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 August is GONE.

23 comments on “Adult “W.O.M.” Poems

  1. Gone with Another Wind (for Jeanne)

    I am gone with the wind,
    a little wispy trip.
    Let er rip!

    We are heading north,
    for cooler days,
    visiting Auntie Haze.

    What a snap!
    What a breeze!
    Crossing borders with much ease.

    I spot her house,
    give a hail.
    She answers in a gale.

    Welcomes us
    with a blow.
    A little sleet, a lot of snow.

    I give her hugs,
    a bit of bluster.
    and a mighty duster.

    The weekend is
    a lovely squall.
    We had a ball.

    Then blew home,
    in the new dawn,
    with the wind,


    ©2017 Jane Yolen all rights reserved

  2. dear Jane,
    reminds me of my trips to Maine. I like to go in the snow, when Bar Harbor and Southwest Harbor are least crowded with tourists and the poetry group meets and shares poems, drinks tea from real china, and honors its indian chiefs.

  3. Rose poem
    My little rose flower still wrapped tightly in a bud. Waiting for a blessed shower. To turn the dry dusty earth to soft rich soil.
    Waiting for the flower to burst from its tightly wound cocoon. To bring joy to us all, it will happen soon.
    From its beginning on a stem of thorns to the time the beautiful bloom begins to unfurl. It’s life is so short its beauty wanes, before you know it our rose is gone.

    Cooking for one is not much fun
    There doesn’t seem much point.
    The smallest saucepan’s far too large
    And if I cook a Sunday joint
    It’s still around mid-week.

    The supermarkets seem so vast
    And I’m not catered for.
    Although they have the things I want,
    They’re all in packs of two or more.
    And you’re no longer here.

    Remember when I cooked for us
    And ate by candlelight
    Our favourite pasta recipe
    You always said I cooked just right?
    I never eat that now.

    My dinner’s on my lap these days.
    The television’s on.
    I tune our favourite programme in,
    Then realise once more you’ve gone
    And let the image fade.

    That tear? It’s just the onions.
    You know what onions do.
    It’s force of habit I suppose
    That made me go and chop up two.
    But you’re no longer here.

    © Bryn Strudwick

  5. Sorrow
    By Linda Boyden ©2017

    the sorrow of losing you
    waits in the streets of my heart
    a hungry child, forsaken.

    Other times, it shines,
    a violet in the snow,
    hopeful beyond all reason.

    Mostly, it sleeps,
    my sorrow,
    gone to the dark side of a planet,
    condemned to an eternity in ice.

  6. I think this sums up perfectly how sorrow should be borne. Not to be forgotten, of course, but not to be allowed to get in the way of enjoying your life. Easily said, I know, but my philosophy.

  7. This just happened last night.

    felled in a flash
    snap like twigs

    centenarians once stood
    s t a t e l y
    moments ago . . .

    © Cory Corrado

  8. The tree devastation happened last night. (in Montreal)
    They called it a microburst.

    The poem, this morning.
    Thank you for asking, Jane.

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