A Desert Mirage

I let it happen
I ran to it; I stayed.

A desert mirage –
distorted those years.

concealing the tears of my heart
within the monsoon.

The locusts laughed
full of chat:

the years of fear:
it was the song of the sirens.

now: broken down and stuck,
in the hell of my own hallelujah

there is nothing in me, that moves,
but the desert calls all its babies:

with the softness of a mother’s touch
and a knowing forgiveness

of everything in between.



The Road Where The Neighbours Never Speak

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 design.

Inhospitable the neighbourhood and its people, twenty years on the same road
and not one name did I know, circumstances yes, but names no.

Evenings spent on the balcony inhaling the dry Sonoran air
watching the sun fill the rocky skyline edge with master colours

until a blanket of black covered the valley, starry lights took over
with howls and gunshots reverberating in the hours of dark.

Bone chillingly cold at two a.m. in the desert, every blanket from the house
outside, mother never noticed children missing in the night,

terrified by the early hours, ghost stories about Billy The Kid,
Indian burial grounds and scalped palefaces stored in preparation

of a new day on the road where the neighbours never speak, excruciating
the heat by mid-day, hidden from sight all signs of life.

-L.J. Lenehan-

A starkly contrasting day
bright, hidden from sight
monsters of the night
a surface light, protecting
anything that may not
be right, me from speculation
I can function in that
which cannot be seen.

-L.J. Lenehan-

My Poems Featured In The Blue Guitar Magazine

Some of my poems are featured in The Blue Guitar Magazine have a look if you have time:


Featured Poems:
Monsoon Do Not Forget The Sonoran Desert
1979 Cadillac De Ville
Main Street America
Memories Of Me – Sold
Floating Through Season

1979 Cadillac DeVille

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 never 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.

-L.J. Lenehan-

Home Poems

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,


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


-L.J. Lenehan-625669_485304774869060_1188879895_n

Family Home

In a lost America Casey Kasem
plays the nation’s top forty since
nineteen seventy – my heart swells

on a dysfunctional ground of barren lots,
cream coloured grass, baby saguaros
near over bearing mesquite trees mingling

with rows of out of place telephone poles.
Reacting to hollow structures in the bony sockets
of skulls I need solitude, instead,

I mistakenly see an apparition
of Our Lady, but no, I am mistaken,
once again alone, with only the glow of sun

and a deep need for coffee. My family home
sold on, long ago, I am silently reminded I
moved on. The ground does not pretend

anything here will nourish me. This moment
comes with a painful clarity from the angel on my
shoulder promising abundance elsewhere.

– L.J. Lenehan –


Stolen Moment

Busy, spraying and wiping tables
evening air taking over suffocating heat
conscious of sweat stains darkening my white blouse
beads of sweat glue my long skirt to my bare legs.

Preparing for the evening rush
sidewalk lights turn on
mingling with pinks and purples of the setting sun
lethargically, my gaze falls to the glow of the sidewalk light.

Stealing a moment for reverie my body starts to tingle
in the middle of my great perhaps.

The thing is – I’m sure I have done it before
in another life, my future, someone else’s past?
I’m not sure,
but somehow I know.

Broken glass
back to reality
off to find the sweeping brush.

– L.J. Lenehan –


Day Before I Knew What Sudden Adult Death Syndrome Was…

The 16th of July last year was a Saturday because of the Leap Year it is Monday this year and not Sunday. It was a pretty normal day. My husband and I summer cleaned the house. Something both of us hate doing but accomplish so one thinks less of us. We were proud of our efforts and decided to make pop corn and watch movies that night to celebrate.

Before we made the popcorn we agreed I would call my Dad to talk about our upcoming trip home to Arizona and he would drive down to his mother’s house to get some headache medicine.

We made popcorn and talked about the future. My husband was going back to college in September and we talked about when he finished maybe I could give up work and we could have another child.

We watched the movie Bridesmaids and laughed at all the funny parts. We were in a really good mood and decided to watch the movie A-Team after. It was about two am by the time the movies were finished and I gave him a hug and a kiss and went to bed.

My husband stayed up as he often did doing administration tasks for his pitch and putt club and updating his night time Facebook friends on what was going.

Everything seemed like just another night.

My motherland sinks; as the habitat is ferociously guzzled, from the Desert Sonora –
Development; devastating the lands that in eighteen sixty where home to Geronimo.
I found refuge; in a land fabricated by decomposed flora; composing the Offaly móna –
Innocence still exists; in what – ‘was known’ – as the ‘Kings County’ when the land was raided; in aid of filling a portfolio.
The Celts and Apaches; warriors of land, living peacefully – until the period of acquiring territories.
Cultures rich; dating back to Neolithics; living nomadicly; complimenting the climate –
The race to acquire; had no value for humans; throwing them all into purgatory.
Magistrates; had no compassion; instead purchased bloodstained goblets, from muskets.
Born with no enclosures; these cultures ended; in poverty-stricken prisons.
Warned by the sun, rocked by the winds, sheltered by the trees; they lived peacefully –
Taken from their homes; they became sick and died – decisions to not provide nutrition; where not revisited.
Martyrs; died in bondage; only wished their offspring returned home, legally.
Borders remain; small minds impoverish individuals – but why?
Each child; deserves the chance to receive a lullaby; in an unpaid liberty; free from alibi.

– L.J. Lenehan –