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!


PS: The word for February is PAINT.

49 comments on “Adult “W.O.M.” Poems

  1. Children paint the sun
    peeking in the upper corner
    rays resplendent
    “make your day”!

    Houses have a chimney
    since warmth is

    Brushes tip-!toe
    paper curls
    color double-dutch-es
    ‘cross the page!

    Finger paints
    go in the mouth
    slide o’er tongue
    to tummy!

    A Feast of Paint to you and you!

  2. Autumn’s Paintbox

    Crimson, brown, russet, gold –
    Autumn colors are so bold!

    Amber, red, yellow, bronze –
    Paint the leaves and fans and fronds.

    Tawny, flaxen, scarlet, brown –
    Colors floating, spinning down.

    Saffron, bronze, hazel, red –
    Winter’s lurking just ahead.

  3. Color the World
    © By Mary Nida Smith

    Paint your world
    In favorite colors,
    Sunshine yellow,
    Sky blue, jungle green,
    Crayon colors of jell-O.

    Don’t stop there
    Need a new look
    Gather a brush
    Paint your friend
    Superhero in a rush

    The world’s canvas
    Is yours to paint
    Create scenic places
    Brighten dark corners
    Reflect happy faces.

  4. This is a poem I wrote and posted to my blog last March. I’m recycling it here:

    by Donna Earnhardt

    Let’s paint the world outside the lines
    deep hues of joy and peace —
    Compassionate tones, to break down walls…
    and prayers for wars to cease.

    Let’s paint the world outside the lines
    let mercy flood this place.
    Coat her in faith, lather in hope,
    bathed in His scandalous grace.

    Let’s love our neighbor as ourselves
    As God’s command designs —
    Let’s make this world a better place…
    And paint outside the lines .

  5. SacRed Doors

    Pass through the ancient
    Red church door.
    You enter holy ground.

    The house we moved to
    Set among the Amish
    Has a red front door.

    And the door of our college son’s
    Inner city place
    Shared with four –
    That door
    Is painted

    I think of a line
    By Wendell Berry,
    “There are no unsacred places.”

    Do not go out
    And paint the town red.
    Paint the door red
    And enter.

    By Susan Bickel

  6. I haven’t written my “paint” poem yet, but I thought I’d share a rhyme my mother used to say as she put on her Revlon “Oh! So Red” lipstick: “A little bit of powder, A little bit of paint, makes a gal look like what she really ain’t.”

  7. Here’s my poem for this month.

    Let’s Paint!
    ©Beverly Ann McCall

    Happiness overflows upon hearing the call of “let’s paint!”
    Endless possibilities flow with no restraint.

    What medium will this artist employ for this delightful mission?
    Will I apply paint or some other medium for this composition?

    Pastel watercolors to cast a soft tone are a definite option.
    Acrylic oils for a bold and brass look is another notion.

    Impasto techniques like Impressionist Van Goghs’s Starry Night may be an alternative.
    Neo-dada style of Barbara Rose would be superlative.

    Tempura for finger painting is reminiscent of kindergarten days.

    Oh! So many different options spin me into a daze.
    Alas! The decision is clear its PAINT to capture your gaze.

    Happiness overflows upon hearing the call to “Let’s Paint!”
    Endless possibilities exist with no restraint.

  8. Nature’s Valentine

    Jack Frost, artist, chose a brush
    And dipped the tip in white.
    He slipped from window pane to pane
    And painted through the night.
    Each piece of glass has now become
    A lacy filigree—
    A Valentine from painter Jack
    To wintry you and me.

  9. Thoughts From an Old Rocking Chair
    By Linda Boyden ©2017

    My wood is scuffed from tender nights
    of rocking babies back to slumber,
    while in the distance the howls of wolves
    paint the air with full moon lullabies.

    My padded cushions are flattened now,
    the fabric faded, worn in places
    from tiny shoes scrambling
    to fall into a good book.

    My scratched runners speak of winters
    when cloud gazers dragged me
    near a window to dream a story into life;
    or of long summers, rocking to the rhythm
    of sisters and cousins, giggles and secrets.

  10. Springtime in the Rockies isn’t as romantic as it sounds, or at least, not the early spring before anything blooms. This haiku came to mind as I was raking…
    Battered snow retreats,
    revealing garden and mud,
    “painted” by doggies.

  11. Poem 2/17
    Why when I’m sad do I cry.
    Why when I’m down do I sigh.
    Why when I cry and sigh and I wish to be happy, and not understand when I can’t be.
    I wish everyone could be happy all the time but then you wouldn’t know the difference between happy and sad.
    I’m glad I know the difference and I get the point more happy less sad makes my place on this old earth a better joint.

    • There’s days you just don’t get the point.
      O. To. A. Makes a difference in what you use
      To mark the world we live in.
      If I use my finger to point or paint it’s the gesture I feel that’s important. Love of life, love of family, love of God, some pictures you just can’t paint. Scenes of the past. Hope for the future. In your mind you hope and pray the always last. Fall foliage, fresh snow, ice glistening on bare tree limbs you point and to yourself you say how could an artist even paint that much beauty. Close your eyes imagine all the colors. Dip your brush say a little prayer you’ll be amazed at how fast time flies. From kindergarten to retirement beauty will last. Colors so many from your lifetime palette cries to be put to canvas. But mostly they stay in your heart where they forever last.

      • Don: I think you are right, the heart holds our most valuable treasures, and always looks for beauty. I also say to myself: how could an artist even paint that much beauty? Thanks for this …

  12. I am trying a new form here… a dizain. Ten lines, ten syllables each. Etc. This poem grew from a time when I chaperoned a youth group. We were sent to help a woman who asked to have her house painted.

    Yellow Paint

    She must have been ninety, living alone,
    Her weathered old farmhouse in need of repair.
    “This is my garden, my pride,” her eyes shone.
    Fresh food for table, her toil en pleine air
    Brought her joy, while the house fell to despair.
    Siding gone soggy, soft as bread pudding,
    Youth team had only some brushes and paint.
    Nought but to paint it, cover the rotting.
    Bright yellow we brushed on, heard no complaint.
    Paint drying, she thanked us, smile of a saint.

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