WD Poetic Form Challenge: Rhupunt

It’s about time for the first WD Poetic Form Challenge of 2018. Let’s write the rhupunt!

Find the rules for writing rhupunt here. This Welsh form is loaded with rhymes, variability, and fun.

So start writing them and sharing here on the blog (this specific post) for a chance to be published in Writer’s Digest magazine–as part of the Poetic Asides column. (Note: You have to log in to the site to post comments/poems; creating an account is free.)

Here’s how the challenge works:

  • Challenge is free. No entry fee.
  • The winner (and sometimes a runner-up or two) will be featured in a future edition of Writer’s Digest magazine as part of the Poetic Asides column.
  • Deadline 11:59 p.m. (Atlanta, GA time) on February 28, 2018.
  • Poets can enter as many rhupunts as they wish. The more “work” you make for me the better, but remember: I’m judging on quality, not quantity.
  • All poems should be previously unpublished. If you have a specific question about your specific situation, just send me an e-mail at robert.brewer@fwmedia.com. Or just write a new rhupunt. They’re fun to write; I promise.
  • I will only consider poems shared in the comments below. It gets too confusing for me to check other posts, go to other blogs, etc.
  • Speaking of posting, if this is your first time, your comment may not appear immediately. However, it should appear within a day (or 3–if shared on the weekend). So just hang tight, and it should appear eventually. If not, send me an e-mail at the address above.
  • Please include your name as you would like it to appear in print. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to use your user/screen name, which might be something like HaikuPrincess007 or MrLineBreaker. WD has a healthy circulation, so make it easy for me to get your byline correct.
  • Finally–and most importantly–be sure to have fun!


Order the Poet’s Market!

The 2018 Poet’s Market, edited by Robert Lee Brewer, includes hundreds of poetry markets, including listings for poetry publications, publishers, contests, and more! With names, contact information, and submission tips, poets can find the right markets for their poetry and achieve more publication success than ever before.

In addition to the listings, there are articles on the craft, business, and promotion of poetry–so that poets can learn the ins and outs of writing poetry and seeking publication. Plus, it includes a one-year subscription to the poetry-related information on WritersMarket.com. All in all, it’s the best resource for poets looking to secure publication.

Click to continue.


Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community, which means he maintains this blog, edits a couple Market Books (Poet’s Market and Writer’s Market), writes a poetry column for Writer’s Digest magazine, leads online education, speaks around the country on publishing and poetry, and a lot of other fun writing-related stuff. He’s also the author of the poetry collection Solving the World’s Problems.

Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.


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110 thoughts on “WD Poetic Form Challenge: Rhupunt

  1. Asha1000

    Jolly Jovian

    The Great Red Spot,
    big-bellied pot.
    Robots gavotte
    on black granite.

    Sour and sweet,
    a juicy treat.
    I heart the tweet:

    Collards, cornbread,
    fried chicken, red
    velvet cake fed
    to a gannet.

    No, no, no stop.
    This gold I swap
    for a laptop
    and your planet!

    – Lelawattee Manoo-Rahming

  2. Asha1000

    The End of Childhood Days

    Like wee rebels, they skip pebbles, as time trebles in childhood days.
    Cap guns are toys and boys make noise, while girl convoys act out in plays.
    Sweet bells of time, blue skies that chime as the years climb, marked by birthdays.
    But if you peer, all disappear in clouds of fear, bloodied edgeways.
    Please, ma Cherie, do not tarry, hasten bury deep-set malaise.
    For end comes soon, same for the loon, as the tycoon sprawled in his chaise.

    – Lelawattee Manoo-Rahming

  3. PressOn


    I couldn’t punt; I couldn’t bunt; I was the runt of the litter;
    I had bad eyes; I lacked for size; so, no surprise, I was bitter.
    I wasn’t rash; I saved a stash; for making cash I was fitter
    and I had gall. Now they must crawl. I sneer at all who did titter.

    — William Preston

  4. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

    to my husband on his 60th birthday
    a rhupunt

    when i was small
    i wished for dolls
    but above all
    i prayed for you

    made up a rhyme
    prayed at bedtime
    now you are mine
    my dream came true

    forever your
    bride, i adore
    and love you more
    than chicken stew

    without you i
    will rivers cry
    don’t ever die
    my sweet babboo

    When I was small, I wished for dolls but above all, I prayed for you.
    Made up a rhyme. Prayed at bedtime. Now you are mine. My dream came true.
    Forever your bride, I adore and love you more than chicken stew.
    Without you I will rivers cry. Don’t ever die, my Sweet Babboo.

