Come closer, friend! A moment stay, arresting worried pace
And sweetly let us transport thee to deeps of higher space
There let tempestuous time release its greedy gripping hold
Turn, drink instead our harmonies as liquid drops of gold:
With windswept notes our songs concord and swell to curious calm—
Come summer, winter, autumn, spring we sing a burning balm
Coddiwompling Quarterly is a small literary journal created to explore the musings of the mind and heart in the spirit of true philo-sophia. Each issue gathers essays, interviews, and reflections around a central question or theme, then playfully wanders toward wherever that question honestly leads.
According to Wiktionary (which we were all told not to use in high school, but which we now use freely because we have the capacity to fact-check), there is no evidence for the word coddiwomple before the late 2010s. Since we also at one point did not exist, we see no reason to discriminate against it.
Deeply disagree with any one of us? Have concerns about our mental health? Thoughtful and substantial responses are welcome.
Please keep responses under 300 words. Publication at the discretion of the troubadours.