Jenny kissed me - by James Henry Leigh Hunt
This poem is on my mind today. Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kissed me.
I suppose it's an inevitable consequence of trolling ... or strolling ... through memories of days past. I am asking myself, this morning, WHY my 19 yo self thought it was such a great idea to go to Hollywood Cemetery at night after it was closed for the day? On a full moon night.
I know why we went ... I mean the reason. One of my art major friends wanted some photographs of the full moon over some of the monuments. I mean, that was HER reason. Why did I go with her? *I* wasn't an art major.
We were alone, the two of us, there was a whole group. For some reason, the Confederate dead monument freaked me out - a huge pyramid pile of round stones, reaching up into the night sky, toward the stars. From the moment we passed that, I began to feel a sense of oppression - that is, of pressure, something pushing down on me, growing heavier.
Today, I'm trying to figure out exactly WHY my 19 yo character would agree to go there, on Halloween. No full moon, at least, but in a way, the reason is more murky.
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kissed me.
I suppose it's an inevitable consequence of trolling ... or strolling ... through memories of days past. I am asking myself, this morning, WHY my 19 yo self thought it was such a great idea to go to Hollywood Cemetery at night after it was closed for the day? On a full moon night.
I know why we went ... I mean the reason. One of my art major friends wanted some photographs of the full moon over some of the monuments. I mean, that was HER reason. Why did I go with her? *I* wasn't an art major.
We were alone, the two of us, there was a whole group. For some reason, the Confederate dead monument freaked me out - a huge pyramid pile of round stones, reaching up into the night sky, toward the stars. From the moment we passed that, I began to feel a sense of oppression - that is, of pressure, something pushing down on me, growing heavier.
Today, I'm trying to figure out exactly WHY my 19 yo character would agree to go there, on Halloween. No full moon, at least, but in a way, the reason is more murky.