Wolf and Hind

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

“Is this what you want?” I ask, even as
I squeeze, choking off her breath to reply.
She struggles – tempted and teased; slow and fast –
Her body craves release, which I deny.
Lust will once more transform two into one;
The heat of desire burning our minds;
A hunger for flesh leaves us both undone,
While devouring each like wolf and hind.
Though I am in charge, this domination
Is dual pleasure – mine derived from hers;
Every sense overwhelmed by passion.
When the little death comes, all Reason’s blurred.
   This fire between us can’t be contained;
   Concupiscence – intense and unrestrained.

I Belong!

By Bud Koenemund

For Jenna

In humans resides a passion for art.
Through poetry, ink, music, paint, or song
Many endeavor to express their heart
And soul; an act declaring “I belong!”
Despite critics – the worst living within
Our own minds – we persevere: creating;
Hating; destroying; beginning again;
Working; changing; crafting; re-editing;
Seeking a perfection that oft’ eludes
The grasp of mortals; ever contending
‘Gainst doubt; utilizing talent imbued
To produce genius. And, at our end,
   It matters not if results were obtained
   By tiny increments or sweeping gains.

Remember to Forget

By Bud Koenemund

I wish I could remember to forget –
Awakening one day, finally free:
My mind unbound, and Reason manumit;
No more a prisoner of memory.
But, what liberty would that erasure
Provide? Only temporary respite?
Or, a balm healing the wounds I’ve endured;
Allowing re-birth of spirit and wit?
Time, I fear, will never grant me solace –
Peace has yet to suffuse my weary soul.
Indeed, though years have burned away apace,
Your absence still exacts a grievous toll.
   Recollection brings you back to my brain,
   E’en as I seek deliverance from pain.

Wondrous and Magical

By Bud Koenemund

For E.

With apologies to William Shakespeare

I would compare thee to a summer’s day;
But, that one’s been done before, by better
Wit; and verses, I fear, are overplayed
When pretty words, more than actions, matter.
Though my muse could ne’er want for invention
While you, fairest of fair, do grace this earth,
My prose struggles to match inspiration –
A predicament oft’ a poet’s curse.
Be assured, I pray, these creations
Speak truth: exalting spirit unrivaled;
A soul soaring beyond comprehension,
And mind seeking the wondrous and magical.
   My willing labor is thy praise, Empress;
   To bestow immortality my quest.

Unrepentant

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

Lady, I do confess, my desire
For you turns bestial. My thoughts border
On the profane – lust burns like a fire –
While reason collapses in disorder.
The more consumed, the faster madness grows,
And I can scarce trust my own intellect.
In the end, this passion will overthrow
My mind as hunger amplifies unchecked.
For concupiscence, I ask no forgiveness.
Unrepentant – holding appetite
No sin – I seek salvation in excess
When your flesh provides heavenly delight.
   I pray; bless my body and damn my soul
   Eternal; for I will you e’er extoll.

We Said Our Goodbyes

By Bud Koenemund

Of course, I had to see you walk away –
My eye drawn to you like a firefly’s
Light in darkness – while memory replayed
The moment when passion withered and died.
Of course, I had to see you walk away;
Enduring one more stab in the heart.
Unable to simply go about my day:
You’d just be gone; leaving me torn apart.
Of course, I had to see you walk away.
We’d said our goodbyes already. But fate
Wouldn’t allow peace, and time won’t belay
Pain. Still, I’ll not let my love become hate.
   Each day, I seek to put sadness behind;
   E’en as your absence constantly reminds.

All the Words in the World

By Bud Koenemund

How oft’ did verses take birth in your eyes;
As if each glimpse granted inspiration?
I prayed those poems to Heaven would fly,
And sway thy bosom with proofed affection.
I wanted, for us, immortality –
Bestowing fame lasting beyond our years;
This ambition surpassing vanity:
More a devotion of toil and tears.
In the end, though, my efforts achieved
Nothing but changing pain for passion true;
When desire conspired to deceive
An ever foolish man who dared love you.
   This song mourns the impotence of my art;
   For all the words in the world won’t win your heart.

Command Performance

By Bud Koenemund

Just a bit of silliness, really; for D.

O, would-be muse, with skin brown and creamy;
Commanding a little song all your own –
Verses at once poetic and steamy –
While the taste of thy kiss remains unknown.
Shall my pen toil at your beck and call?
Pray, what recompense will this effort gain?
Wilt thou sate these appetites after all?
I do entreat some pleasure for this pain.
Must I rely on fantasy alone
To enkindle such creative fires;
When amorous thoughts leave me all undone,
As I expound on lust and desire?
   Should my words of praise not garner some fee;
   Or, as art for art’s sake, be rendered free?

Disguise

By Bud Koenemund

For T.

“Bud will do it so he won’t get in trouble.
No; Bud will do it so nobody else gets in trouble!”

It seems, somehow, you see the things in me
I’ve always attempted to keep hidden –
Disguised by sarcasm and apathy –
Wielding rapier wit as a defense
‘Gainst pains which too oft’ accompany care.
Fear of losing what I would protect cuts
Deeply – a hazard when confidence wears
Thin – and existence grows wearisome. But,
Viewing myself through your eyes inspires
My spirit; becoming the healing balm
To soothe those torments of a mind mired
In self-doubt: long denied solace and calm.
   I will never be one of God’s best men,
   Yet, you perceive virtues beyond my ken.

Grief

By Bud Koenemund

Grief will never refuse a chance to sneak
Up on me – quickening darkness; breeding
Sorrow; tearing apart defenses weak;
Leaving sanity broken and bleeding.
It taints the verses of a thousand songs;
Barely remembered poems can spark life;
Trapping my mind amidst numberless wrong
Turns – where memory waits with whetted knife.
This monster aims not to kill, but open
Wounds thought healed by time; renewing my pain.
Misery, faded – almost forgotten –
Returns, overwhelming what peace I’ve gained.
   Someday, one hopes, suffering may convert;
   For now, there are no days it doesn’t hurt.