    <3 I wish you all a Sweet Babboo, and for the men (as my love calls me), a Sweet Babbette <3

  5. PressOn


    His magic rhymes defined his times, as deep-throat chimes describe Big Ben:
    his lyrics, funny; often punny; yet not one limned a pigpen,
    and so today his words still play. And so we say, “Remember when.”

    — William Preston

  6. Eileen S

    School Shooting

    Gun totting guy
    shots go awry
    over supply
    a day at school.

    As bullets fly
    fear in their eyes
    they cannot hide
    action so cruel.

    No eyes are dry
    as classmates die
    carnage can’t lie
    one crazy fool.

    Parents ask why
    in public eye
    tearful goodbye
    tragedy rules.

  7. nunofatela

    A newborn cries
    by Nuno Fatela

    A newborn cries
    A mother smiles
    A father sighs
    Lights are blinding

    Look at the skies
    Taste the sunrise
    The world invites
    Time is winding

    Forget the prize
    Strip your disguise
    Ignore replies
    Life is grinding

    Sweet tales are told
    Dim thoughts grow bold
    Fair myths unfold
    Love is binding

  8. PressOn


    Oh! Mister Gallagher! Oh! Mister Gallagher!

    Pray tell, what’s on your mind, dear Mister Shean.

    The rhupunts I’ve been writing
    have all left my brain igniting;
    my mind has turned into a thin boreen!

    Oh, Mister Shean, oh, Mister Shean,
    I fully understand just what you mean.
    I’m been writing rhupunts too;
    even poeming in the loo!

    Positively, Mister Gallagher?

    On, but surely, Mister Shean!

    NB: Ed Gallagher and Al Shean were vaudevillians in the 1910s and 1920s (Shean was the maternal uncle of the Marx Brothers) who made famous a back-and-forth song patter similar to the above.

  9. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

    Who’s your Poet?

    It’s not conceit. My pieces beat the sweetest treat on Christmas day.
    My pieces are short, and by far, HUGE superstars. Go on. Make way!
    Make no mistake. I sure can make your belly ache with my word play.
    I know my stuff. Clothed. In the buff. You’re gonna laugh your blues away.

  10. grcran

    Summer’s Olympics

    When she would run
    She’d spin she’d stun
    Gravel flying

    Summer’d go tear-
    ing off somewhere
    Hardly trying

    Adults did gasp
    Summer was fast
    No denying

    Fifteen months old
    Fearless and bold

    Details accrued
    She wasn’t shrewd
    Age came spying

    Brought her down hard
    Her own backyard

    Till she turned four
    Did the encore

    For the contest
    Which kid was best

    Her running speed
    Fastest indeed

    Summer did add
    New runners’ fad

    Old folks and young
    Winners unsung

    gpr crane
    note: Summer is my 4-year-old granddaughter, born 2-15-2014… needless to say, she runs like the wind… maybe a little like her uncle Caleb… but not like me, and i reckon that’s a very good thing

  11. lsteadly

    Love’s Passage

    As twilight falls
    whippoorwill calls
    echo through walls
    left long ago

    Shadows of love
    fly with the dove
    rising above
    the sunset’s glow

    Soon morning dew
    will silver blue
    the love we knew
    our concerto

    Lisa L Stead

  12. Alice Stainer


    This mottled shell
    Can cast a spell
    To hear sea-swell.
    What does it tell?
    Strange narration:

    It takes you there,
    Down where the air
    Is salt and fair;
    Lungs braced, aware
    Of creation.

    Picture the beach:
    Long sandy reach,
    Bucket for each,
    Capture that creat-
    -ure crustacean.

    Watch the waves reel;
    Spot a shy seal,
    Fisherman’s creel;
    Inhale and feel
    Life’s elation.

    So, at your ease,
    Fall to your knees,
    Ask the shell, ‘please?’
    Listen! The sea’s

  13. Karen

    A Poem

    Grey skies spitting
    birds are flitting
    I’m just sitting
    nothing to say

    Pencil in hand
    feet in the sand
    I’m on dry land
    muse went away

    Blue sky peeking
    words I’m seeking
    poem needs tweaking
    don’t want to play

    I keep my seat
    I’ll not compete
    this poems complete
    That’s it today.

    Karen Wilson

  14. PressOn


    In my dim past, when cash was vast and I was master of the chasse,
    I tried to kiss unwilling misses, and now this has come to pass:
    I travel byways through the rye and wonder why no lonely lass
    who’s past her prime will find the time, reason or rhyme to share my kvass.

