Having/Halving
It's not the having, it's the getting:
Unshaven chins bristling my cheeks
Unshaven legs prickling your hands
Lip's kiss smack on my hand at the movies
Lip's kiss mark on your neck on the doorstep
The squish of your wet boots on my new carpet
The squish of your toes, stepped on while dancing
The sigh on my cheek when you whisper goodnight
The sigh on your shoulder when you roll on your side
The soft thud of your shoes, landing near mine
The soft thud of my heart, so full of you

It's not the getting, really, it's the halving;
I'm glad my other half is you.

for the highlander in this picture

This poem was an experiment with two challenges: one, to write a love poem that was not syrupy and not cynical, just sweet; two, to write a lyric-worthy poem that DID NOT rhyme but that my sisters could still put music to. I liked the idea of playing with the sound of the words having and halving, and the idea that all of these things that are shared have a soft sound attached to them -- scratch, squish, sigh, kiss, soft thud.

I am not overly fond of the idea of sharing this poem in cyberspace... and yet it is one of the better examples I can locate of something I wrote specifically with sound in mind.
So, be ye kind, gentle comment-maker. And know that the guy in the picture loved it, and subsequently married the author, so it can't rot all that badly, can it.

Call it a Gallimaufry, but don't call it late for dinner

[ad. F. galimafrée, of unknown origin.]
1. A dish made by hashing up odds and ends of food; a hodge-podge, a ragout. rare exc. dial.
2. transf. and fig. A heterogeneous mixture, a confused jumble, a ridiculous medley.
3. A promiscuous assemblage (of persons).
4. Said somewhat contemptuously of a person: A man of many accomplishments; a composite character. Now rare.
Hence galli"maufrical a., miscellaneous.

Where, O Where did such a marvellously obtuse word spring from? Not even the OED knows, it seems. And yet, here it is, and even proven by the Bard in Merry Wives of Windsor:

1598 Shakes. Merry W. ii. i. 119 He wooes both high and low+he loues the Gally-mawfry (Ford) perpend.

Gallimaufry was standard fare for me in undergrad; sometimes it was a cullinary challenge to make leftovers stretch until your next payday.

This word also reminds me of the food poems written by the baker friend of Cyrano de Bergerac, RAGUENEAU -- the one who "sponsored" all of the poets who then ate him out of house and home, and whose wife used their masterpieces as wrappers for the pastries.

RAGUENEAU:

How almond tartlets are made.

Beat your eggs up, light and quick;

Froth them thick;

Mingle with them while you beat

Juice of lemon, essence fine;

Then combine

The burst milk of almonds sweet.

Circle with a custard paste

The slim waist

Of your tartlet-molds; the top

With a skillful finger print,

Nick and dint,

Round their edge, then, drop by drop,

In its little dainty bed

Your cream shed:

In the oven place each mold:

Reappearing, softly browned,

The renowned

Almond tartlets you behold! (scene 2 IV., Cyrano De Bergerac, by Edmond Rostand c/o Project Guttenburg)

It sounds even better in the original French, but it is not too bad in English.

Show Me Your Figs, Sycophant!

From the Greek fig + to show (sorry, blogger does not allow the cutting and pasting of the actual greek) (Cf. F. sycophante (16th c.), †sichophant, It., Sp. sicofanta, Pg. sycophanta.)
The origin of the Gr. word, lit. = ‘fig-shower’, has not been satisfactorily accounted for. The explanation, long current, that it orig. meant an informer against the unlawful exportation of figs cannot be substantiated. It is possible that the term referred orig. to the gesture of ‘making a fig’ or had an obscene implication.
['sIk-ah-fant] ( Again, apologies as blogger does also not understand the IPA)
1. Gr. Hist. One of a class of informers in ancient Athens: see quots. and etymology above.
2. transf. and fig. An informer, tale-bearer, malicious accuser; a calumniator, traducer, slanderer. Obs.
3. A mean, servile, cringing, or abject flatterer; a parasite, toady, lickspittle.

And so, our challenge continues, to use all definitions in a phrase or scene:
Socrates: You narked on me, you insolent sycophant(definition 1)!

Plato: How dare you call me sycophant (definition 2) when I was forced to tell them the truth about you, lest they make me drink hemlock! I do not want my legacy repeated ad naseum in an English workbook! Such an honor should be reserved only for you!

Socrates: You fool sycophant (definition 3). I can see your false humility as plain as the sands in the hour glass. A curse fall upon the name Plato! Henceforth, let every woman you love only want to be friends! How men will beg for generations for relationships to be not Platonic!


This word I came across while reading a book on how to insult and abuse people in Classical Latin. I think originally my husband added it to our library with the idea that I could use it to defend myself at dinner -- he, my father-in-law and our daughter's godfather all speak Latin. I can get through a Mass and a few phrases from Virgil and Ovid, and then I have to resort to t-shirt slogans. (Veni, Vidi, Veggie : I came, I saw, I had a salad.) In fact, someday I think their plan is to have my daughter also speak Latin -- one of her first books from them was Cattus Petasatus, or the Cat in the Hat in Latin.

And to fulfill part of my assignment on finding poems that play with sound, who better than Doctore Seuss:

Imber totum diem fluit
Urceatim semper pluit
Taedet intus nos manere:
Numquam potest sol splendere,
Desidesque sic sedemus,
Nec ridemus, nec gaudemus.
Fore finem quiescendi
Mihi spes est et sedendi.

The opening stanzas of Cattus Petasatus.
Note that they are, like classical medieval Latin works, in rhyming couplets!