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 September is REMEMBER.

81 comments on “Adult “W.O.M.” Poems

  1. Sparkle

    Totaling up first sum
    remembering certain someone
    youth answering shy lovers call
    learned of life’s best lesson above all
    know any sparkle ever was in your eye
    can stay with you till day you die

    William Joe Pyles

  2. Re-Member

    Once again I am a member
    of those who celebrate September,
    where trees are stark with fall dismember,
    and leaves that each look like like an ember,
    where monthsgo by, before November,
    plus even farther–cold December
    I remember, oh–I remember.

    Jane Yolen

    ©2020 Jane Yolen all rights reserved (if not deserved!)

  3. MEMORIES

    Blurry…
    I remember grandma’s orange juice
    but not what her home looked like,
    the kids I played with,
    the school I went to.

    Foggy…
    I remember we lived near the sea,
    I went to school. The kids were mean.
    I don’t know why they were cruel,
    what they looked like
    or their names.

    Misty…
    My past lies hidden,
    lost in fog
    of forgotten tongue.
    I know a few phrases:
    Shalom, toda raba,
    counting numbers…
    But time has gone,
    hiding memories
    I don’t remember.

  4. September first, Mom
    recalls German invasion.
    Never forget.

    One red leaf on green
    reminds me fall is on its way.
    Bright white, death angel
    mushroom cautions that this life
    is tenuous, transient.

    Mosquito stings, and
    I remember it is still
    Summer.

  5. authoryvonafast
    Where was your Mom living during the German invasion? Glad she survived to remember. I like your thoughts of fall, and then not letting go of summer.

  6. Finding Home
    By Linda Boyden ©2015, 2020

    If you have a true heart,
    you know how to listen.
    You understand the
    negative space of silence;
    how words linger
    in our hearts;
    how stories dwell
    within our ears.

    If you have a true heart,
    you are a friend for life;
    one who will listen or
    smack you upside the head
    when necessary.

    If you have a true heart,
    you catch the unspoken need
    behind the words
    and will be there
    with him
    beside her
    hold a hand
    jump a dead battery
    let supper grow cold
    pace lonely hospital halls
    because you know,
    you remember
    what the elders taught you:

    Friends cross distances
    to help each other find home.

  7. Remembering through the Years
    Patricia Cruzan

    Elementary days seemed to pass by slowly,
    and high school periods used to crawl by too.
    In my twenties, I often was quite lonely,
    but music supplied a particular glue
    for me to grasp life as I had things to work through.

    Life in middle-age consisted of child-rearing,
    making a home, shopping, and teaching
    amongst what I always was half-way hearing
    as I sought to be a mother and still was speaking
    while running to finish lessons that needed tweaking.

    After teaching for years, I became an author
    of articles, stories, poems, and books.
    With nine books written and writings galore,
    I’m happy to own an account on Facebook
    which provides contact with friends and various cooks.

    The virus prevents many personal visits,
    but at least I can chat with family and friends.
    I still can get along without many assists
    as I work around the house and tie up loose ends.
    I’m fortunate to give thanks to God at each day’s end.

  8. Nana

    She sits close
    but she’s still so far
    in her frail body
    with her diminishing mind
    behind a set of vacant blue eyes

    After nine decades
    she’s used up many of her words
    can’t always call me by name
    and asks for her mom and dad –
    great-grandparents I never met

    Her memories now draw her
    back to her origins –
    of an acreage farm in rural Indiana
    before the rise of Hitler
    before the storming of Normandy

    Her clarity lay in the past
    while she fades from the present
    and I grieve a death that is still future

    And I wonder if
    one day when my own mind
    is faltering and my grandchildren
    may sit nameless before me
    will I become like her
    and gravitate to my own origins –
    sweet relics of time that include
    Nana’s white house on Louisville’s west side
    filled with backyard picnics
    Lawrence Welk records
    warm monkey bread
    and a grandmother’s love
    that I pray will always
    be easy for me
    to remember

  9. I’m taking the liberty of submitting 2 this time. Thanks for the indulgence.

    SORRY, I DON’T REMEMBER

    Sorry, I don’t remember
    That splendid day in September
    When we drove to the beach
    Well beyond parents’ reach,
    Spread a blanket—red plaid—
    On the sand. We were glad.

    Sorry, I don’t remember
    That sparkling day in September .
    We watched waves kiss the shore,
    And we wanted no more
    Than to stay, feel the foam
    On our toes , not go home.

    Sorry, I don’t remember.

    MEMORY

    Memory,
    Slippery as an eel,
    Shaves hard edges,
    Brightens shadows,
    Burnishes scenes,
    Shapeshifts into
    How I want to
    Remember
    You.

    c2020 Jane Heitman Healy

  10. SECOND CHOICE

    Sitting there before the dying embers,
    She daydreams of a time long, long ago.
    A smile on her face as she remembers
    Those heady, youthful days she spent with Joe.
    Each knew the other was the only one;
    They vowed that, come what may, they’d never part.
    Then, cruelly, war had come and he was gone,
    Leaving an ache forever in her heart.
    A quiet footfall; memories fade away,
    As loving fingers gently stroke her hair.
    “A penny for your thoughts,” she hears Frank say,
    “You seemed to be a mile away just there.”
    There’s comfort in his reassuring voice
    How could she tell him he was second choice?