    — William Preston

  15. Alice Stainer

    Invitation to the dance

    So, will you dance? Just at a glance, bald circumstance has left you free.
    My move is bold; but I’ve been told, to have, to hold, you need to be.
    Others have found my rhythm sound: I twirl around, twist, and shimmy.
    Now right, now left, the warp, the weft; I’m quite bereft with nobody.
    My mood is blue. I just want you. Answer me, do: please, dance with me?

  16. Alice Stainer


    A halt of snow
    Grants that you go
    Both deep and slow
    Inside the world.

    In breath-held hush
    The Mistle Thrush
    Hunts without rush,
    Wings closely furled

    Against the freeze.
    Look! Hedgehogs, these,
    That snug at ease
    Lie soundly curled.

    It gives you time
    To hear the chime
    Of icicle rhyme
    In snow-winds skirled:

    Etude in ice.
    A lease of peace
    From life’s caprice;
    Then on we whirled.

  17. nunofatela

    Beyond goodbyes
    by Nuno Fatela

    beyond goodbyes in lost replies, the truth unbinds a brighter sound
    I wish to stay but go away, the will to sway could not be found
    a light that shows the seed that grows, in countless rows forever bound
    the past abides misspoken lies which hope ignites into the ground

  18. PressOn


    The moon that glows in soft repose above the snows when love is new
    is angry, glaring, coldly staring down the air when love is through.
    How strange it seems: glad and sad dreams seep through the seams. This, love can do
    Just so, the moon can change its tune; the boon and swoon of loving you.

    — William Preston

  19. Tracy Davidson

    It’s Over

    It’s time to go,
    disrupt this flow,
    you’ll never know
    how hard I tried.

    It’s not my style
    to run a mile,
    but needs must while
    I still have pride.

    I cannot say
    what changed today,
    but can’t replay
    the tears I cried.

    We muddled through,
    as couples do,
    you know it’s true –
    our passion died.

  20. MargoL

    If I had wings

    If I had wings,
    I could see things
    that mostly brings
    me peace of mind.

    Soaring so high,
    content to fly,
    wondering why
    I was so blind

    to what dazzles
    me – like angels
    bright as candles
    blown in the wind.

    I feel so free,
    I guaranty
    you would agree
    with humankind.

    I am quite sure
    of the allure
    that wings endure
    as dreams divined

    – Margo S. LeBlanc

    If I had wings, I could see things that mostly brings me peace of mind. Soaring so high,
    content to fly, wondering why I was so blind to what dazzles me – like angels bright as candles blown in the wind. I feel so free, I guaranty you would agree with humankind. I am quite sure of the allure that wings endure as dreams divined

  21. Jacqueline Hallenbeck


    writes clever, fun, short pieces, none as awful long, say, a giraffe?
    her pieces score the fans adore are thankful for the belly laugh
    poet footprint successful stint newspapers print her photograph
    not one to flaunt, she could but shan’t, come if you want her autograph

  22. taylor graham


    No more mice?
    That might be nice.
    We thought so, twice,
    but were we wrong?

    In pantry-land,
    rich contraband.
    Mouse sleight-of-hand –
    that thieving throng.

    You set the trap
    and took your nap.
    Then trigger-snap!
    Sweet mouse, so long….

    And yet I’ve seen
    how hunger-lean
    a mouse can keen
    its mourning song.

  23. taylor graham


    I seek a clue
    to nothing new:
    gray rock, sky blue
    along the road.

    Sun is blinding,
    way is winding –
    so hard, finding
    a mother-lode.

    It takes an age
    to turn one page
    of earth, to gauge
    its precious load.

    From early dawn
    I’d praise a fawn
    already gone
    in simple ode.

  24. PressOn


    Some poets think that all forms stink; that poems shrink in straitjackets.
    I disagree: forms seem, to me, new ways to see in fresh packets,
    akin to sights that spring from lights posted on heights from new brackets
    with hidden meanings oft unseen, but you can glean them from plackets.

    — William Preston

  25. nunofatela

    The mind deceives
    by Nuno Fatela

    the mind deceives
    the world perceives
    the heart believes
    beautiful lies

    dreams to pursue
    goals to renew
    fears to subdue
    in known disguise

    the actors fight
    the words are ripe
    the stage beams light
    to blind the eyes

    kisses turn cold
    deceit grows bold
    weak lies are told
    honesty dies

  26. Tracy Davidson

    The Wall

    That silly chump
    poor Donny Trump
    has got the hump
    about his wall.

