Paradise or the Abyss

By Bud Koenemund

For TK

Enchantment from first sight I do admit;
Physical separation cannot quell,
Nor the disparity of years omit,
This truth which has too long in shadows dwelled.
Yearning to touch you compels – fingertips
Caressing skin warmed by dragon’s fire –
My mouth constantly hungers for your lips;
Though, lust is not the limit of desire.
I would, Lady, endeavour to become
The poet held highest in thy esteem;
For you, muse, who so oft’ has left me dumb,
Might mend my heart, and a lost soul redeem.
   I beg, let not impediments divide,
   And embrace these lyrics birthed in your eyes.

A Poet's Obligatory Ode to a Blank Sheet of Paper

By Bud Koenemund

At rest now, on desktop – yet, I reflect,
Not long ago part of a mighty tree –
Poised as canvas for form crafted perfect,
But oft’ revealing insufficiency.
Does it yearn, like the poet, to become
Great – an ode comparing a summer’s day;
Evening stops by snowy woods; or songs from
Lovers lamenting loss; a chance to gain
Immortality in some small measure?
When the muse speaks, and quill dances with page,
Mere words metamorphose into treasure.
A frenzied scribe ink alone can assuage,
   As they create worlds with paper and pen –
   Driving imagination beyond ken.

By Muse Gifted

By Bud Koenemund

How do poems arise if not by muse
Gifted? Bestowed upon the inspired
Like sparks flickering off a lighted fuse:
Prelude to a blast of creative fire.
But, where lies the line between flame and fuel?
Is there divide ‘twixt poet and Goddess;
Or are scribes indebted for each jewel
Conveyed through genius? And, while less modest
Egos, so often inflated by pride,
May out of hand reject this argument,
Their hubris will stand tribute to the tide
Of rhythm and rhyme Erato has lent.
   I can never repay thy influence;
   Nor suitably praise such mellifluence.