Because I became intrigued by Welsh forms due to the Gwawdodyn challenge (deadline, August 31) posted by Robert Lee Brewer over at Poetic Asides, I thought it might be fun to do another Welsh poetic form this week. This one, the Rhupunt, is fairly easy (well, easier, I think) and is actually kind of fun.

As you will see, first you write the stanzas like you would stanzas, but then you (usually) make each stanza into one line. So, if you have two stanzas, you would end up with an internally and externally rhymed couplet.

Okay – here’s the scoop:

According to the Encylopædia Brittanica, ( the Rhupunt, also spelled Rhupynt, is one of the 24 metres of the Welsh bardic tradition. A Rhupunt is a verse composed of three, four, or five four-syllable sections linked by Cynghanedd (an intricate system of accentuation, alliteration, and internal rhyme) and rhyme. In a four-section verse, the first three sections are made to rhyme with one another, and the fourth section is made to rhyme with the fourth of the next verse. The whole is written as a single line or is divided into as many lines as it has rhyming sections.

The Poets Garret ( says this about the Rhupunt: A four syllable line, each stanza can be of three, four or five lines a..a..a..B. The next stanza rhymes the similar c..c..c..B. The rhyme could change for the next stanzas. We end up with a pattern thus:
x x x a
x x x a
x x x a
x x x B

x x x c
x x x c
x x x c
x x x B
It is common to join the lines together and end up with the two stanzas making a line each. The following stanzas would do the same and the result is as shown below in the Rhupunt long.
x x x a x x x a x x x a x x x B
x x x c x x x c x x x c x x x B

A couple of other sites about the Rhupunt:

All Poetry

Popular Poetry Forms:


Yellow Day 

Yellow’s my mood, which would allude to how I’ve viewed a summer’s day.
‘Though simplified, it has implied what I can’t hide: I want to play.

© Copyright RJ Clarken, 2013

So, now I’ve just Rhu’punted’ the poetic ball to you. Are you game?

Ready? Set? Start poeming! ~RJ



Women’s house coats, puddle sail boats, Thermos® lunch totes, aprons (frilly),
Ten-cent laces, pencil cases, flower vases, Wooly Willy.

Good-n-Plenty, spend a penny, comics, many very funny!
Party favors, sweet Life Savors (just five flavors), Bit-O-Honey.

Penny candy sure was dandy, Just ask Randi! She would know it!
Just old time’n, Five-n-Dime’n, fun’n rhymin’ In-Form Poet!

© Copyright Marie Elena Good, 2013



    The chickadee flies to the tree to presently attack his seed,
    there not to dwell. He slits the shell; the meat is well and surely treed.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

      • Thanks, both of you. It occurs to me that the last line might work better if “surely” is replaced by “truly.”

      • I love birds too, and love to write about them. Which reminds me. I have been working on the following, trying not to be indelicate or insensitive:


        Blue and great tits rarely mate; tits fly so late; tits here, if you please,
        are not called tits here. No, the wits here; call what flits here, chickadees.

        copyright 2013, William Preston

        • Well, there should be no semi-colon in the second line. See? I’ve been working on this so much, I can’t see things anymore, y’see.

  2. This form looks like a hoot! Your example set the tone for my attempt, RJ, and your sheer pleasure comes through, ME. It occurs to me that there are fewer and fewer of us, though, who know what a “five and dime” was.

    NB, it looks like the form’s customary couplets will cause a lot of lines to wrap owing to space limits on this site’s template.

  3. How fun. Love both of your examples. I’ll have to do another (or two) on the morrow. I am assuming that with stanza’s 3-4, then 5-6, the final rhyme is other than the first ‘B’ – or are all stanza’s ( however many) to have the last rhyme with “B”?

    The night is dark,
    time for a lark,
    two kids in park,
    who should be home.

    They watch the moon,
    hear a soft tune,
    an invite to spun,
    two all alone.

    The heart is light,
    the moon is bright,
    time is not right.
    It’s time to stop.(roam)

    The night is late,
    they must wait,
    for another date
    tonight’s too hot.
    (that will come)

    • Marjory, your poem is also a lovely nostalgic take! From what I read, each stanza has 16 syllables, 4 per line. The first three lines of each stanza end rhyme with each other (but do not, usually with subsequent stanzas.)

