If I was to shout until I disappeared would you finally hear? -L.J. Lenehan- http://wp.me/s2B9OF-1034
Follow @LJLenehan (All writings are original work by Lael Lenehan unless stated otherwise.)">
Camino De Las Flores – Spanish for the road of blooming flowers,
the road of my childhood, where flowers never bloomed.
Adobe homes scattered, purposefully, with a few red brick mixed in
swimming pool at each one, never used, landscape modern, desert…
Stuck in waking nightmare, an apathetic generation
watches in silent opinion, as banks fail, jobs move to third worlds,
over-financed homes are handed back with ease.
Forty years before their parents protested in the streets,
for a better world, Malcolm X…
could we perhaps use some of your poems at Van Goghs Ear? http://theoriginalvangoghsearanthology.com ?
A Winter’s Road
In a winter’s glow
fantasies of perfect families
are either side of me.
Always on the same road,
I wonder, about true love,
Or any other kind, heart
broken and lonesome
As I imagine my knight in
shining armour, I think I
may have disappeared too.
The only way to me
is giving up on the notion of
No one is brave enough,
No one is curious enough,
No one loves me enough.
Suddenly, I know, the only
person coming for me,
- L.J. Lenehan -
Beautiful photo of Prizren, Republic of Kosovo captured by HD Nature… https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=454789204580669&set=a.389755164417407.84880.389737734419150&type=1&theater
In my private moment of hope
for holiday cheer,
I wish for a Christmas miracle
to occur in the world:
love, compassion, joy,
shelter, food a little bit of
My mother’s words echo
in my ears:
May this year be better
than the last.
I hope that is true –
for me and for you.
- L.J. Lenehan -
Intrigued by the bright star
of the winter’s crescent-moon.
My heart hopes: for a less
contemporary annual design.
Alone in a room of two hundred, Christmas Carols play,
Saints taunt me on the wall, I sit, simulating motherhood.
Nervousness sets in, I notice the eyes of the neighbours
I told to fuck off six months ago, they would not accept
I was depressed.
Disconnecting from my soul, inside a bathroom stall:
the nine by eleven spins, out of control, somewhere
the real me thinks about a way to show up in the world.
Lower, and lower, and lower, and lower I go, until
there is no where left to go. Waves of anxiety
cognizance reminds me of what life used to be.
Comatosed in a passionless, excitementless desert
full of defunct tiresome clans, sluggishly wading
through a breathless uninteresting existence.
Deep breath in, I force myself out of the bathroom stall,
dishevelled, uninspired, dead woman walking,
exhale, maybe tomorrow will be better, maybe.
Photograph by Radovani Image https://www.facebook.com/pages/Radovani-Image/389870901056548?fref=pbSource: facebook.com