30 September 2015

The Mad Sonneteer Muses Club

By Bud Koenemund

For my (many?) Muses

In truth, it’s a club rather exclusive –
Relative to, you might say, Madison
Square Garden; nigh a score of elusive
Muses. Plus a mad sonneteer undone
By words – admittedly a clumsy tool –
For he frights the hearts he would admire.
‘Tis an easy task: arousing a fool,
Immolating his soul upon the pyre
Of love, then leaving him to beg favor
While tilting vainly at the dragon lust.
Would not one reach out; becoming savior
To a poet, thus mending broken trust?
   Lady, forgive this proliferation;
   I swear, it could ne’er dilute affection.

11 September 2015

Emerald Eyes

By Bud Koenemund

For C.

I write without hope of gaining favor,
As age precludes the assumption of grace.
Nonetheless, my pen must strive to honor
Beauty; praising the features of thy face
With homage forged in ink, not carv’d stone;
For what alabaster could not help turn
Obsidian when it your fairness shown?
Why even the silent fires that burn
Amidst the heavens daily shroud their flames
Once thy jeweled orbs ope to gaze upon
The world, for they outshine emeralds, and shame
Creatures made dreary by comparison.
   Though my art is oft’ begot in madness,
   I pray these words will prove balm to sadness.