      However, the fourth line is the ‘B’ line and rhymes with all the 4th (or ‘B’) lines that might follow.

      Of course, one could always break a few rules here and there as poetic license dictates. 😃

    • This is so much fun to read. It’s nostalgic, as RJ and ME say, but also funny, especially the “tonight’s too hot” line. It doesn’t fit the form perfectly, but to me, it works anyway.


    The actor, Lunt, once pulled a stunt that made him hunt for some cover:
    the foolish man upstaged Fontanne, who placed a ban on her lover.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  5. Whoops! Here’s the right version:

    After Blackberry Picking

    We’re cut and scratched, all torn and patched, with burrs attached; but we’re merry,
    And smiling big; we’ll dance a jig, cool water swig; yes, we’re merry;

    We’ll tell you why: we found nearby, and picked to pie, some ripe berries;
    They’re plump and black, and hard to track, but we’ll go back for blackberries!

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

  6. Nighttime Blues

    What is it about the night that deepens fright, blurs black and white into shades of gloomy grey?

    Why in the dark does each recalled remark, loom and spark a tinderbox of dismay?

    I toss and turn, troubles churn, gnawing cares burn and confidence whittled away.

    Until light of morn puts troubles to scorn, brings peace to adorn, as I fall to my knees and pray.

  7. An Aesop’s Fable

    Tortoise’s pace won’t take the race but just in case, I would not bet
    on speedster hares, (which one compares in race affairs) – they’ve not won yet.

  8. A Quest of Sorts

    Diogenes …said, “If you please, on lands or seas – where are the men
    of honest mien? I have not seen but one good bean. Must look again.”

  9. In the Crease

    I shoulda known I’d lose my phone. I feel alone sans that device.
    I dropped it where? Down in the chair? Oh gosh – I swear – that’s happened thrice!

  10. (…okay – and one last Rhupunt, ’cause, yeah, I’m having fun with this little form. Although, I have to admit I wrote the above poems last week when I started playing around with the form.)

    Baroque Bach Mountain

    I heard Baroque played ‘neath an oak. It did evoke a vision of
    ol’ J.S. Bach who ‘worked’ the glockenspiel ad-hoc, and sang of love.

    • RJ, your red quartet (referencing your logo in these examples) shows again your skill, humor, and erudition. Just a marvellous grouping. The last one broke me up, and I couldn’t leave it alone:


      Old J.S. Bach was none to mock: hard as a rock, he was hot-wired
      to play around with sex and sound; his tunes confounded all he sired.

        • Or a threat, mayhap?

          Apropos of nothing: as I speak them, some words, such as “wire” and “fired,” come out as two distinct syllables and, hence, violate the form. Other people seem to say them as one-syllable words, to my ear (which isn’t much: I need hearing assistance). I suppose I could claim feminine rhymes as endings, but it made me wonder.

  11. Composing Themselves

    Young Mozart quipped, “I’ve oft-times sipped in B flat. Ripped was I!” (A myth.)
    And Beethoven would shoot a gin e’er he’d begin to play the ‘Fifth.’


    In autumn’s gold I feel consoled; no threat of cold can pall my mood;
    the scents and sight of purpling night render my fright becalmed, subdued.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

    NB: this form tends to encourage humor (at least to me) because of its short lines and close-ordered rhymes. This is an attempt to write something more sedate and wistful; I’m inspired by Debi’s work here.

  13. …And speaking of anachronisms…(even if they both occurred in Vienna…)

    Bidin’ My Time (with a Metronome)

    I heard that Haydn did some chidin’ (woe betidin’) to G. Mahler.
    “That seems absurd. There’s no curse word that was conferred!” ~Haydn scholar.

  14. He

    He’s everywhere
    With love so rare
    Yours sins to bear
    Jesus is King

    Why do you wait
    Gamble on fate
    It’s not too late
    He’s everything

    © 2013 Earl Parsons

  15. Waits

    The gift of age
    Regarded sage
    Flipped the last page
    The family waits

    A life lived long
    Lived to God’s song
    No longer strong
    The Reaper waits

    © 2013 Earl Parsons

  16. Grandpa’s Tales

    When only three
    While on his knee
    Grandpa told me
    His childhood tales

    With tales so dear
    My turn is here
    Grandchildren near
    Our tales unveil

    © 2013 Earl Parsons

  17. Whispering Clouds

    How many spilled whispers can fill blue sky, and will my ears, shrill, hear

    the sighs of clouds, laced wings like shrouds, and ringing loud, wisp voice so clear.

