DID YOU KNOW THESE THINGS HAD NAMES?

The space between your eyebrows is called a glabella


The way it smells after the rain is called petrichor.




The plastic or metallic coating at the end of your shoelaces is called an aglet.





The rumbling of stomach is actually called a wamble.






The cry of a new born baby is called a vagitus.





The prongs on a fork are called tines.




The sheen or light that you see when you close your eyes and press your hands on them is called phosphenes.



The tiny plastic table placed in the middle of a pizza box is called a box tent.




The day after tomorrow is called overmorrow.




Your tiny toe or finger is called minimus.



The wired cage that holds the cork in a bottle of champagne is called an agraffe.





The ‘na na na’ and ‘la la la’, which don’t really have any meaning in the lyrics of any song, are called vocables.




When you combine an exclamation mark with a question mark (like this ?!), it is referred to as an interrobang.



The space between your nostrils is called columella nasi


The armhole in clothes, where the sleeves are sewn, is called armscye.


The condition of finding it difficult to get out of the bed in the morning is called dysania.


Unreadable hand -writing is called griffonage.

The dot over an “i” or a “j” is called tittle.



That utterly sick feeling you get after eating or drinking too much is called crapulence.

The metallic device used to measure your feet at the shoe store is called Bannock device.

MUSICAL NATURE

Beats of sounds speaks out
to be heard outside thought.
Taught mind holds out its arms
which melodies caress, disarms.

Balance placed all around is
quite fondly rolled out like this.
With august carpets welcomed
to change moods succumbed.

Beauty revealed in rhythm
that alone fills the chasm,
Teaches that nature is a song
sang in the world it belong.

Listening to living all about,
natural in whisper or shout.
Speaking like any language
for those alive, of every age.

This one common dialect
that nature would select,
to talk to all its wards
over whom it over-lords.

Into the rhymes of beats
even the soul also eats.
For the monastery of man
isn’t too lonely to jam.

Drummed beats within ribs
carry breath beyond its cribs.
Heard inside ears own confine
till sound buries its own coffin.

This atmospheric gaol of man
he has only, all he does plan.
In its whirl spin of mystery,
it entertains man’s misery.

Trunk sounds nosy trumpets
like fluty birds in high nests.
Peckers tap wooden gongs
as leggy harps chirp songs.

The hiss lull of breezy air
and crescendo a storm blare;
conducts brown, green and blue
into a harmony hardly new.

As sound speaks and entertain,
nature so musically maintain
the oneness of all it breeds;
sanely soothing all it feeds.

The metaphor portrays the act,
that cannot dispute the fact;
That the fruit of this only life
Metamorphose with all alive.