01 March 2019

Melted Into Air

For T.

With thanks to Janelle Velasquez,
and the Pittsburgh Public Theater.

Floating ‘cross the stage, her motion revelry;
Ariel: dancing, singing – resplendent
As she shimmers, delighting ev’ry
Faculty – a heavenly transcendence.
This spirit – perfection in form, movement,
Gesture, and expression – enchants the eyes;
Filling admirers with wonderment –
Weaving magic throughout as dreams arise.
Yet, my memory dwells on thoughts of thee,
And days past, when you performed the same role –
A pale blue star becoming muse; briefly
Bestowing thy grace ‘pon this poet’s soul.
   Inspiration bred verse of praise and prayer;
   Tendered respect, then melted into air.

18 December 2018

Sentinels in Blue

By Bud Koenemund

People dismiss us as inconvenient –
Obstacles to work, school, or vacation.
Sentinels in blue; control they resent –
Even while enjoying our protection.
Often, we are targets of ridicule;
Enduring contempt and indifference.
Cursed by the self-entitled for our rules;
Silent as others vent their annoyance.
Still, a few accept this challenge: standing
Firm ‘gainst those who’d see America bowed.
Our mission is the price freedom demands:
A sacrifice many will never know.
   Each day, we rise, making liberty sure;
   Pledging to keep this, our Homeland, secure.

09 March 2018

It Comes at Night

By Bud Koenemund

It comes at night, when I am defenseless.
Black and amorphous, lurking beyond sight;
Yet crushing: enveloping the senses
In fear. Doubt paralyzes, inviting
A surrender I would willingly give.
This unnamed dread – spirit malicious –
Abuses intellect, holding captive
Reason as my own mind becomes seditious;
Left vulnerable to shadows and ghosts –
Specters of depression which mock defeats,
Real or imagined, while I suffer; lost
As thoughts betray: embracing light’s retreat.
   Despair creeps, growing stronger in this gloom,
   Enticing me ever closer to doom.

29 December 2017

Ars Gratia Artis

By Bud Koenemund

For Arielle

Life has a certain unfairness in it:
Nature entices heart; lust ignores age,
But fate curses me with visage unfit
To woo. Even still, desire rages.
Enkindled by your grace and intellect –
Beauty which transcends mortal countenance –
Language ignites an inferno unchecked,
Though tendered lacking hope of recompense.
Lady, my admiration is undimmed;
Respect enduring despite passing years,
And this confession – converted to hymn –
Sings a chorus I pray will please thy ear.
   Yours lives on though other memories fade –
   A light immortal; proofed ‘gainst end of days.

28 December 2017

One Hundred Fifty-Four

By Bud Koenemund

For The Master Sonneteer

While others mock adherence to thy form,
The challenge kindles creativity.
Though I struggle, forging order from storms,
Effort is oft’ rewarded with beauty.
I may crow, during less humble moments,
But will be first to note equality
Is symbolic in this accomplishment;
Rightly measured solely by quantity,
Not quality. One hundred fifty-four
Little songs which dripped off tongues of muses;
Many doomed to be shunned, a few adored;
Each speaking the truth with passion infused.
   By Heaven, I pray this imitation,
   Weak as it is, will prove adoration.

27 December 2017

Ten Years Owed

By Bud Koenemund

For Arielle

Once, I presented you with broken prose –
A fool fumbling to reveal affection;
Though much remained unsaid, my heart frozen
By the fear of defeat and rejection.
Thou art fairer than any I’ve beheld;
Azure eyes, radiant as sapphires,
Charm; skin of porcelain in mem’ry dwells,
Setting imagination on fire.
Oh, Muse; these words were owed a decade past.
But, timid, I withheld, respecting age
Despite attraction; avoiding trespass
Or offense; leaving passion unengaged.
   Embers of spirit rekindle this blaze,
   And I must beg pardon for tardy praise.

30 November 2017


By Bud Koenemund

For Trey

What wonder fills the mind of a child;
An exuberance unbridled by doubt,
While imagination leads to wild
Adventures spanning galaxies…without
Fear of missing dinner. Inquisitive;
Hungry for the knowledge found in this world,
And others beyond reach. Intuitive;
Seeking truth as life’s mysteries unfurl
About them. Though bodies rest, thoughts hurry
Ahead. Dreams race against time to reveal
The universe before sunrise can blur
Miracles which daylight, and age, conceal.
   Youth itself kindles curiosity;
   Igniting flames of creativity.

27 October 2017


By Bud Koenemund

For C.

I’m weird? Pray tell, for writing little songs?
Articulating my feelings with verse?
While futile, would you call struggle wrong;
The offering of sentiment perverse?
But, I beg, remember, in days to come,
When thou art married, and bear two point three
Kids; suffering a man whose brain is numb;
Abiding ignorance, as love’s decreed
Through monosyllabic grunts; recall these
Scribblings fondly. Cherish those mem’ries
Awakened by words spun only to please
Your eye, with rhythm, and rhyme’s symmetry.
   Though there is strangeness in the proportions
   Of my mind, it feeds beauty’s expression.

22 October 2017

Guilty in Silence

By Bud Koenemund

For Arthur H. Monigold

He told me not to tell, and I didn’t.
His own grandson – once untainted; trusting –
Protecting a monster whose sin imprints
The soul, poisoning innocence with lust;
Breeding this maelstrom raging through my brain:
Lightning strikes of emotion – wrath and shame;
Hate and self-doubt – a tempest unconstrained.
Yet, misery lurks darkest in that blame
I carry for silence. An accomplice
To evil; remaining mute as he forced
This curse upon others; rending solace
From family: a guilt beyond recourse.
   Though my flesh bears no scar, memory steals
   Peace with injuries time will never heal.

14 October 2017

When I Have a Muse

By Bud Koenemund

For C.

When I have a muse, words fit perfectly;
Finding their places as if by magic,
While airy voices whisper secretly:
Poetry and prose midst verse emphatic.
I labor nonetheless, forging sonnets –
Shaping songs with odd old ends of language;
Bleeding ink on paper. This gift, honest
As it is, oft’ dooms my soul to languish;
Drifting through passionate desperation.
But, by your grace, confidence awakens:
Imagination invents expression,
And desire restores a faith shaken.
   Though form arouses creativity,
   ‘Tis thy genius which sparks my artistry.