, I wonder.
    A child sees no colour, a child hates no gender.
    Much like a flower, the child is beauty personified.
    And just like a parrot, they listen, they learn, they mimic.
    Slowly we mold them into versions of ourselves,
    We introduce them to hatred and sadness,
    And a child, its wonder burned out,
    knows nothing but to obey.

  5. Parenting
    By Linda Boyden©2020

    Children are born
    in beauty, in pain,
    awakening to our
    strange new world.

    Time ticks by
    and so they learn
    strength and fear
    freedom and limits:

    “You may throw a ball,
    but never a rock.”

    “You may color on paper
    but never the walls.”

    “Keep your promise
    if you give your word.”

    “Stand your ground
    if your cause is just.”

    Trial.
    Error.
    Fail.
    Grow.

    Day by day our children step
    away from us into independence.

    Day by day parents endeavor
    to maintain a child’s wonder
    while brewing up an adult.

  6. Wonder poem
    I wonder about those three little words that are so often said.
    I wonder if the one saying them knows what lies ahead.
    I wonder about the passion and thoughts wandering in their hearts.
    From the time the words are uttered and the feelings at once starts.
    Three little words that mean so much especially to the one that knows they are meant for them.
    A very fine line between love and hate. Three little words the joy or the pain is not hard to rate.
    I love you.
    I hate you.
    Each sentence with such different endings.
    Or in a different light just the beginnings.

  7. I Wonder

    I wonder how much influence we bear.
    We seek control but it’s a subtle dance.
    I wonder how much us and how much chance,
    How much responsibility we share.

    I wonder why the songs play in my head
    And fascinating images in dreams.
    Where do they come from? Somewhere deep it seems,
    And from some inner soul they’re fueled and fed.

    Such mysteries I think we’ll never know.
    We cannot catch the wind, but feel it blow.

    (c) 2020 Susan Bickel

  8. How to Swallow an Elephant

    Slowly woo her into a friendship.
    Introduce her to your family.
    Let her spend time with your children.
    Enjoy the special things she does for them.
    Wonder why she does not have her own.

    Believe she is your friend., but know she is more like a ministry.
    Watch her treat your children like they are her own.
    Wonder if she really likes you for who you are, or
    If she is after your children.
    Deal with her husband calling to find out why you did not inform her that you were going to spend time with your children.

    Wonder why she did not call herself.
    Die a little inside when she tells you things about your children that you did not know.
    Notice the glint in her eye.
    Sneak visits in with your children while they visit and hope she doesn’t see.
    Take her out for lovely lunches, quick snacks, a New Year’s drink.
    Give up on her.

    Watch her actually show up on time.
    Marvel when she doesn’t call to say she’ll be a little late.
    Sit, slack jawed as she presents you with a beautiful, original rendering of your recently deceased pet.
    Pray harder as the elephant is stuck in your throat.

    • Linda T D
      This poem brings many different emotions. Happy for a friend, wonder if she is stalking your family, joy of a wonderful gift. Thanks for sharing.

    • Lindas–there’s a picture book here, though either it is the grandmother telling the child when they are at a zoo, and leave out the more adult references, or a child introducing an elephant to her grandmother and mother at a tea party, the elephant may begin as a stuffed toy and end as an actual elepehant or the other way around,
      Go for it!
      –JaneY

      • Jane, Thank you for your observations. You have long been a mentor.
        Wow. I guess all those years as a librarian are paying off in poetry! Speaking of which, I found a book about kites that your dad wrote. What a wonderful legacy.

      • Linda–if it is A YOUNG SPORTSMAN’S GUIDE TO KITE FLYING–I am the one who actually wrote it. You will see my name tucked in after chapter 2, but I wrote the entire book using (mostly) my father’s large reference library in kites but a bunch of research I did at the NY PL as well. If it is his coffee table book about , kites, someone else actually wrote that one for him or with him. My husband took the author shot on that one.

  9. For the second month running, my first attempt to post a poem has failed. Apologies if this appears twice.
    SHE WONDERS

    She had often wondered what had become of him;
    That little bundle they had told her was a boy,
    That could have brought her so much joy.
    They let her hold him for a few brief moments.
    Better, they’d said not to form a bond;
    Better nor to get too fond.
    He’ll be well looked after, don’t you fear.
    Then left her on her own again,
    Awash with milk, awash with pain.

    He’d been the consequence of love,
    When, just one time, in Jimmy’s car,
    They’d let things go a step too far.
    He’d never known of his paternity.
    If he had they would have wed.
    But two weeks later he was dead.
    They said that no-one was to blame.
    A lorry jack-knifed in the snow
    And Jimmy had nowhere to go

    Her parents, pillars of the local church,
    Should have shown more understanding,
    But thought more of their local standing.
    For, back then, such a thing brought shame.
    And upright people would disparage
    Pregnancy outside of marriage.
    And so they sent her to a distant aunt,
    Who kept her safely out of sight,
    Until the heartbreak of that night.

