(forgive my indulgence)
I have grown tired of licking
trying to get to the center
of this shiny cherry lollipop
in mouth-watering anticipation so long
my tongue is red and feeling the burn
and I have lost my sense of sweet
which means, I am the sucker, but
I don’t blame you, sweet lollipop
it’s not your fault that I found you
so hard and delicious.
His Excuse for Loving
Let it not your wonder move,
Less your laughter, that I love.
Though I now write fifty years,
I have had, and have, my peers.
Poets, though divine, are men;
Some have loved as old again.
And it is not always face,
Clothes, or fortune gives the grace,
Or the feature, or the youth;
But the language and the truth,
With the ardor and the passion,
Gives the lover weight and fashion.
If you then would hear the story,
First, prepare you to be sorry
That you never knew till now
Either whom to love or how;
But be glad as soon with me
When you hear that this is she
Of whose beauty it was sung,
She shall make the old man young,
Keep the middle age at stay,
And let nothing hide decay,
Till she be the reason why
All the world for love may die.
Ben Jonson, 16th Century poet and playwright.
I had the immense good fortune of listening to Robert Pinsky and Laurence Hobgood perform Poem Jazz at the Dodge Poetry Festival this morning. One of the pieces performed was Ben Jonson’s poem His Excuse for Loving, a poem from the 16th Century author. I loved it, so I thought I’d share it, alongside a poem that composed itself in my head as I drove up the Garden State Parkway. While I still think lollipops are good, sweet, and fun, unfortunately I did miss my exit. No worries, though, it’s all good.