24 May 2016

Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part VI: Freedom)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Shall a heart incandescent with love be
Consumed by hate? Must one choke the other –
Torment equaling passion’s quantity –
‘Til embers of desire are smothered;
Expiring sans wisp, ash, smoke, or rack –
Token corporeal to signify
Its extinction? Ignored, fervor turns black,
Eclipsing all that light once beautified.
Respect died in a doppelganger’s eye;
Could I not see myself mirrored in him?
Recalling what might have been magnified
My grief, but catharsis yielded freedom.
   Two decades lost can never be regained,
   Though affection lives again unconstrained.

23 May 2016

Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part V: Repentance)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Oh, Lady; I believed, and so oft’ swore
My passion, like the stars, would never cool –
Thy heart held in mine, forever adored.
Alas, love, once more, has proved me a fool.
These words have grown repetitive; complaints
Monotonous – despite intention pure –
And fervor neglected has finally waned,
For you could not be mine as I was yours.
The offense lies tattooed upon my soul –
Indelible, and irredeemable –
As life, it seems, demands a monstrous toll;
Leaving voice censured, and mind unstable.
   I do at last repent that affection;
   Praying some power will grant redemption.

22 May 2016

Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part IV: Language Lesson)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

‘Twas a muse who rendered my words useless;
Those I believed most sacred impotent
‘Fore her indifference, and each success
Tainted by reality: a heart rent;
Left without the one thing it desires;
Unable to woo, and incapable
Of forgetting; left burning in fires
Stoked by my own hand – inescapable
Torment. The pen, they say, wields more power
Than a sword, but passionate language pales
Compared to self-doubt, and fortune lours
O’er my naiveté as love lies veiled.
   The scars of this lesson may never heal;
   Wounds remaining forever uncongealed.

21 May 2016

Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part III: Insufficiency)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

In truth, Muse, I dread thy inspiration;
The mid-night whisperings that tease my ear,
Once more igniting flames of obsession –
A passion undiminished despite years
Neglected; left smoldering and alone.
I must confess, ‘tis not thy tongue I fear,
And rather should embrace the songs you’ve sown –
Sacred melodies I alone can hear –
But, shame lives in my insufficiency:
Knowing mere words are unequal to your
Grace, and their praise oft’ falls short lyrically.
For this sin, thy pardon I do implore.
   These rhymes – unworthy of the page they stain –
   Serve as reminders of love never gained.

20 May 2016

Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part II: She Was...)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

The being who made me invincible,
Yet somehow retained power to destroy
My soul. A spirit irresistible
To mine, her indulgence became my joy.
A muse who inspired so many words;
With eyes that stole my breath, leaving silence.
Alpha and omega – creating worlds
In the mind, even while corrupting sense.
That living Venus; goddess who revealed
The heavens to which emotion can soar,
And self-doubt creating a battlefield
Within my heart – conflicting love and war.
   If it be obsession, I’ll not defend;
   She lives forever: beginning and end.

19 May 2016

Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part I: Madness)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I do protest my zeal was not madness –
Distemper brought about by attraction.
In truth, I knew no way to love you less,
And rendered unreserv’d devotion.
The falling – fault confirmed, beyond mending –
Served to resurrect a spirit undone;
Some magic kindling passion contending
‘Gainst the fire of twenty thousand suns.
But, weakness infected that desire;
Yearning for all, corrupted everything;
Fervor becoming fuel for a pyre
Reducing adoration to mourning.
   How oft’ can I offer you these same lines,
   Before both heart and intellect resign?

17 May 2016

Mediocre White Male Poet Entitlement

By Bud Koenemund

For Shaindel Beers

Peril awaits mediocre white males –
Objection breeds cries of entitlement.
Trapped betwixt love and refusal they flail –
In quicksand, struggle speeds envelopment.
Risk and uncertainty oft’ herald pain;
Attraction devolving in enmity.
Wounded, “nice guys” lash out, although they feign
Indifference, voicing their misery.
Sadly, it appears fantasy is dead,
And life doesn’t end like a fairy tale –
No Beauty transforming this Beast. Instead
Happily ever after remains veiled.
   Words diminish, vanishing in chatter;
   E’en as we protest: all poets matter!