    She never found a new romance.
    She has her photograph of Jim,
    And no-one measures up to him.
    And still she daydreams of their son.
    Does he have a happy life?
    Does he have a lovely wife?
    Is he wealthy, is he famous,
    Or just a simple family man?
    Could she, maybe, be a gran?

    Last week there was a letter on the mat.
    A hand she didn’t recognise.
    She read, half-blind from teardrops in her eyes,
    “I hope this won’t come as a shock.”
    And now he’s standing at the door.
    Her little bundle, six feet four.

    Bryn Strudwick

    • Bryn, I’m weeping. I think I would have anyway, but I am the child of one of those. I, too, would be standing at her door. I have always wondered so much. I spent an entire and very emotional summer in NY trying to locate any clue to my biology. Instead I was fed the same lines that my Mom who raised me had noted upon the final adoption paperwork. It is so wonderful to read the other side of the story; the part I hope is true for me.

      • Janine, I really feel for you. I do hope you will find what you need to know one day.
        I feel so lucky not to have been in that situation myself.

  10. March 2020 Word of the Month
    WONDER
    My Book
    Janet Kay Gallagher

    GRANDMOTHER’S GHOST
    My book was written in 30 days
    In January 2012
    It took years to get it published

    I worked on it off and on
    Trying to get it just right
    When it went to the editor
    I had Eva, Erica, and Elizabeth

    Changed to Eva, Sarah, and Katherine
    I wonder how I could have worked
    Years and never noticed the three E’s
    Edit meant many changes

    Proof copy arrived more changes
    Second proof copy more changes
    On Amazon Kindle Pre-order
    Launch date 22 March 2020

    I want NY Times #1 Bestselling Author
    Also USA TODAY #1 Best Seller
    I want readers to love my book
    And leave great reviews

    I wonder if I will find a literary agent?
    I wonder how long it will take to finish
    The three other books that are about
    Half written, I wonder, oh I wonder

  11. Grown-Ups

    Grown-ups are a wacky lot
    They say things that
    I know are not

    When I ask “why?”
    They say “because”
    (silliest answer
    that ever was)

    sometimes I wonder
    what they know…
    and if I they’re faking?
    Holy Crow!!!

    © Karen Eastlund

  12. A grown-up wonder
    Janine Clark-Barry

    It is not a wonder I am the grown-up I am
    For my childhood molded me
    to always and forever
    wonder.

    Not only did I wonder but I also asked the whys.
    Why is the grass green, the sky blue,
    and what IS
    thunder?

    When my own three children came to be
    my learning curve increased,
    turning my dated thoughts
    asunder.

    Raised by conservative progressives
    and ruled by love alone,
    I feed my liberal
    hunger.

    • We can learn the answers to some of our “whys,” yet there are some things we’ll never know. Interesting to follow your own path of seeking answers, Janine.

  13. Seeking to sprinkle some solace, hope, and wonder into our day . . .

    Wonder-Full Things

    Cottontail springs out of the shrubs
    Red robin returns to the bath
    A skein of geese honks ‘hi’
    Are those teeny green buds I spy?

    Our lungs fill with song
    Our full hearts sing along
    To wondrous new things
    We joy-full-y
    spring!

    Cory Corrado ©

  14. Subservient Wonder

    Vida, our miniature dachshund was aged
    Tessa a boisterous pup
    By her docked tail
    possibly part Rottweiler
    part grown, but solid
    a concrete wall

    But she knew at once
    that her size, weight, strength
    were irrelevant
    It’s years that count
    – knowledge, experience

    We laughed at the wonder
    of Tess trying desperately
    to get her neck head and ears
    down lower than Vida’s.

    I bow to you!
    You’re the boss
    Look! Look! I am subservient!

    Virginia Lowe © 2020
    I don’t know how to make the last stanza itics – sorry.

  15. I Wonder
    Patricia Cruzan

    I wonder how long it’ll be
    before things return to normal
    with the self-quarantine in place.

    By not going out, the world
    doesn’t spread germs, but people
    must get food for a living.

    Some deeds appear on sites,
    helping us think of others
    but too often, aid’s not done.

    To keep one’s home going,
    humans need cleanliness, food,
    and energy just to exist.

    Sometimes, there’s not enough time
    or vigor to accomplish tasks
    for the daily needs around us.

    People can’t do all things,
    but giving of oneself to another
    means not completing a task.

    Assistance may save a life,
    whether it’s money or a job
    for others to feel optimistic.

    Giving hope to others takes time
    but if people would do one chore
    for others, kindness would increase.

    • I think we all share your wonder of when this crisis will pass, Patricia. Your last stanza is always true, but now more than ever. Thank you.

  16. Home

    Held high
    In the branches,
    A woven wonder
    Of twigs, grass, mud;
    Large enough
    To shelter eggs,
    Shield hatchlings
    Launch chicks.
    Home.

    Jane Heitman Healy c2020

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