Back soon, I hope.

Did you know?

“Levigate” comes from Latin “levigatus,” the past participle of the verb “levigare” (“to make smooth”). “Levigare” is derived in part from “levis,” the Latin word for “smooth.” “Alleviate” and “levity” can also be traced back to a Latin “levis,” and the “levi-” root in both words might suggest a close relationship with “levigate.” This is not the case, however. The Latin “levis” that gives us “alleviate” and “levity” does not mean “smooth,” but “light” (in the sense of having little weight). One possible relative of “levigate” in English is “oblivion,” which comes from the Latin “oblivisci” (“to forget”), a word which may be a combination of “ob-” (“in the way”) and the “levis” that means “smooth.” [info courtesy of Merriam-Webster]

Poem

levigate

Look out
Before you
Lose your
Rough edges
And polish
Yourself
Beyond
Recognition
Don’t forget
That these
Are the times
And this is
The way
You will be
Remembered
Someday when
You are a
Different person
You will wonder
Where that
Jagged knife
Mind went
And mourn
The loss.
I will be
Sorry to
See you go
Either way
Knowing
Who is who
Is really who
Is so hard.

Did you know?

If the word “gallimaufry” doesn’t make your mouth water, it may be because you don’t know its history. In the 16th century, Middle-French speaking cooks made a meat stew called “galimafree.” It must have been a varied dish, because English speakers chose its name for any mix or jumble of things. If “gallimaufry” isn’t to your taste, season your speech with one of its synonyms: “hash” (which can be a muddle or chopped meat and potatoes), “hotchpotch” (a stew or a hodgepodge), or “potpourri” (another stew turned medley). [info courtesy of Merriam-Webster]

Poem

gallimaufry

This mess
May seem like
Nothing
To those who
Don’t know
Where it all
Came from
And don’t know
That it has meaning
In this jumble
There is a life
And a story
And though
You may not
See it at all
Some of us
Look
And smile
In memory
Of it all.

Did you know?

The writer and Christian scholar Thomas More, in his 1534 work “A dialoge of comforte against tribulation,” defined the title word as “euery such thing as troubleth and greueth [grieveth] a man either in bodye or mynde.” These days, however, the word “tribulation” is typically used as a plural count noun, paired with its alliterative partner “trial,” and relates less to oppression and more to any kind of uphill struggle. “Tribulation” derives via Middle English and Old French from the Latin verb “tribulare” (to oppress or afflict), related to “tribulum,” a noun meaning “threshing board.” [info courtesy of Merriam-Webster]

Poem

tribulation

In the middle
Of this
Swirling trouble
I can remember
How the snow
Used to pile
Up to the
Windows
And turn
From white
To grey
And the trees
Were bare
And seemed
Bereft
Of life
Yet they
Begin
Again
Blooming
With green
And gold
And so
This too
Shall pass

Did you know?

Don’t call someone “jackleg” unless you’re prepared for that person to get angry with you. Throughout its more than 150-year-old history in English, “jackleg” has most often been used as a term of contempt and deprecation, particularly in reference to lawyers and preachers. Its form echoes that of the similar “blackleg,” an older term for a cheating gambler or a worker opposed to union policies. Etymologists know that “blackleg” appeared over a hundred years before “jackleg,” but they don’t have any verifiable theories about the origin of either term. [info courtesy of Merriam-Webster]

Poem

jackleg

Careful now
You don’t
Know
What you’re
Doing
With your ramshackle
Skills
And haphazard plans
I would not trust
This floor
If you built it
Give me a
Professional
That I can
Believe in
Unlike you
My scamming
Friend.
Go away
With your tricks
I don’t plan
To stand by you
Anymore

Did you know?

“Mohair” entered the English language in the 16th century, spelled variously as “mocayare,” “mockaire,” “mokayre,” and “moochary.” It was borrowed from Italian “mocaiarro,” a word which itself was borrowed from Arabic “mukhayyar.” The adjective “mukhayyar” meant “select” or “choice.” How this Arabic adjective came to be the English noun “mohair” is a bit of a mystery. It is possible that “mukhayyar” was used as a colloquial noun in the sense of “wool of prime quality” (that is, “choice wool”). In English, the shift from “mocayare” and similar spellings to “mohair” was likely influenced by the more familiar English word “hair.” [info courtesy of Merriam-Webster]

Poem

mohair

Let down
Your long
Hair,
My darling goat.
Faithful and
Following
I know you will
Not cheat or lie
But instead look
At me with your
Intelligent eyes
And calmly chew
Your green grass
And anything else
In your path
Now sit with me
In the shade
Of the summer
Leaved tree
And we will dream
Of things,
For you, food;
For me, untoward
Things that are
Better left
Unsaid.

