27 March 2015


By Bud Koenemund

For New York City

Emerging from Mister Holland’s Tunnel,
I open the windows and take a deep
Breath, relishing City air in my lungs –
Savoring aromas as mem’ries creep
Through my mind, re-igniting the spirit.
I’ve missed this place; its electricity
Defying description – an infinite
Power source to fuel creativity.
Psychedelic allegory abounds;
Similes, like rain, stream off the rooftops,
O’erwhelming sense, as metaphors resound;
Echoing off every street and shop.
   I sing to celebrate my soul’s rebirth
   Here at the crossroads of the Universe.

10 March 2015

I'll Hate Myself to Sleep

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Her words cut through the ether, ensuring
Another night I’ll hate myself to sleep.
The mind o’erthrown becomes an unwilling
Traitor – yielding all sense as mem’ry creeps;
Rising once more from the abyss of dreams.
You’d think by now my heart would be immune;
Standing impregnable ‘gainst lies which seem
Sweet, though prove nothing but a Siren’s tune.
In truth, I can’t deny wishing to hear
Those songs again, although I know they’ll cause
Renewed pain; fueling a madness I fear
Leaves love forever corrupted and flawed.
   Lady, I beg, demand no more of me,
   For thy tongue hath bred my soul’s agony.