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…
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.
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
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 newspaperSource: facebook.com