Did you know?

Nowadays, “quaff” has an old-fashioned, literary sound to it. For more contemporary words that suggest drinking a lot of something, especially in big gulps and in large quantity, you might try “drain,” “pound,” or “slug.” If you are a daintier drinker, you might say that you prefer to “sip,” “imbibe” or “partake in” the beverage of your choice. “Quaff” is by no means the oldest of these terms — earliest evidence of it in use is from the early 1500s, whereas “sip” dates to the 14th century — but it is the only one with the mysterious “origin unknown” etymology. [info courtesy of Merriam-Webster]

Poem

quaff

Drink deep
But stop before
You drown
In all that you
Take in
From the waves
That come
Rushing down
Fast and hard
With fists
and nails
And shattered shells.
Careful now
Lay back down
And wait for it
To come
At last.

Did you know?

In the 5th century B.C. there was a rabble-rousing Athenian, a politician named Hyperbolus, who often made exaggerated promises and claims that whipped people into a frenzy. But even though it sounds appropriate, Hyperbolus’ name did not play a role in the development of the modern English word “hyperbole.” That noun does come to us from Greek (by way of Latin), but from the Greek verb “hyperballein,” meaning “to exceed,” not from the name of the Athenian demagogue. [info courtesy of Merriam-Webster]

Poem

hyperbole

This is the greatest
Day
The world has
Ever known
Nothing will
Top this one
Trust me on this
I am the most
Trustworthy person
You will ever meet
Take my advice
It is the best advice
You will ever get
And it will make
You into the
Most Best Top
Highest Number One
Person Ever
This is your
Last, final chance
Don’t miss out
Or you will regret
This more
Than anyone
Has ever regretted
Anything
Trust me
I say so.

Did you know?

You’re likely to come across “lanuginous” in only a few contexts, botany and spelling bees being the best candidates. In other contexts, the more common term is “downy.” “Lanuginous” has an unsurprising pedigree. It’s from the Latin word “lanuginosus,” which is in turn from “lanugo,” the Latin word for “down.” (“Lanugo” is also an English word used especially to refer to the soft woolly hair that covers the fetus of some mammals.) “Lanugo” itself is from “lana,” meaning “wool,” a root also at work in “lanolin,” the term for wool grease that’s refined for use in ointments and cosmetics. [info courtesy of Merriam-Webster]

Poem

lanuginous

Oh birdwing
Brushing against my
Face in the night
Or batwing
Or butterfly
I cannot see which
Your touch so soft
I won’t forget
How it felt
As I looked
For you in the firefly
Lit darkness
Nothing compares
To the astonishment
The surprise
Of your sudden glancing
Blow
Nothing will ever
Be the same,
Now.

Did you know?

Elephants, rhinoceroses, hippopotamuses — it was a French zoologist named Georges Cuvier who in the late 1700s first called these and other thick-skinned, hoofed mammals “Pachydermata.” The word, from Greek roots, means “thick-skinned” in New Latin (the Latin used in scientific description and classification). In the 19th century, we began calling such animals “pachyderms,” and we also began using the adjective “pachydermatous” to refer, both literally and figuratively, to the characteristics and qualities of pachyderms — especially their thick skin. American poet James Russell Lowell first employed “pachydermatous” with the figurative “thick-skinned” sense in the mid-1800s: “A man cannot have a sensuous nature and be pachydermatous at the same time.” [info courtesy of Merriam-Webster]

(Goodness, what a florid word!)

Poem

pachydermatous

I should have had
This thicker skin
And let these things
Bounce away from me
Like raindrops
If only I was made
Of steel or waterproofed
With some kind of oil.
I act like I am
But I am too stupid
And willing to let
That sharp word
File its way in
And infect me.
I should be harder
Openness has won
Me nothing.
I will learn from this,
I hope.

(yes, this is particularly shoddy.)