Stories of My Soul

A Winter’s Road

In a winter’s glow
fantasies of perfect families
are either side of me.

Always on the same road,
alone.
I wonder, about true love,

Or any other kind, heart
broken and lonesome
fantasies disappear.

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
perfection.

No one is brave enough,
No one is curious enough,
No one loves me enough.

Suddenly, I know, the only
person coming for me,
is 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

Merry Christmas 

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 
Santa’s magic.
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 -

Winter’s Crescent-Moon

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.

Dishevelled Soul

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.

-L.J. Lenehan-

Photograph by Radovani Image https://www.facebook.com/pages/Radovani-Image/389870901056548?fref=pb

My heart lingers
in your soul, eternally
hiding from the world.

- L.J. Lenehan -

This was forming in my head on the way home from work. I thought Siri in my IPhone 4S could help me record it until I got home. I said something like the above (or probably better) and Siri wrote:

‘Way home lingers for each canadine too well inside your soul.’

Maybe my American accent confused my Irish IPhone 4S and Siri could not understand my dialect. Whatever the reason she is so fired as my assistant!

1920’s Morning Purgatory

Driving in a heavy blue fog I may have disappeared

with no birds, no cars, no dogs a distinct absence of life

I wonder is this a sort of purgatory, a tree lined purgatory

filled with the world’s unanswerable tormented worries

I cannot be sure I am not already dead, oh what a hell

to drive forever in the shadows of a state of grace

The life I lived seems like nothing more than a short

vivid experience, some joy, some pain, a lot of boredom

Judgement, I suddenly have a sense of right and wrong

as black and white as a 1920’s morning newspaper

Photo by: https://www.facebook.com/FrBrinksPhotography

Future Curiosity

A psychic, an authentic horror of the soul knowing
psychic, spoke of superficial occurrences, I already knew, 
stopping short before something meaningful
was said.

Alone with my thoughts, by myself, without help

my brain tells me to go but it is probably

wrong

suffering, because of destructive actions, chitchat

in the hallway, suggests it was my fault

anyway

friends in the wings lose their memory:  about all

the words they agreed needed speaking so

badly

tears of frustration flow from out of no where

my head throbs, judge and jury sit before me

belittling

a waking nightmare that I cannot speak, no words,

but it is not true, I can speak, but no one can hear

me

- L.J. Lenehan 

Invisible

Earth filled air, moist and dry, I removed the Geraniums before

I tucked in, with the night’s sky. Leonard Cohen sang in the distance

‘Hallelujah’ I lay inside his raspy voice while my soul cuddled

the emotion of shock, shock that I was outside, shock that I was

under a stairs, shock that no one cared, shocked that I really had to

make it on my own. Someone once told me I came into the world

that way but I did not think it was true. Drunks stumbled by, I hoped

I remained invisible long enough that someone might see me.

 - L.J. Lenehan -