  18. Recently accused of this very thing, I admit I’m guilty as charged.


    People walking, voices squawking, always talking, glued to their phones.
    Endless chatter, senseless patter. Eardrums shatter from vapid tones.

    © Susan Schoeffield

  19. Form

    Create a rhyme, poem sublime; yes, take some time to follow form.

    It’s rarely me with form you see, but now with glee I leave my norm.

  20. Not one

    Potato chip, a milk shake sip, a silly quip, never just one—

    I’ll make a bet you’ll try and yet (caught by their net) you’re never done.


    My tiny kite took off in flight to reach the height of clear blue skies.
    Its string unwound, it hit the ground, my spirits drowned by its demise.

    © Susan Schoeffield


    I imagine
    there’s a dragon
    with a wagon
    in his big cave.

    The hero shows
    with swords and bows
    to end all woes
    and show he’s brave.

    But when he sees
    the dragon, he’s
    swayed by its pleas.
    And with a wave

    He says good bye
    with tear filled eye
    and with a sigh
    resigns to knave.


    It’s not Fort Knox, it’s just a box with cardboard locks that won’t be pried.
    I rip and tear and get nowhere, its longed-for fare remains inside.

    © Susan Schoeffield

  24. Morning Run

    A fighter jet and rainbow met, unknown, and yet pure grace in sky

    Both arcing curves, neither did swerve, their glory served delighted eyes.

  25. RJ, I love this form–it does make you want to play. Marie, your ‘sample’ is amazing–chocked full of (raisins of) wit.


    Though his hiney is not tiny by design, he’s elegant;
    he can plunder without blunder, run like thunder, elephant.

  26. After the “Business Trip”

    Although he tries to fashion lies, his alibis aren’t up to snuff.
    She lets him spin, admires his grin, he cannot win—she’s had enough.

    He tries a joke, a wink to stoke her humor—blokes can be obtuse.
    She knows the truth, his fragile youth is gone forsooth—he is a goose.

    For recompense, he knows that thence daily expense will win her smile.
    Flowers and card, he’s working hard, but her regard may take a while.

  27. The Malamute

    Says Malamute a fine woo woo to me and you, waves plumed tail.
    Likes work and play, pulls sleds all day, likes us to stay, he’ll treat us well.
    A wolf-like face, with strength and grace, will keep the pace and eat a lot.
    He’ll dig a hole, he likes it cold, he’s big and bold, just watch the pot.

  28. I Dreamt

    I dreamt of cake
    I’d like to bake,
    but then I wake
    to humid heat.

    Bye-bye icing
    thick, enticing.
    It is stifling,
    too hot to eat.

    I dreamt of cake I’d like to bake, but then I wake to humid heat.
    Bye-bye icing, thick, enticing. It is stifling, too hot to eat.


    When comes sundown across the town, I cannot frown at end of day;
    though weak and weary I am near to all that’s dear and, come what may,
    I face sunrise without surmise: my loved one’s eyes will light my way.

    copyright 2013, William Preston


    Some poets think that forms, they stink; one should not drink in straitjackets.
    I disagree: forms seem, to me, new ways to see in fresh packets.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

    • To quote a fabulous poet I know–Bingo! Contentment is just that and Poetic Forms tells it like it is. There is no such thing as a formless poem. Free verse is still a form as is Blank, and a thousand others. But my favorite brain tease is “drink in straitjackets”. Logistically, I’ll worry that for a day or two ;). Great job, Bill!

      • Thanks, Jane. I think I know what you mean about rhymes and titles. One of my rhyming heroes is Lorenz Hart, of Rodgers and Hart, who did lyrics for clever songs such as Mountain Greenery. I was playing around with a rhupunt about him, and came up with most of the rhymes on my own, but the ending rhymes on the lines seemed to come from nowhere, or maybe from old Larry himself:


        His magic rhymes defined his times, as deep-throat chimes describe Big Ben;
        his words were funny, often punny, but not one limned a pigpen.

        copyright 2013, William Preston

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