For the First Time

On my path, it rains,
my dry skin moisturized.

For the first time, I stop,
observing the bend up the way,

inhaling the fragrant orchard bloom
I try to understand, how I never noticed

the bloom of thistles, water lilies,
dog rose, blue bells, dragonflies.

My steps are overwhelmed
by the need not to move, conflicted

by what lies up ahead, predators in between
lie each side in wait, to take:

my limbs, my children, my life.
I shake with the weight of my little chest

that holds within it a golden soul,
ready to shine.

-L.J. Lenehan-



Longevity is fated

pizzaIt’s late, my head throbs,
your face has drained of colour,
if only, I could rest my head –
you might believe for a while
I always loved you.

Problems faded away at your death bed,
all I could remember was, for better or worse,
you joked, I’m here for the better,
I laughed, not knowing worse would be a frequenter.
I’m tired now, but promises from the start

remind us both – till death do we part,
suspicions aside, there is no denying
longevity is fated with an end in everything
if there has been no ending, it is in fact,
not over.

-L.J. Lenehan-

A former shell of herself
she is trapped on the shores of waiting
with the menagerie of nameless

manifestations experiencing distortion
dry flesh in torrential rains
sleep without dreams

in a heavy air that cannot be smelt
but heard is the deafening echo of her heartbeat
in an atmosphere full of her self doubt

lovers might approach, if she could be seen
but night falls and her legacy fades
into the morning light

-L.J. Lenehan-

Portrait by:
JannaRef.Photo72dpi copy 2

A Stranger’s Sorrow

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.

-L.J. Lenehan-



Underneath orange blossoms,
time stops, as I wish upon a shooting star,
a warm breeze washes over me,

I count my triumphs and my tears
in the sparkle of the night when
a train whistles by

for a moment my path intertwines
with passengers of the night
and I pray for them and for me

that we may find our begin-agains,
joy from a loved one waiting with

contentment in a walk
through nature’s garden, hope
in an early sunrise,

love with no one but yourself,
music in an over-stimulated
brain, meaning in a life

not worth living, peace in an
an agitated world, harmony
in a cacophony of turmoil,

may we find all this as individuals
for a meeting of the minds
around the world.

-L.J. Lenehan-



Apocalypse And A Pebble Shore

Immobilised, on a freshly cut church ground
views of an apocalypse and a pebble shore
appear simultaneously.

Grey skies, broken windows,
fragranced seaweed,
seven trumpets wailing

revealing secrets
from the end of time
hidden in murmurs,

universal truths
grandiosely exposed
for my lifetime.

-L.J. Lenehan-

Doves That Cannot Fly

A single strand of lavender,
devotedly, blowing in a stone garden,
built for harmony, maintained by distrust.

Full of doves, that cannot fly,
when I visit, I remember goodbyes,
tears that would not come,

irrational conversations, created by a loss
shocked into solitude, mysteriously forgetting
life before the garden.

As anonymous as a peaceful mob
the garden has no dust
because pain never settles.

-L.J. Lenehan-

Lavender Fields Forever - 2013-04-21_202613_sense-of-place.jpg

Remember Me

Intuitively the water calls me,
from below the glowing moon’s concern
I can hear an echo of hallelujah.

Drawing me into the violent divide
of ocean’s inner secrets
I dive, I swim out to sea.

What is true
is no longer believed
because no one remembers me,

my empty home,
my featureless face,
my emptiness on display,

in a society that never saw me.
The calm that was seen in me
makes sense,

the calm before the storm,
the calm before I swam,
the calm before I became the sea.

-L.J. Lenehan-

Photograph By: John Mangan Photography

remember me

Jackson Hole

In an excursionist town
could have been any town
but let’s say it was Jackson Hole
I vocalised a hope
the night would never end
‘It’s not over until the fat lady sings’ I said
but she did sing
a lady sang
an opera I didn’t know
but I knew her song was the finale of my youth
a faceless, bodiless voice
predicted my evolution
from colourless alien lights
an angel sang
I laughed at my magic
I miss that night

-L.J. Lenehan-