Welcome to the Wheedle challenge page!
What challenge? Well, in March 2022 there was a FaceBook call-out for Wordle-ophile poets.
Lots replied. Many were already tackling Wordle, Wordle 2, Quordle, and even Nerdle on a daily basis.
But they hadn’t yet tried ... Wheedle. Those people are the Wheedle pilot group.
They read the Wheedle rules on Eddie Gibbons’ website. (In fact, this whole idea germinated in the head of E. Gibbons.)
Then, over three days, they wheedled. The results are on this page, most recent first.
All end with the winning word, but they take many routes to get there.
If you’d like to take a crack at this yourself, go ahead.
Share on Twitter or FaceBook, using hashtag #wheedlexxx (xxx = number of corresponding Wordle) and/or just #wheedle to join the throng.
Wheedles day 3: 27 March, 2022
* There weren’t any! This tells you something.
* She advertised rates for carvings in ebony (she used epoxy).
* Bidding trees adieu Scarcity of wood, resin’s epoch Discovery of epoxy.
* First I went for ‘taxed’. ‘X’ and ‘E’ yellow ... so ... ‘exile’? Nope. It’s ‘epoxy’!
E. T. Michie
* Heat or eat needs coins Today’s cost of living trope Broke! Send epoxy
* Pavarotti’s voice, his Nessun Dorma, enjoy, strong as epoxy.
* all through the party I really was that soppy – stuck like epoxy
Duncan Gillies MacLaurin
* I must be thick as the proverbial brick, my grey cells an iota short of quota. I do not love thee,Wordle. Thou canst shove thy slipshod orthodoxy. What! – Epoxy?
* The sign said ‘Proceed with a cautious tread speed will evince a fall, cause you to wince’. The layout was novel, with hills, a stone hovel, a fleet of boxy cars made from resin epoxy.
Elisabeth Sennitt Clough
* Naming your mite is a fright to get right the options confound, abound in a mound: would Rose cause woes only therapy could dis-close? Will Roxy be unorthodox-y or cohere, like epoxy?
* It was a lot to pay for a yacht. All in the priory grew fiery. The fishpond boy was forced to enjoy patching his poxy coracle with epoxy.
* A fixer-upper seemed a lark but turned out stark: there was nothing novel about living in a hovel! When all they did was moan I got on the phone – found someone to act as a proxy and bodge it with epoxy.
* Do not ape this talk of grape, be falsely proud of terroir and cloud. Instead savour honey, laugh, admire the peony Be present not proxy, let love be your epoxy.
* My life’s bane is my brain cliché floats aside a trite quote I lose, sanity slips like flat shoes my moxie acts as a proxy for epoxy.
* Whenever I dies, rest assured I will arise for always the boy will make a fit decoy. While you get funny with your gooey honey, I’ll fix me to my doxy with some fishy epoxy.
* No love boat, no cash float, no top drawer, no offshore, (my heart-string’s a low G). No love heart emoji, no stand-in, no proxy. We stick, like epoxy.
* Sometimes in a queer dream, when slumber’s my only sense, I elect you leave, evict snoring you with my elbow, but you’re sticky, like epoxy.
* Pick me, precious prickly petal! You perverse pickle, vixeny viper, quick - climb into my coupé, prink up. Our road opens, epic, foxy, flying from epoxy.
* When cold water creates steam, when bloodless bodies are gored, when quarrelling couples must elope – blame this barmy post-truth epoch and apply tenacious twaddle epoxy.
* He got my poem ‘Sutra’ quite, quite, quite, quite wrong. Now all his Twitter flock think I’m a dim diode and my poem is (e)poxy
* He heard She saw the fume, the plume Quite spoiled, we spent Ages, aeons, an epoch Mixing that epoxy
* I meant to show my poise through DIY. Decoy deployed but the glue was ropey, (e)poxy.
Punk quiff like a crest, dab hand with a blade, she can’t spare a penny. Her spell in the pokey sticks to her like epoxy.
* Abruptly, you answered me — Adios! Quickly, I rearranged my route, excluding eros, endeavouring to enjoy my exclusive trip, night’s ebony sky empty of love’s epoxy.
* That horny Time Team bloke she loves whose ancient moated spring by Thorn joy for paleo finds awoke. Hard latterly though to emote, or such orthodoxy enjoy with bones bonded by epoxy.
Debbie J. Jones * He is not exactly in the first flush and has a habit with socks he can't break — never takes 'em off. He won't be cowed, wears them in BED! No matter how high the tempo he fights in socks knee-high. His friends opine that he's gone to Mariupol in socks, he sticks them on with epoxy.
Wheedles day 2: 26 March, 2022
* The distance between a plot and a plait is shorter than Trump’s despot to depot.
* Dirk Bogarde in Venice dancing with death, ends with his final trip to the dye depot.
* still composing poems the footsore old loper enters the depot
Did we know the score? Believers when we voted. Dead letter depot!
* you ordered a heart a text said 'paid by debit, lost in the depot'
* Sky the shade of slate. Cy-, magent-, yell-, each toner stuck in the depot.
* hides deep in a crate, fellow travellers, pious, mass at the depot
* The chair of the board is a first class idiot fit for the depot
* now all is quiet – time to grab that little feast stored in the depot
Duncan Gillies MacLaurin
* Early stills give frost, draw dragon breaths; the Comet staff by their depot.
* Winter I bid adieu All creatures bright, not dopey Daffs galore, filling the depot
* Life’s too audio; settled down with a doner from Kebab Depot.
Wool hauled by a mouse — with which he plans to endow the old bus depot.
* <Debris re-imagined, a haiku for Ronnie Lane>
Daddy got his raise. And the family all coped. Peace at the depot.
* Child offers, eyes moist, hand holds out big penny groat, seeks route to depot.