    With money tight
    how can he site
    such bigly height –
    ten metres tall.

    Mexico huffed
    and said get stuffed,
    firmly rebuffed
    his payment call.

    His plan will wilt
    before it’s built,
    his anger spilt…
    no wall at all.

  27. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

    sleeping ugly

    don’t got the look deep into books grimmest outlook (or so they say)
    patient she is this homely miss a single kiss will make her day
    a spinster? no. PC must show she needs a beau like yesterday
    fat thin short tall black white pete paul
    come one come all and kiss away

    1. Jacqueline Hallenbeck


      sleeping ugly

      she’s into books. don’t got the looks. grimmest outlook (or so they say).
      patient she is. this homely miss. a single kiss will make her day.
      a spinster? no. he’s a no show. she needs a beau like yesterday.
      fat. thin. short. tall. black. white. pete. paul. come one, come all and kiss away.

  28. Eileen S


    Wild grassy land, murky brown sand, nature so grand, winds blow grass blades,
    tall cypress trees, majestic reeds, creatures appease, wildlife craves shade,
    ‘gators can swim, with tiny limbs, flies find it grim, nature’s parade,
    Florida sun, bucolic fun, heaven’s not done, wild Everglades!

  29. PressOn


    When time is fleeing and your being brooks no seeing of your soul,
    it’s best to pause and learn the cause, or Santa Claus will bring you coal.

    — William Preston

  30. Hope

    Mississippi, by W. H. Aubé

    a state to see
    binding and free
    much like pappy

    drop from the fray
    stop on the way
    but only stay
    if you’re happy

    a break from life
    a cut from strife
    but leave your wife
    if she’s sappy

    the devil waits
    to celebrate
    your newfound fate
    make it snappy

  31. Haikutopia

    Teacher’s Snow Day

    A big snowfall
    I watch in thrall
    Pad down the hall
    The snow day call
    Back to the bed

    From the window
    Watch the wind blow
    Cozy pillow
    Blue chenille throw
    I rest my head

    Dog romps with glee
    Yellow snow pee
    Then for me
    A pot of tea
    The fire glows red

    My reading nook
    Mystery book
    Crock pot on cook
    Branches are shook
    Snowflakes are shed

    by Sari Grandstaff

  32. PressOn


    The chickadee flies to the tree to presently attack her seed.
    She sits a spell and slits the shell; the meat is well and truly treed.
    And then she flits in chipping fits and gets more grits to slake her greed
    and all day long she pounds her prong with dee-dee song while feeders bleed.

    — William Preston

  33. PressOn


    I am puzzled, I’ve been muzzled, we’ve not nuzzled, and I am miffed.
    I’ve got to shove off; `neath the cover lies my love. You get my drift?

    — William Preston

  34. AWritersLifeForMe

    by Courtney Rowe

    Patience is a virtue, life is a bitch
    Hell is a dog with a very bad itch
    Fear is excitement, tolerance is hate
    Love is insanity and lust is rape

    Normal is something unrealistic and scary
    Hope is the face of a woman who has miscarried
    Fear is manufactured
    Freedom is overrated
    Indigence is power and knowledge is outdated.

    Anger is the orgasm waiting to be released
    Quiet is the cannibal about to feast
    Paranoia is the breakfast of champions, it gets you through the day
    Coffee is for losers, you’ve got to find a better way.

    Hard work is agony on meth
    Laziness is the man who enthusiastically awaits death
    Patience is a virtue, kindness is pity.
    Excellence is immortal, I am alone in the city.

  35. Tracy Davidson

    Non-Domestic Goddess

    I want to make
    our wedding cake
    but I can’t bake
    to save my life.

    My kitchen skills
    are full of spills,
    plus broken grills
    and burns are rife.

    My food from hell
    makes stomachs swell,
    emits a smell
    from here to Fife.

    To stop more squeals
    it’s ready meals
    and fast food deals
    for this house-wife.

  36. Tracy Davidson


    Women he woos
    with his tattoos
    and trendy shoes…
    I pass along.

    His muscles, tight,
    are quite a sight
    but I want Right,
    not Mister Wrong.

    He’s nice but dim,
    obsessed with gym,
    I’m just a whim
    that won’t last long.

    So still I seek
    a god or geek
    to kiss my cheek
    and sing my song.

