My heart, the elephant
of my fate, broken and painful
stumbling through this journey,
without a herd,
without a lover,
I walk through hot coals laid for me
by you, singing my skin, you stare,
until I burn, you turn and go.
But I am the strength
I need in your aftermath
to rise again.
All my fears of yesteryear play out today
on the eve of another New Year
replays of resurrections stain my brain
what a grim day filled with pressures
of promises to make, changes that must last,
there is no newness, there is only now
of resolutions I cannot speak, I cannot know
I have no guarantees that I might be lucky enough
to survive another three hundred and sixty five
but I wish my hours to be measured in kindness
my seconds to be filled with compassion
my life to serve as a benevolent gesture
to those I know, to those I love.
I exist in the shadows of empathy,
where compassion floods my soul
feeling the pain of all who are near
because I have no peace
in the presence of a stranger’s sorrow.
I find myself in an outdoor cinema,
with individual’s inner battles on display,
I am preoccupied with the judgements
that compound their sorrowfulness.
Suddenly and purposefully I mourn,
I mourn not for myself
but for a world full of people
that cannot find each other in plain sight.
Immobilised, on a freshly cut church ground
views of an apocalypse and a pebble shore
Grey skies, broken windows,
seven trumpets wailing
from the end of time
hidden in murmurs,
for my lifetime.
In the temple of my brain
an effortless philosophy exists:
In the sanctuary of my soul
an untaught religion produces:
In the asylum of my life
a universal truth allows:
My core submerged
In a comfortable dysfunction
Constructed in my childhood
Misinterpretation of Shangri-La
Perpendicular to reality
Where I entered into
A harsh betrayal
Grey, silver lucidly swirling clouds, display
a premonition of my death. Urgently, calling
me home to remember my dreams.
Innocent dreams of youth I foolishly
locked in the trunk of my impounded
1979 Cadillac DeVille.
Faded metallic green with a stale smell
of other people’s lives. Her breaks didn’t work.
Sun burnt interior thinned her original material.
One hundred and eighty horses underneath
her hood. I slowed down before I started her up
just in case she would not stop.
Many a hot day spent behind her wheel sipping
ice coffees and dreaming of my own
immortality. Moving on:
I went to Ireland, she went to the breakers,
now my youthful dreams are locked
in an Arizona inferno eternally.
Exhale in a winter’s night
– L.J. Lenehan –
This beautiful photograph by Paul Killeen – you can visit his page at:
Intrigued by the bright star
of the winter’s crescent-moon.
My heart hopes: for a less
contemporary annual design.
Something simple, something
without pain, something far away
from my corridor of horrors.
Listening intently, I imagine
comforting songs of night,
sung in the stars light, by
A song of understanding,
A song of all that is good,
A song of all that is meant to be.
Humbled by nature’s way of
showing life is not all melancholy,
there is serenity before we disappear,
if we choose to see.
– L.J. Lenehan –
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
– L.J. Lenehan –
Photograph by: https://www.facebook.com/FrBrinksPhotography