gnomon |ˈnōmän|noun1 the projecting piece on a sundial that shows the time by the position of its shadow. I found this word in a poem, a poem, obviously, about a sundial.

I never heard that word. I love it. I love words.

I know that the stiffened ends of shoe laces are called aglets. And I know that the wire shape around a light bulb under a lamp shade is called a harp. And I know that lagniappe is an unexpected extra thrown in, like the extra doughnut in a baker's dozen. Oh, and what's that lovely word for an oyster treat that late-drinking husbands in New Orleans used to bring their annoyed wives to soothe them? I can't think of it right now and I've made it. I know the recipe.; I think it's in one of my cookbooks. It will come to me about three a.m.

I can remember the medieval word for a toothbrush - for what was used as a toothbrush - a scurryfunge. I like that one. Gwyneth Paltrow used one in "Shakespeare in Love."

A few years ago I came across a page-a-day calendar in which every day offered an obsolete, forgotten word. I began to write poetry riffing on a word. Here's one of my favourites, the first word I had to play with: swarble

How did we lose this one so necesssary

to small boys

John used to swarble

all the time

up a tree

straight and smooth as bark can be

no impediments no limbs no

awkward branches just up

in triumph

We have a home movie of John

scrambling

or so I had thought

but I know now he was swarbling

up a stone pillar at the edge

of the garden

toeholds to be sure

not much for a four-year-old

It took a while but in the end

he triiumphed

he swarbled

Now he is grown he climbs

hills mountains cliffs and crags

bluffs overhangs crevasses and chimneys

rocks and ice

never people

You can´t swarble a person