  37. PressOn


    When muses seem far off the beam, I pause and dream of milk and honey.
    Who knows? My muse might then enthuse and I’ll peruse some silk and money.

    — William Preston

  38. PressOn


    Wide-screen TV glares back at me with baleful glee and makes me look
    around the room to forestall gloom and mental doom. Ah, ha! A book!
    My mind thus freed of my false need, I start to read in my book nook.

  39. MargoL

    ‘’And I chose you ‘’

    A midnight sky
    with stars up high
    can mystify
    my curious mind.

    You by my side,
    so snug inside,
    I can’t decide
    as I unwind

    whether I should
    put on my hood
    and get the wood,
    yet I declined

    and I chose you
    because I knew
    to remain true
    was much more kind.

    – Margo Suzanne LeBlanc

    ‘Just you and me’

    As he stood there
    white and so fair
    beauty so rare
    waiting for me.

    I mesmerized
    like, hypnotized.
    A horse so prized
    O what such glee.

    I climbed thee hence,
    we jumped the fence,
    making no sense
    how it could be

    we made that jump
    without a bump
    nor any grump
    just you and me.

    – Margo Suzanne LeBlanc

  40. Eileen S

    Fighting Cancer
    by Eileen Sateriale

    Surgery done.
    Is battle won?
    Chemo begun.
    Cancer no fun.
    Deadly disease.

    Hospital zoo.
    Doctors intrude.
    Lab work reviewed.
    Are results slewed?
    Cancer displease.

    Little white pills.
    Fight cancer’s ills,
    Strong test of wills.
    Medicine kills.
    Cancer cells freeze.

    Sharp knife-like shears.
    Chemo for years.
    Patient fights fears.
    Family sheds tears.
    Fighting no breeze.

  41. Eileen S

    Fighting Cancer
    by Eileen Sateriale

    Surgery done.
    Is battle won?
    Chemo begun.
    Cancer no fun.
    Deadly disease.

    Hospital zoo.
    Doctors intrude.
    Lab work reviewed.
    Are results slewed?
    Cancer displease.

    Little white pills.
    Fight cancer’s ills,
    Strong test of wills.
    Medicine kills.
    Cancer cells freeze.

    Sharp knife-like shears.
    Chemo for years.
    Patient fights fears.
    Family sheds tears.
    Fighting no breeze.

  42. Bruce Niedt


    This Super Bowl
    could take its toll
    on my good soul
    as Eagles fan.

    The press attest
    the Pats are best
    from East to West
    and Tom’s the man.

    There’s always hope –
    I’ll try to cope
    and will not mope
    if “also-ran”.

    But underdogs
    could clog the cogs
    of trophy hogs
    with their game plan.

    And Foles can play –
    so I will say
    we’ll soar Sunday
    on our wingspan.

  43. Bruce Niedt

    The Phonophobic’s Fourth

    Fourth of July,
    the screamers fly,
    the rockets high
    that burst with light.

    Those noisy jerks
    with fireworks –
    explosion lurks
    in this dark night.

    I don’t like noise
    like other boys,
    and shy from toys
    that could ignite.

    Bombs burst in air,
    and I don’t care
    to flinch or scare,
    but it’s my plight.

    I must admit
    when skies are lit
    I reckon it
    a pretty sight.

    If this bright show
    was silent though,
    I just might go
    and not take flight.

  44. Sasha A. Palmer

    Sometimes we see
    Things that will be —
    A memory
    Of tomorrow

    Sometimes, we find
    It’s warm and kind
    Sometimes our mind’s
    Filled with sorrow

    So some sweet day
    In June or May
    Bathed in sunrays
    We remembered

    How you and I
    Shared burnt good-byes
    Beneath the skies
    Of November

    1. Sasha A. Palmer

      A new, tweaked version:

      In the Mind’s Eye

      Sometimes we see
      Things that will be —
      A memory
      Of tomorrow

      Sometimes we find
      It warm and kind
      Sometimes our mind
      Fills with sorrow

      So some sweet day
      In June or May
      Bathed in sunrays
      We remember

      How you and I
      Share burnt good-byes
      Beneath the skies
      Of November

  45. candy

    Old Fleabag

    On the table
    A white cat sat
    Though he knew that
    He’s not allowed

    I tried to chase
    Him from that place
    Look on his face
    Haughty and proud

    I yelled and clapped
    My fingers snapped
    He was not rapt
    Meowed out loud

    I raised a flag
    White paper bag
    That old fleabag
    Would not be cowed

    ~ Candace Kubinec


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