The moon above, an empty pocket here an endless sea on yonder, and a mystery in the rear Man, where were you? I was ready to sleep instead I'm glad you caught me before I retired to bed
I made Rhyma, a tiny poetry game. You write one line, but only see the line before yours. Then a stranger somewhere in the world continues it. The results are usually funny, weird, or both.
Collaborative poetry existed long before phones: folded paper, hidden lines, fixed endings, and poems passed from one person to the next. I wrote about seven ways people have turned poetry into a game, from renga and Exquisite Corpse to Rhyma.
Can writing poetry be good for your mental health? I dug through the research, and the honest answer is: possibly, for some people, in some settings. I wrote about what we know, what we don’t, and why creating something together may matter.