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 July is POEM.

50 comments on “Adult “W.O.M.” Poems

  1. POEM (PANTOUM)

    It is the 2nd of July,
    I have a poem in mind,
    Not the usual poem,
    One of a different kind.

    I have a poem in mind,
    It’s in a different form,
    One of a different kind,
    It’s not known as the norm.

    It’s in a different form,
    Can be tricky to write,
    It’s not known as the norm,
    The challenge can excite.

    Can be tricky to write,
    But if you give it a go,
    The challenge can excite,
    The poetic juices that flow.

    Toni Newell 2nd July, 2021.

  2. I Think I Could Be A Poem
    By Linda Boyden©2014 ©2021

    I think I could be a poem.
    Nothing fancy
    no sestina
    no villanelle
    no form to
    slow
    my flow.

    I can
    keep the
    beat
    rock
    the rhyme
    in time
    in style,
    make you
    smile.

    Lick my
    words.
    Take your time
    to savor
    the flavor
    each bite
    holds;
    guaranteed to
    curl your toes.

    Yes, all things
    considered
    I could be a poem.

  3. I’d like to resubmit my sister’s winning poem from 2009. (The W.O.M was thanks)
    YOU’RE WELCOME
    By Liz Korba
    Alone.
    A gift.
    And free
    Set free.
    Perceive.
    Receive.
    Surprise!
    (That’s why.)
    Need met.
    (No debt.)
    How powerful!
    How unlike prose!
    At times
    Alone
    “Thanks”
    Is a poem.

    • Beautiful. “Thanks” for sharing, Marge.

      I didn’t follow this blog back when Liz was posting. I know some of her poems, but not the W.O.M. ones. Much appreciation.

  4. A Question
    By Marge Waldschmidt

    Can a life be a poem?

    A poem can be:

    Inspiring
    Compassionate
    Encouraging

    Strong
    Clever
    Wise

    Emotional
    Melancholy
    Not perfect

    Happy
    Creative
    Playful

    Courageous
    Passionate
    Polite

    Too short

    Can a life be a poem?
    Yes.

  5. In Plain Sight

    In the crannies of a frond
    At the edges of a pond
    They hide in dandelion fireworks,
    In a brand new puppy’s speicall quirks.

    Written in moonless sky
    By a cohort of poet fireflies.
    They’re written in tne new mowed lawn
    That shines with emeralds just past dawn

    In the curl of pancake steam
    A splash of syrup, a taste of dream
    The bacon crackling in the pan
    Cast iron joy, a breakfast plan

    In chipmunk jowls, and bunny tails
    In a western parade of quails
    They hide right there in sight so plain
    If you blink, a new one strains

    Maybe form, maybe free
    Verse from me, verse for you,
    Those poems seeded in the night
    Springing up in morning light.

    ©Linda Trott Dickman 2021

  6. Ever feel the need to talk about a pooch that needed a new home. A little guy we rescued from the shelter so never felt the need, again to roam.
    His first human passed away leaving him I’m sure to wonder what did I do wrong.
    He was put in a shelter, sad and alone. Kept his head down and just followed along.
    My bride saw his face on social media and fell in love. Like the words in a poem. We knew where he belonged.
    He walked right into the house hopped up on the bed, you could tell by the look in his eyes. I’m here love me they said.
    At night he sleeps on the floor by head of my bed. I’m thinking he doesn’t want me to wake up dead.
    Of course by me being older I get up a lot. Buddy will go to the living room and lay on his pillow until I finish my trip to the pot.
    When I lay back down he’s back by the bed making sure all is well in his world.
    Heard a song the other day. I wish dogs live forever. I wonder if buddy thinks I wish humans live forever.
    For now he brings comfort to my bride and I.
    I’m sure dogs have a soul and when we all pass away we will meet again in the sweet by and by.

  7. Throughout the ages, romantic poets have used poetry to woo their lovers. Unfortunately, for every successful romantic poet, there are hundreds of would-be poets, like me, trying the same tactic.

