Rhyma Closed Testing Is Now Live on Android
Rhyma’s Android closed test is open. Leave your Google email, get an invite, then install from Google Play and help shape the first public release.
One line. Three minutes. No idea what came before. Strangers around the world finish the poem with you — and the reveal is half the fun.
A collaborative poetry game in four steps.
You'll see only the last line a stranger wrote. The rest is hidden. You have 3 minutes.
5 to 66 characters. Make it rhyme, break the rhyme, change the mood. Then it flies onward.
Your poem hops from writer to writer across countries. You won't see what they wrote — yet.
When the last line lands, the whole thing unlocks. Every line, every author, every detour.
A stranger drops you a line. You twist it your way and pass it on. Days later, your phone buzzes: the poem is done. You open it — and four strangers just wrote something that almost makes sense. That's the reveal.
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"
— Will_S_1599"Thou art more late than the 8:14 bus"
— InkSpiller"The moon, meanwhile, owed the cat money"
— LunaTick"So he filed the paperwork in triplicate"
— BureauCatYour line was written in Kyiv. The next, in São Paulo. Then Tokyo. Then a bedroom in Lisbon at 2am. When the poem finishes, you don't just read it — you see the map. Every city it passed through. Every stranger who carried it forward.
First poem finished. 100 km of poem-travel. Lines in 5 languages. A 7-day streak. A line someone reacted to with 🔥. Some are bronze, some neon-rare — all sit in your profile like tiny enamel proof of strange poems you helped exist.
Fresh from Rhyma
Build notes, testing invitations, and small signs that the glorious nonsense is getting closer.
Rhyma’s Android closed test is open. Leave your Google email, get an invite, then install from Google Play and help shape the first public release.
Everything you might wonder before your first line.
Five minutes on Rhyma feels nothing like five minutes on a feed. No likes to chase, no ratio to lose. Just one line, three minutes, and a poem you'll never write alone again.
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