A Warrior Poet's Soul

By Bud Koenemund

For Christina Alvarado

My mind cries out, profaning the universe;
Mourning, o’er and o’er, this tragedy –
An assault on existence – while cursing
A suppos’d caring god’s perfidy.
I wish I could hold you in my arms now;
Embracing gently; a reassuring
Touch to defy despair and doubt; somehow
Granting peace – a balm easing suffering.
But, I know the strength you possess: spirit,
Resolve, stubbornness, and tenacity;
With a warrior poet’s soul. Sans fear,
You’ll tilt ‘gainst fate for immortality.
   I have and will always love you, my Friend;
   Sentiment which shall endure ‘til time’s end.

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.

Pulse

By Bud Koenemund

For Orlando (12 June 2016)

Did you think violence would bring victory?

That enmity could force change in nature?

Make even one surrender liberty?

Gay, straight, transgender – we’re all God’s creatures!

Every bullet fired; each knife thrust;

Senseless pain inflicted; epithet hurled;

Nose fragmented, rib bruised, or head concussed

Enflames our hearts – the pulse filling this world.

Yes, your venom stole life, but love lives on;

Flourishing; shining through the ignorance

Of hate. And, that kiss which enraged shall bond

Us in celebration of difference.

   Diversity strengthens our unity,

   We will rise together – humanity!

What Would Jesus Say?

By Bud Koenemund

For the tired, the poor, the huddled masses.

What would Jesus say if he knew those with
Abundance refuse souls truly in need?
When their ignorance serves to feed a myth
Rather than a mouth, would He call that greed?
Should His pride unfurl when hatred is hurled
At women and children by those who claim
To believe in One who made the whole World;
Or, will His judgment serve to kindle shame?
He commands, “Suffer the little children
To come unto me.” Yet, blessed with plenty,
Many fail His word, condemning millions
Of innocents to life in poverty.
   It is human weakness which makes gold’s worth
   Seem higher than our brothers on this Earth.

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.

The Call Home

For Dan Masterson; poet, teacher, mentor, and friend

The call home comes far too soon for those left
Behind. Not unexpected, of course – we
Each owe God this debt – yet somehow bereft
Of any divine sense of poetry;
We'll stand in loose circles at the viewing,
Grim-faced and consoling, while holding hushed
Exchanges, listening to those who knew
Him well, and the students whose lives he touched;
"He was a good man," someone will say, and
Heads will bob to augment muttered consent.
"The best…gone too soon," they'll echo off hand
As their thoughts quickly turn to the present.
But, I am one whose mem'ry will linger,
Holding your words in my mind and fingers.

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.

'Tis Sin to Write for Thee Perilous Beauty

For Jamey.

‘Tis sin to write for thee Perilous Beauty,
Praising hair infused with streaks of gold;
While to hold peace is the law and duty,
I here defy God, and so curse my soul;
When by convention I should be silent,
Denying my pen the words you inspire,
Your loveliness compels me to relent,
And thus celebrate eyes cut from sapphire;
In truth, I am a scoundrel to transgress
Upon sacred vows with mellifluent
Rhymes of lips and skin, though I must confess,
I blush at my guilt, but do not repent.
Accuse me not of mere concupiscence,
In faith, my love will serve as my defense.

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.