    POEM FOR (FILL IN BLANK)

    I wrote a poem long ago in nineteen sixty-three
    To try to convey to a lady what she meant to me.
    The lady’s name was Susan so I called it “Poem for Sue”
    But alas it didn’t impress her and she moved to pastures new.
    And then, in nineteen sixty-eight, I fell for Mary-Jane.
    I changed the name in the title but suffered rejection again.
    She told me she was flattered that I should write a verse,
    But the rhymes left a lot to be desired and the rhythm was even worse.
    I made a few adjustments and tried a few times more.
    I’d changed the name a dozen times by nineteen eighty-four
    The nineteen-nineties came and went, I was still a bachelor gay
    (No please don’t misinterpret, I didn’t mean it that way)
    Into the new millennium and I tried the older set;
    Even if only to prove to myself there was life in the old dog yet.
    I read the romantic poets to pick up some useful tips,
    But only succeeded in adding to my pile of rejection slips.
    And now, in my retirement home, I’ve met a lady called Rose.
    The poem’s gone into the shredder. I’m wooing her with prose.

  8. On My Mind

    Four o’clock in the morning,
    I have a poem on my mind,
    Not sure what it’s about,
    I’m sort of writing it blind.
    I need to make a start on it,
    Whatever it might be,
    Something that I need to say,
    Is trying to escape from me.
    I need to write it down,
    I’m not sure what it is,
    It’s got me in a spin,
    My mind is in a tiz.
    I want to write something,
    Being silly, that I know,
    But, the urge won’t leave me,
    So where am I to go?
    I’ll keep tapping on,
    I’ll write about nothing,
    Just words coming together,
    Now it’s five in the morning.

    Toni Newell 18th July, 2021.

  9. Inspired by Toni and Linda. (While waiting for ‘the’ poem). Thank you.

    PENNING THE ELUSIVE
    Where is the poem I’m aiming to write
    It’s day twenty one . . . I’m still nowhere
    near done

    Too many fresh starts revisions restarts
    Firefly bits keep blinking in blinking out
    Cannot tell which is which, what is what

    Barely have time to pin a single phrase down
    Wannabe poem’s on the wing
    Gone-poof-in-a-flash

    Clock’s ticking away minutes moments and month
    I beg thee― perch, please settle alight―
    An e f f u s i v e poem
    I will joyfully
    w r i t e !

    Cory Corrado (21/07/21) ©

  10. In my dreaming
    Just near morning
    At the very cusp
    Of sleep
    There are whispers
    There are flutters
    There is sighing
    From the deep

    There is stirring
    In its passage
    Like waves lapping
    On a beach
    Might this restlessness
    This rhythm
    Hold some magic
    In its reach?

    Do these whispers
    signal fervor
    Like a zephyr
    In the gloom?
    Could this cadence
    Be a poem
    Eager for its
    Words to bloom?

    © Karen Eastlund

  11. a Poem called Poem

    What I Have Learned So Far
    Everything and everyone changes.
Adapt.
    Everyone has talents.
Honor them.
    I keep growing up, in and out…
“Til eternity.
    The exercise of choice is human.
Share it.
    Jeanne is her genes.
in technicolor.
    No balancing required when I’m
on my bum.
    Gravity is relative
and just another form of energy.
    There is never objectivity between men and women.
They know each other too well.
    What you pick up,
you will put down in one form or another.
    A poem never ends 
since it seeds in you and sprouts in spring.
    Jeanne Poland

    • Love it, Jeanne. Especially the last line. And the first two. And the “Jeanne is her genes.in technicolor.”

  12. Poetry

    A poem
    captures thoughts,
    placing words
    into lines,
    squeezing words
    into bars,
    for observation.

    Words can play
    in the poem.
    It’s when they dance
    in your head,
    they fly free.
    They become
    Poetry.

    (c) 2021 Susan Bickel

  13. (When I pasted the poem, my formatting didn’t hold. My idea was to put in italic all the words I found along the way.)

    Heading South on the Interstate
    A Found Poem … Looking Out My Window

    I
    Useful Advice:
    Stay Alert
    Do Not Drive Into Smoke
    Stop and Smell the Bacon
    Avoid the Hassle
    Rely On Experience
    Quality Matters
    Training is Essential
    No littering
    Play, Explore, Discover

    Most useless advice in the 95+ heat:
    Bridge
    Ices Before
    Road

    II
    Life:
    One Way

    Keep Right
    Right Lane
    Closed Ahead
    Keep Left
    Left Lane
    Closed Ahead

    Yield … Yield … Yield

    Watch Out

    No U Turn
    No U Turn
    No U Turn

    Detour, Detour, Detour … Alt Route

    Exit Ahead
    Exit Here
    Exit Now

    End
    Road Work

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