A Goddess and the Sunset

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

(Photograph by Meshi - 2019)

The photograph shows radiance frozen

In time; a Goddess – like some Greek statue –

Contemplates sunset. Beauty in repose;

Veiled in twilight, her skin lit by subdued

Flame married to shadow as day and night

Meet. Aphrodite is reawakened;

A being celestial, burning bright

With fire only the stars can transcend.

Nature and Lady find harmony;

Their graces uniting to inspire art:

The image affords immortality,

While I tender verses writ from my heart.

   Muse; though these words are mine, thine is the praise;

   For ‘tis thy charm that sets my pen ablaze.

When I Have a Muse

By Bud Koenemund

For C.

When I have a muse, words fit perfectly;

Finding their places as if by magic,

While airy voices whisper secretly:

Poetry and prose midst verse emphatic.

I labor nonetheless, forging sonnets –

Shaping songs with odd old ends of language;

Bleeding ink on paper. This gift, honest

As it is, oft’ dooms my soul to languish;

Drifting through passionate desperation.

But, by your grace, confidence awakens:

Imagination invents expression,

And desire restores a faith shaken.

   Though form arouses creativity,

   ‘Tis thy genius which sparks my artistry.

Extant

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Exalting grace is a poet’s duty –

Offering words of praise to birth legend.

History abounds with these deeds; beauty

Glorified; in art forever blazoned.

‘Tis said Helen’s face launched a thousand ships;

That Juliet’s bright cheek would shame the stars,

And Aphrodite’s excellence eclipsed

All – ‘gainst whom even porcelain was marred.

But, I protest your fair is fairer still;

Possessing somehow a charm unsurpassed.

While unseen, your mem’ry abides, and will

Endure though millennia have elapsed.

   Immortality is not mine to grant;

   Yet, this and thee live on in love extant.

Beautiful

By Bud Koenemund

For Shaindel Beers

Poet; what lyric could I offer you,

Knowing these same words inhabit thy brain?

I must request, Artist, briefly eschew

The pen to come muse, and let verse sustain

Thy spirit. Oh, aptly named – Beautiful –

Indeed, a title unmatched by these rhymes,

Be assured, thy visage remains youthful;

Nature undimmed ‘gainst the ravage of time.

Pray, acknowledge this little song as proof

Your countenance is appreciated,

And have faith the fleeting years will show truth

Through wisdom earned, and grace to celebrate.

   This praise springs forth by thy inspiration,

   A living light immortal as the Sun.

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.

Fair Comparison to Things Enskied

By Bud Koenemund

For Melissa B.

What would you desire; words enchanting

Your heart, or igniting flames in thy soul?

I can wield them; create by descanting

Upon love and veiled lust with quill and scroll.

Inspired by a grace unseen, my pen

Takes flight, striving to reveal some small truth

With verse; granting immortality when

Thy mem’ry lives on in eternal youth.

Let those lips I long for whisper the tune,

And rhymes will flow praising sapphire eyes,

Brighter, by fancy, than the Sun and Moon –

But, fair comparison to things enskied.

   A new muse fires imagination,

   And I return songs of adulation.

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.

Concupiscent

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I write so oft' of my respect for thee;
Assuring my heart's allegiance to thine –
A bosom prized above the air I breathe –
Begging thy hand; our fingers intertwined.
But, lust has o'erwhelmed thoughts of purity,
And desire craves thy touch on my skin,
While we mock the curse of avidity –
Two merged as one in consecrated sin.
Passion swells, demanding release boundless
As fantasy; yielding all; submitting
To nature, and each other; a guiltless
Surrender to hunger unremitting.
   Though I seek no grace for concupiscence,
   I pray my true love will pierce thy defense.

Doomsday

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Must I await thy call 'til Doomsday come?
O, wilt thou grant my wish: either to claim
This disconsolate heart as thine in sum,
Surrendering thy bosom to the flames
Of that passion enkindled by your eyes;
Or, emancipate a soul thus enslaved –
Bound by my devotion I'll not deny –
Allowing, through grace, a mind to be saved?
If thy will be the former, affection
Is mine; if latter, I'll be forever
Persecuted for my self-deception;
Withering as doubt clouds each endeavour.
   All that I am I once more offer thee,
   And beg: requite my love or set me free.

