Wanton Ambling Nymphs

By Bud Koenemund

I fear perfect love is but fantasy;
A fiction dwelling solely in my brain;
Some trick of the mind’s creativity –
That domain where wanton ambling nymphs reign
O’er intellect; suffused by fairy tales
Oft’ ending happily ever after:
Though illusions inevitably fail
When affection’s nativity yields hurt.
These dreams ne’er align with reality,
As I awake confined in loneliness.
Yet, this despair does afford clarity –
A recognition of unworthiness.
   Time’s passage will prove no balm for my soul;
   I am left without cure to make me whole.

I Can Fly Again

 By Bud Koenemund

Holding your hand, by and by, I can fly
Again; soaring across the universe;
Whirling beyond galaxies; defying
Gravity; past forms Heavenly diverse.
Wonders surpassing words unfold ‘round me,
Bathing all in both darkness and fire.
Yet, it is your touch which sets my mind free
From restraint; thy beauty inspiring
Ethereal peace – a body at rest,
Even as this tempest of creation
Engulfs my brain: fantastic visions that test
The limits of imagination.
   Wakefulness brings torment, and so it seems
   I can find solace only in my dreams.

Wonder

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.

No Muse is Good Muse

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Passion kindled so quickly, but it seems

The feelings were completely one-sided.

Despite rhythm and rhyme, you crushed my dreams

‘Gainst the rocks reality provided.

Desire blinded me, and I confused

You for the bringer of inspiration;

A goddess to every writer; a muse

Who grants by grace the gift of creation.

The “you” I loved was only illusion –

An ideal built upon self-deception.

And I, fooled by the equivocation,

Believed you would requite my affection.

   I know now you weren’t worth my devotion;

   Sadly, this awareness was too hard won.

Never Close My Eyes

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

If you were mine, I’d never close my eyes

When we kiss, afraid you would disappear

Upon opening; like those things enskied

When each morn the returning sun doth ‘pear

O’er far horizon. In truth, I’d savor

Every moment – and yet crave still more;

Searching thy orbs for some sign of favor

Equal to that filling my soul. Restore

Faith in love, and sweeten corrupted dreams,

With a look – evidence to prove thy heart

Attainable – for my hope and esteem

Are spent; bled away by an age apart.

   I hold now only memories, longing,

   And the cold comfort of these little songs.

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.

At First Sight

By Bud Koenemund

For Julianne.

I am a “love at first sight” kind of guy;
Always have been, despite a desire
To protect my heart – defying my eyes –
And, thus proof the soul ‘gainst passion’s fire.
Courting ruin, I relish “the flutter;”
That mix of madness, infatuation,
And weakness; lust rendering thoughts a blur
Of hopes and dreams burning bright as the sun.
But, this emotion is tinged with sadness;
A wish that I were a better poet,
And possessed the words needed to express
How I long for space within thy orbit.
   ‘Tis foolish to live a Romantic when
   The magic of love lies beyond my ken.

Crazy Again

Here's to another 15 years.

– "Her"

Fifteen years. Fuck me sideways! Fifteen years?!
A lifetime passed; so many chances lost.
When lies and doubt feed on the darkest fears
Of a heart, eyes are blind, and trust the cost.
There are no more words in this broken soul;
No rhymes to pen in hope of winning love.
In truth, affection is dead. It's bell tolled
Silently; muted within a cloud of
Dashed dreams disguised as an epiphany.
Madness has once more crept into my brain,
Exposing my yearnings as fantasies –
And granting freedom to rage unrestrained.
   Why must love cause such passion, both when here
   And gone; destroying all that I hold dear?

The Heart as Icarus

For Amy Lynn Watkins

The heart as Icarus soars toward the sun
Of our desires. But, blind to hazard,
Love so often tumbles from light to dun;
Leaving all – mind, body, and soul – battered.
Dicing 'gainst the Gods, we strive to escape
This fate; yearning for flight beyond our dreams.
Sadly, we find that we are poor in shape –
Requiring wings in such airy streams.
Words stand impotent – overwhelmed by clouds
Of loss – never healing our wounded pride.
Yet, even through the darkness of this shroud
Strong hearts will rise to seek a love enskied.
Though now it seems tears cannot be restrained,
'Tis certain, time will melt away our pain.

