An Apathetic Generation

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 had a dream,
grandmother’s demanded the right for a vote.

Change the television channel, that tsunami never happened,
Yahoo bought Tumbler – children in the Philippines are displaced,
Iran keeps the right to enrich uranium – to keep the peace,

nuclear attack discussions incomplete, the G8 needed a break
to support small business day and the Millennium babies?
They remain bewildered by diversions in place to entertain

An apathetic generation.

-L.J. Lenehan-

Absolution

Walking, at the end of summer
through a quiet village,
like any other,
with talking windows,
cars slowly pass a homely church,
making the sign of a cross,
I stop outside
in blue skies
swarms of crows encircle me,
sending chills throughout my spine,
Blessed Mother Mary hovers ominously
over deafening echoes of aging souls
pleading forgiveness of misspent youths,
in the face of impending ends,
a glint of forgiveness,
eases aching consciences.

-L.J. Lenehan-

peace-to-mother-mary

Gracious Glory

A haunting story,
that gracious glory
torn a part, long ago
when being a woman
became the ultimate insult
with no protection they became
a part timer at home, a full timer away,
mother by day, men’s play thing by night, how vulgar,
taking something once so defined, dependable and true
interweaving it in to the emasculating of men afraid to use a mop…

-L.J. Lenehan-

Jackie-Kennedy

I Might Be A Crow

Awake during the day, midnight black
crows chatter incessantly,
on a platform of generations
that hope for a destinations of beauty, though fleeting.

Human insecurity, masked, purposefully
they ignore the crow, left to wallow
in self pity – the sun irritates a gloomy mood.

I might be a crow too –
performing expected motions of the day,
over looked, I long for the silence of night,

When a solution may appear,
and finally, I might feel comfortable
with the crows.

– L.J. Lenehan –

crows

Camouflaged Gramophone

Oh, lovely reverie
where divine messengers
sing sweetly

of afternoon sunshine
where mixed blessings
are locked away

in the corner of a broken
gramophone camouflaged
in recycled memories

of hallelujah heard
during generational
peaks of puberty.

-L.J. Lenehan-

gramaphone

Saturday, mundane, grey –
fresh from a shower of fear.

Familiar monsters push trolleys
discuss table cloths, school fees,
milk bought yesterday, already off
small ones shushed, routine.

Happiness evades suspicious
eyes fluidly, a parody
of all that is alien.

-L.J. Lenehan-

orlando_cirque

The Deafening Tick Tock

 

That large window pane,
next to my desk,
schemes, with the day.

Distractedly I focus
on the deafening tick tock
torturing my imagination.

From a long line
of window looker outers –
I can’t help myself.

Each flake of snow falls with
its own benevolence, but it’s
the kind of snow that doesn’t stick.

-L.J. Lenehan-

tick

Endorsing Consciousness

 

Examining my consciousness
overwhelms the room
causing shivers underneath my skin
in a most uncomfortable way.

Oh, how I know the meaning of empathy,
for everyone but me.
Deliberately, I breathe:
in and out,

pausing

to measure time passing by.
Unhurried, I contemplate all the ways
I might find to endorse myself,
on this endless search for

validation.

-L.J. Lenehan-625669_485304774869060_1188879895_n

Floating Through Seasons

Oh, how this Island of Saints and Scholars
beguile me, heavy snow this morning
especially for the working class of Sheriff’s Street
twelve years on this road, I like it here, I know the score,
never a Saint on ‘The Street’
many a failed Scholar
myself included,
half ten and winter’s morning is gone
autumn sets in, with a heavy rain melting the snow
without an umbrella, I go in search of my creator,
buying the kiss I head back to my apartment around noon,
in my confusion leaves bloom
back in my room I tie up the dinosaur
praying to St. Christopher to keep me safe
on my trip,
the air has dried and a warmth invades me
all the anxieties of people I let down drift away
floating above I notice bareness, in the room
a skeleton on the floor
I’ve been here before
observing an unlived life
in a perfect clarity
floating through seasons
this time forever.

-L.J. Lenehan-

four seasons

Side of the Road – ART

Driving by the moon’s phases at mid day,
ungracefully thin and tall
the display
particularly uncomfortable today.
Unable to instil
the delight it filled me with
when I immediately recognised
the gangling
out of place
carving
placed on a burn mahogany
piece of earth
too soft to support a heavy body.
Six years into the recession
art does not appear
sporadically
on motorways
anymore.

– L.J. Lenehan –

C