Words are slippery little things;
They change their coats and grow new wings.
What once was true may now sound odd—
A prank by language? A gift from God?
Nice once meant a foolish fool,
not someone charming, calm, or cool.
To call you nice in days of yore
was not a compliment at all, for sure.
Explode meant clapping, loud and grand,
a thunderous roar throughout the land.
And loud applause? Well, strangely enough,
meant, “Hook that actor—the show’s too rough!”
If something seemed plausible, they’d say,
“It deserves applause!” Hip hip hooray!
Not likely, sensible, or probable—
just clap-worthy and laudable.
A bully once was a darling dear,
a sweetheart you’d hold forever near.
“I love that lovely bully,” they’d coo—
Quite different from what bullies do.
And buxom? Here’s a twist to note:
it once meant obedient, not low-cut coats.
A dutiful soul who’d do as told,
before curves and glamour entered the fold.
To disappoint was not heartbreak’s sting,
but removing someone from a lofty thing.
To appoint or disappoint—that was the game;
Shakespeare would surely approve the claim.
A fizzle was a modest breeze,
a quiet escape, if you please.
A gentle puff, discreetly sent—
Though sadly, not always odorless in intent.
And luxury? Believe it or not,
it wasn’t yachts or a fancy yacht spot.
It meant lust and lechery run amok—
“Foul luxurie!” cried the scandalized flock.
As for popularity, here’s the twist:
it wasn’t liked on a social list.
It meant democracy’s weighty decree—
A political matter in 1546, you see.
So words march onward, year by year,
growing stranger, shifting gear.
Meanings wander, drift, and roam—
No word stays forever at home.
And if you think language should stay one way,
history laughs and says, “No chance today.”
Corney Press 