Maelstrom

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

A maelstrom of doubt threatens to o'erwhelm
Our hearts, leaving them awash in green-eyed
Jealousy; turning this Heaven to Hell;
As we founder in an ocean of pride.
We both must learn to forgive our mistakes –
Allowing imperfection's perfection.
Accept our flaws, and let tempest rewake
Rapture with promises of affection.
Incandescent desire will not die –
With time a spirit drown'd may revive.
In truth, by woe love oft' intensifies,
So, trust 'gainst this storm our spark can survive.
   Grant passion's flame a chance to rekindle,
   And the grace of this world will ne'er dwindle.

Angel

Inspired by a work in progress by Mandee Alyson Clifton

O, how inconceivable is the soul
Knitted within my womb like fragile lace?
A blessing words cannot wholly extol;
An angel: sure proof of eternal grace.
My heart, once desolate, is now o'erfull
With love. I give my life to you – as yours
Was granted me – my belov'd jewel,
And pledge to ever protect and adore.
But, language falls short of the perfection
Thou art – forever failing thy beauty
In my eyes – and lacks honest expression
Of the long, bless'd life I wish for thee.
To be worthy of this gift, I will strive,
As my mother's prayers up to Heaven rise.

Ninth Step

For "Her."

Do not presume your ninth step is my first
Toward granting absolution. In truth, your
Effort is wasted on a man well-versed
In scorn; possessed of a heart love abjures.
Struggling to amend rips open old wounds
Festered in a decade of bitterness;
Revealing a soul where malice abounds.
Of sin I stand not guiltless, but confess:
‘Tis not my place nor power to excuse
Others, while I cannot forgive myself.
No, I am a fool whose mind is abused
By allowing hate to feed on itself.
Though pardon’s a grace that sets conscience free,
You’ll have to go on healing without me.

Theós Dó̱ro̱n

For TK

Ariel: Do you love me, Master? No?
Prospero: Dearly, my delicate Ariel.
– William Shakespeare, The Tempest (4.1.48-49)

I am transfixed by a spirit of air –
Sublime Ariel – and stand enchanted.
For 'tis by thy art my heart lies ensnared
In magic, and reason is supplanted;
O, command my eye with grace that transcends
Corporeal, theós dó̱ro̱n – thou gift
Of God. And as you, quick’ning muse, ascend
The stage, thy glory will become my shrift;
Tribute would o’erflow thy ears if you’d hear
It from my lips; though highest praise shall fall
Short of thy deserving, and ne’er come near
The admiration which leaves me in thrall.
I commend the beauty of thy nature,
And, thus, expose my soul to your censure.

Fair Katherine, and Most Fair

For Natasha Piletich
(Henry V, Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival - 2002)

Beauty steps to the stage from the twilight
Of a sultry Hudson Valley evening.
I am bewitched; enchanted by a sight
Rivaling bright Polaris' gleaming;
She speaks, and magic drips from her tongue.
Her French, a Siren song, perfect in my ear,
Charms my soul, and steals the breath from my lungs
While I hang on each word. I long to hear
More, but I know this vision cannot last
Beyond these brief hours – all plays must end.
Though in my memory I will hold fast,
And commend her art with unable pen.
Such thespian Grace has exposed a fool
Who struggles with rhyme to praise a jewel.

A Sonnet as Apology to Christina Alvarado

Pray, pardon this inarticulate fool,
Struck dumb gazing upon Venus’ face.
I’ll strive to bestow, with God given tools,
Flowery words to match your Thespian grace;
The tempest past, for ready pen I reach,
Vainly to search for a rhyme to submit
In excuse of silence, or stutt’ring speech,
And to worship thus from paper pulpit;
Oh, sweet Muse, fire of my fevered mind,
Judge me gently and allow me to vie
To once more feel your gentle hand in mine,
And gain one more look in your timeless eyes.
Accept these weak lines of admiration,
For I could not give voice in exaltation.