    Bryn Strudwick

  11. Remember When?

    Remember when
    a first grader
    rushed to carpet time and
    snuggled extra close to you?
    And you worried
    that he felt loved.

    Remember when
    a second grader
    bid you farewell each day
    with a bear hug?
    And you basked
    in her sweetness.

    Remember when
    a troubled third grader
    slumped beside you on the bench at recess
    and poured out her worries?
    And you offered strategies
    while giving thanks that she regarded
    your classroom
    as her “safe place”.

    Remember when
    you perched on the stairs
    next to a fourth grader
    for side by side conversations?
    And day by day you witnessed
    his transformation,
    as he reached for the stars.

    Remember when
    a fifth grader began the year
    with an attitude of defiance
    and failing grades,
    but left in May
    as a straight A student?
    And you shared her pride
    over accomplishments
    and prayed for her future.

    Remember when
    students saw your smile,
    caught your wink,
    heard your laugh,
    felt your pat on their shoulders,
    shared the love of learning
    with you…
    instead of staring at
    a computer screen?

    By Patricia Nesbitt, 2020

  12. Remembering My Sister
    by Marge Waldschmidt

    “How will I be remembered?” she asked through the pain.
    Shocked by the question, we had no refrain.

    “How will I be remembered?” facing her fear.
    We pondered and loved her as death came so near.

    It all changed so quickly, we’d thought we had time.
    But then she was gone, no reason, no rhyme.

    Fourteen days later, after church service and meal,
    We answered the question, as we all tried to heal.

    Many spoke: family, neighbors and friends she held dear
    A few of the thoughts and shared lessons, listed here.

    Her example of being a strong, loving wife
    Was modeled and watched by one starting that life.

    She taught a young man not to judge based on race
    By sharing a meal with them both at her place.

    A man read a poem, lovely words she once wrote.
    Through tears said, “This, is how Liz sent a thank you note.

    She delivered a fossil to her young nephew as a gift.
    Mailed to her out-of-town sister Philly team shirts as a lift.

    “You do crafts, do you quilt?” a young niece wanted to know.
    In a flash, brimming boxes “Here! All you need to sew.”

    I could go on, more memories were shared
    But you see she walked gently through life and she cared.

    She’s more than our memories, she’s part of each one.
    She touched us and showed us how sweetly life can be done.

    We go on now, each sharing her ways:
    Love, grace, acceptance all of our days.

  13. The Elephant Figurine

    When I was little,
    My Grandma gave me,
    An elephant figurine.

    It sat on my what-not shelf,
    For many years,
    Collecting dust.

    When I moved away,
    It stayed on the what-not shelf,
    Collecting dust.

    It continued to sit on the what-not shelf
    For many years,
    Collecting dust.

    Then my Mom died,
    And the house needed to be cleared out,
    To be listed for sale.

    It was hard to decide,
    What should I keep? and
    What should I donate?

    I didn’t want something,
    That just sat on a what-not shelf,
    Collecting dust.

    SO

    The elephant figurine,
    Was packed carefully in a box,
    And donated to a thrift store.

    I no longer have the elephant figurine,
    But I do have the memory of it,
    And the words written on it.

    “I’ll Always Remember.”

    Judy Balasch
    Word of Month September 2020

  14. Summer in a Bottle

    Before September gives summer the boot
    we perch ‘neath the sun,
    savor slowly each beam,

    feel welcome caresses
    warm body and soul, like a wool blanket―
    outside and in.

    I harvest the heat. When days cool and chill,
    become unbearably much,
    the bottle’s uncorked

    sun kisses burst free . . .
    I remember the essence, the feeling―
    s u m m e r

    © Cory Corrado

    • Oh, how I remember bottling the sun too! I used my 1969 Ford Fairlane though- Detroit steel with a candy-apple red finish and black vinyl interior. I would slide onto the bench seat, almost searing my half-bared thighs in shorts, a thin t-shirt for modesty, shut the door and sit with the windows rolled up. It was a sauna! I would shut my eyes and imagine what the heat waves looked like when they penetrated my skin and found their way through to my core as sweat would pool on the seat around my thighs. I still remember that and take myself back during the winter months that get so cold. And I am warmed, by remembering.

  15. Remembering Life

    Remember when-

    you played all day thinking it would last

    Remember when-

    growing older meant

    going to school, learning, socializing

    Remember when-

    working, money, decision making,

    ranked high in importance

    Remember when-

    they all wove together –

    creating your life

    Remember how-

    keep remembering.

  16. Well David, I actually posted this on September 1, as I was very suddenly moved by the word chosen for this month. How it failed to plant itself firmly on your page then I do not know, but here it is again:

    Childhood

    Remember those easy days so far in the past
    when a cardboard box became a spaceship fast

    Hot wheel races with loops and jumps
    bike rides ending in scrapes and bumps

    red rover red rover
    called a friend over

    playgrounds hosted Olympic stardom
    commiserating about our boredom

    swinging at g-force up to the sky
    sandcastle motes where the waters lie

    friendships dependent on participation
    all of us being just one nation

    color and culture were just fun then…
    Can you, can you remember when?

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