* A blind child cries, without a guide, bombs sucking breath, raining death. No amateur sabateur can defer, deter the blast, the echo, from death’s depot.
* Applaud the Cambridge crew who say ʻadieu, adieuʼ, their oars shiver an edge, a hand, a wedge ahead, the river breadth narrows, the depth a bath, but ʻrow! row!ʼ to home past the freight depot.
Elisabeth Sennitt Clough
* With much at stake I took a break, my clothes once cloven now rewoven. God knows, my darling, who chose those. They came from Aleppo’s seediest depot.
* Think aloud and do us proud. Don’t hide in tropes. We are no dopes. Truth-hungry cousins crave their daily dozen. While silence aids the despot, rhetoric’s an arms depot.
* The bloke in the boatyard thinks I’m barely capable. See him stare as I fumble the pin into the hole in the gunwhale, the oar onto the thole. He wants to introduce me to the past tense of boat. It’s boated; noted, and now I know you park it on a yard, a hard, a dock, a slip, NOT a depot.
* For heaven’s sake – give me a break! Christina Rossetti would not be so petty. I am intrepid, it’s you who are tepid. Sod off, allegretto, to the diffidents’ depot.
* Met some dates at the pearly gates Cause of death? Lack of breath. Heavily in debit,followed Mr Tebbitt Would aye give my last Rolo for freedom from this depot.
Debbie J. Jones
* Dream softly, she said, for you dream on my tread, while there is breath, no dominion has death. Life is just a habit but death is not a debit, try a little Oulipo before that terminal depot.
* So stupid to stupidly stare, feeling frit in the fetid air — we aimed for wedgy, stubbled, quibbling, cool; our debut dance dainty toward the depot
* The rainfall shower’s stirring steam stops me feeling so terse but the bathroom blind’s bendy, the grey grouting’s queasily fetid. Let’s go to Plumb Depot.
* Stir, smile, add some water. Can he cook? Pray for theft of the tastebuds. Serve love’s debut: De-pot.
* Ovate — lay a token of organic ethos in an egg box for the Detox Depot.
* All raise glass with elbow! Toast train without venom: Thomas! Now back to (no decoy) depot.
* Not everyone likes to yodel or perform with the horde in an onomatopoeic rodeo. Some prefer to demob with afternoon tea in Devon: clotted cream and jam at the depot.
E. R. Michie
Wheedles day 1: 25 March, 2022
We check Sunak’s maths. Some questions arise.
Is he buying us off? Or filling his chest?
On a riverbank the heron displays poise.
On a fence post he’s a neckless legless chest.
When Ukraine was invaded without just cause,
Volodymyr Zelensky unleashed his war chest.
Like Lewis Hamilton, if you MUST crash
do your level best … to protect your chest.
Three rounds going spare?
Today’s just a lucky guess
what’s in the word chest!
He drills at my crown
Fearsome tool on a cable
Spitting on my chest
Catch the faintest trace,
after drought, of drenched earth scent:
rainstorm in my chest.
The outlook is bleak
In tune with the current trend
Get it off your chest.
He took the candy,
an attempt to gain some clout,
sits heavy on chest.
Freckles yeast the grape.
Fur the purple, take the shine —
Hide wine in my chest.
conjures clear images; dials
tick in the hope chest
Not the sort to boast
she worked, loved, swore, earned a crust
but scorned the hope chest.
Know this from the start:
There’ll be pleasure in the quest
if there’s treasure in the chest
Please cast aside your foolish pride;
I’m incomplete when you’re not sweet,
my quest unblessed. Come, be my guest,
and rest undressed upon my chest.
Duncan Gillies MacLaurin
The kilowatt hour is a measure of power:
the American Dream hailed the age of steam
and opened up the West to an unwanted guest
with a Winchester rifle slung across his chest.
To this milieu, we say adieu,
neither sleepy nor weepy,
no regrets, worries or frets,
we rest, with empty chests.
Deepak Chopra knows no opera,
To win you, he means, in his teens.
His heart he’d fell and therein stell
You, the best, in his chest.
My childhood dream was to be Dolly. At eighteen I went full steam
ahead, boob job, low-cut dress, booked Toni & Guy to bleach every tress.
I was blonde, busty, a bombshell, but failed the lookalike test. My quest
was hopeless. Now when I hear her Best Of, my heart keens in my chest
These lines are in lieu of an adieu;
time I wasn’t here. Time to steer
on different seas. Please wear these
words, my best, as a jewel on your chest.
Each daily bout, it carries clout.
Each fresh start grows your progress chart.
No clock to beat, no time to cheat.
Not Wordling your best? Keep it close to your chest.
Ah, I’ll write my own obit, I think, and split
the task. First, to list my vices, then to wrest
some virtues from the mix. A test! Now the quest
becomes, at best, a way to beat my own chest.
Summer on the Algarve. He was suave.
His sandals and beach clothes were those of a poser
par excellence. Christ what a heist —
her necklace finessed from her heaving chest.
She has a daughter she just can't alter
who's in love with a mouthy bloke from Stoke —
bloody pest. The mother stops him, makes it her quest
to contest, muscled arms folded across her chest.
Elisabeth Sennitt Clough
Guarded, keen yet to grind
gamey grist. In teams we
gauge who stole, who gave
quiescent love. Great my upset.
Gravely gapes our bridal chest.
Debbie J. Jones
Despite years of tough tears
and hills climbed, so steep,
you, baby, make me blest.
Gorgeous guy, my heart’s guest –
beats quicken on your chest.
I felt the first flush
quicken, the fast, fierce phase
and — charmed by the chase —
I chose hearts, not chess,
cards held to my chest.
Dream of lost homes
under toads. Find your shell.
Wonder whose heart was quick in these,