Il Mio Respiro

For "Her."

In truth, my words are writ by thy fingers.
Is it not you who first taught me to love;
Who enchanted me while my eyes lingered
On thine, and kindled a flame undreamt of?
What glory can be mine when the sound
Of your voice arouses my pen? O, spark
Imagination by thy touch; and compound
Thee little songs with kisses in the dark.
Lady, though I fear my desires blaspheme
Love, I pray by such devotion you know:
Your breath is my breath, your dreams are my dreams,
And your body houses my very soul.
O, Muse; O, Fire; O, living passion;
Thou art my bright heaven of invention.

There is no Twelve-Step Program for Heartbreak

For "Her."

Tonight, I’ll get drunk on memories, and
Stumble down pathways within my soul where
Pain and despair still hide amongst wastelands
Of hope, seething; waiting a chance to tear
At wounds left unhealed by years of neglect.
As darkness grows, I cannot elude ghosts –
Old specters – that continue to infect
My mind with dreams in which I can almost
See your face and feel the warmth of your skin.
Sadly, there is no twelve-step program for
Heartbreak; no “group” to understand my sins;
And words give comfort, but provide no cure.
Love is a vile drug. I am addict
To this vice, and the torment it inflicts.

Regret Drifts in the Afterglow of Dreams

For "Her."

Regret drifts in the afterglow of dreams
About you. It lingers like mist and wraps
Me slowly in bonds of spectral moonbeams
Which shroud my thoughts as defenses collapse;
The visions, once kaleidoscopic – now
Faded and yellow as old newspaper –
Distress my sleep with memories of vows
Shattered upon an indifferent altar;
Too oft' I wake and struggle with the foe
Inside my mind. And, while I seek a way
To expel your ghost, one thought still echoes:
I’ll remember you for another day.
I fear only death can bring lasting peace,
For 'til it comes my love will never cease.

I Fear Sleep for the Dreams That Often Come

A villanelle for Arthur H. Monigold.


I fear sleep for the dreams that often come
In the darkest hours after midnight,
When my mind is defenseless, my heart numb.

Engulfed in blackness, I sense the phantom
Approach, but I cannot flee, cannot fight;
I fear sleep for the dreams that often come.

Powerless, I am once more his victim.
Past trespass will allow no rest tonight,
When my mind is defenseless, my heart numb.

My innocence again becomes flotsam,
Broken by incestuous appetite;
I fear sleep for the dreams that often come.

The shame of my own guilt becomes tiresome
To bear, though memory will still indict
When my mind is defenseless, my heart numb.

To unrestrained emotions I succumb,
While praying these nightmares fade in day's light.
I fear sleep for the dreams that often come
When my mind is defenseless, my heart numb.

Love, of You, I Desire a Favor

For "Her."

Love, of you, I desire a favor;
A tattered scarf or a plain strip of lace.
Some gift to sustain me when I waver;
A light to lead me from the darkest place;
I beg some physical inspiration,
A forgotten cloth that still holds your scent.
Some token to fire imagination,
And jolt my brain when my dreams are all spent;
What I wish is only a trifle, yes;
A simple item that you’ll never miss.
This lifeless object I need, I confess,
To comfort me when I can’t have your kiss.
My Lady, I humbly pray for your love
To all the bright stars in heaven above.

A Disputation of the Existence of Love That Dare Not Speak its Name

For Ian & David Newhem
on the occasion of their wedding
~ 25 July 2009 ~

We are but momentary motes of dust
On this Earth; floating in noontime sunbeams,
Rarely making contact with one we trust,
Or love, enough to share our mortal dreams;
As the fragile threads of this life unspool
And our too brief candle dims toward darkness,
We must seize our own joy, or play love’s fool
On a lonely stage, shrouded in lightness;
Mark not the word of Man; ask Him above
For blessings, and leave mortals to natter.
Look upon past love as prologue to love
To come…for ever, and ever after.
We must dare proclaim love – by any name,
For love unspoken or denied is shame!