Dancing angrily,
the air of the chimney – whips
surly flames

mocking tales of fairy endings
creations of the devil
tempting us all

to one more day
of wishes, suffering, happiness
trivial mysteries.

-L.J. Lenehan-
turf+fire+framed

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a winter’s evening, all that she had, all that she was
fits in a black bag

faults easily forgiven, shortcomings the butt of every joke
eccentric, a character murmured through tears and laughter
her boldness forgotten after us

not famous, nor rich, important only to the five of us,
we hated her for drinking, for our hungry, cold nights,
first in the door ever evening felt the horror of being
her biggest burden of the day

bastards all of us, he ran off and left us to the rumours
our childhood hiding places, vivid in her absence
where fantasies went wild of what our lives would be
when we were older, when we were free,
when life would be better

discretion was our life, no one should know
how much she drank, scrubbed with a brillo for school,
a slice of bread for lunch, in mass every Sunday
with money for the priest, charity for those in need,
bruises where no one could see, vengeance
if a word passed our lips

on this winter’s evening as we laugh and we cry
sorting her things we know she lived for us
no one knew she was sick not wanting to burden us
the way we burdened her, her struggles finally gone,
her spirit living in the five chosen to be of her
and she has left the world the way she came into it
with nothing

-L.J. Lenehan-OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

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 –

A Winter's Road

 

This beautiful photo of Prizren, Republic of Kosovo is 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 –

church

Winter’s Crescent-Moon

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
consolatory Saints.

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 –

crescent-moon-Venus

Christmas Sales

Snow falls on
Millions of faces,
Identical stories,
Told,

Again and again.

Marketers, swoop in,
Offensively spoofing,
‘This is unique, never been heard, it will sell, sell, sell.’

Life long vacations,
New cars,
Holiday homes,
Private schools,
Begin, to fill up the brain.

Yay, no more wasted money,
On lottery tickets.
But this is just another tale,
About someone else’s life,
Themed around,
Christmas Sales.

Dreams smashed,
To smithereens.
When:
Vultures stop ringing,
Unsuccessful ventures,
Wall paper the house.

Day job, selling skin cream,
In the local pharmacy,
Reminds that not even a book store,
Would hire you,
To sell someone else’s dream.

Now, you are the vulture,
Selling hopes,
You don’t believe in,
during the Christmas Sales.

– L.J. Lenehan –

Christmas-sales-001

Angels

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.

Children sing, overwhelmingly loud, out of tune, I focus
on my daughter, her natural confidence reminds me of
everything I am not – I pretend a little longer, fight the
urge to crawl under pews and hide from the world because
I love her.

I admire my matching socks and think today is a good day,
I managed to brush my hair. I don’t envy the cooing couples,
the perfectly sculptured families, once I did, now I know:
it’s just life, mine is different, lonely, but it’s mine and
worth living.

– L.J. Lenehan –

Changing Season

Unlit Christmas trees contain next year’s

expectations emphasising this years’ went

unfulfilled. Happily ever afters’, sold out,

on top of worn out foundations.

 

Rumours spread: change brings sadness and

pain. Soothed by imaginary visions, barricaded

by seasons of luxury and joy, resenting generations

that provide charity or real life fairy tales.

 

Anxiety filled phone calls made to remnants

of people we used to know. Rented families

make the beauty pageant. Borrowed money

buys presents that get robbed the next day.

 

Festivity reminds the lonely just how lonely

they are. The suicide queue starts. Everyone

asks why didn’t they just say? Because there

was no one to listen, anyway.

– L.J. Lenehan –

I Love You, Honey

Rocking in a spacious corner,
blankly repeating,
I love you, honey.

He left,
he took the girls,
he did not visit.

Red brick walls,
two windows,
I love you, honey.

He moved on,
leaving me rocking,
locked in the memories:

of birthday cakes,
pine trees at Christmas,
lazy Sunday days.

Reverberating
in the empty room,
I love you, honey.

Perplexed by time passed,
he told the girls, I died,
they love another mother.

I love you, honey, echoes,
in my vacant life,
I wish, he had loved me too.

– L.J. Lenehan –