Seen

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

"In the right eyes, you will be art." - Unknown

How could any set of eyes miss the art
Contained within you? Even those who don’t
Create illumined by you feel your heart:
Acknowledging grace as artists are wont.
Though it is, in truth, the job of poets
To praise beauty; ‘tis thy inspiration –
Arising from your spirit, more than my wit –
That gives birth to these celebrations
Of radiance. All things, seen and unseen;
Love and lust; denial and desire;
The chaos of black, white, and gray between,
Feed the maelstrom of a mind set fire.
   I must give credit where credit is due:
   The world will know these words belong to you.

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.

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.

Divided

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

Lady; passion and intellect divide
Me. While attraction remains true, I know
Your youth, to my age, is rightly denied.
Like Summer’s bright blooms outshine Winter’s snow,
So doth beauty eclipse infirmity.
Nature favors one as others decline:
Fading steadily in obscurity;
The mortality to which all resign.
What can I do if desire’s forbid?
Only a fool would declare affection –
Exposing an emotion best left hid –
When silence affords certain protection.
   Love is safer wrapped in the guise of art,
   For speaking truth will surely break my heart.

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.

Seduction by Art

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

My ambition is seduction by art;

Tempting with lyrics that dance across skin,

As poetry speaks love from tongue to heart;

Stirring desire which blesses such sin.

Your form fires the imagination,

Shaping rhyme; verses take life in those eyes,

And a gloved hand could cause an eruption:

Expressions of fervor for one enskied.

I pray these words will arouse ecstasy –

Undressing body and mind; illicit

Acts to satiate lust: a melody

Of moans unifying flesh with spirit.

   My passion grows beyond concupiscence;

   An oath I trust will excuse this offense.

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.

You Are Not My Muse

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

You are not my muse. She is one perfect –

A luminous goddess personified;

Bearer of soul and spirit sans defect,

And beauty I long to immortalize.

The words oft’ spin with Mercurian speed,

While verses roll easily off my tongue;

Her grace worth every drop of ink I bleed

To revere an angel from heaven sprung.

But, that Being is no more than a ghost;

Or perhaps some fantasy existing

Only in my mind; another dream lost

Come daylight, despite the heart’s insisting.

   When love has choked a fool with eloquence,

   Art quickly sputters to incoherence.

What Sweeter Song

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

How oft’ have I sworn my heart free of thy

Sway, only to dedicate another

Lyric in praise of hair, skin, nose, or eyes?

Indeed, such passion is hard to smother

When the midnight voice whisp’ring in my ear

Is always yours – a muse won’t be ignored.

Although I have lacked thy presence for years,

Mem’ry sustains the tempest in my core.

Lady, you have birthed ten thousand verses;

Every word a razor’s blade that cuts

While I fight ‘gainst myself – this art versus

Sanity. Obsessed? Admittedly. But,

   What sweeter song could I write than to pen

   Thy name forever, over and again?

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.

A Whiney Lament O'er Dying Form

No one wants to read love sonnets these days.
We’re busy following what Paris tweets,
And devouring each word Gaga says.
Why think, when you can “stream” while Snooki bleats?
Will writes, “Brevity is the soul of wit.”
How accurate that is today seems sad,
As we gauge our success by total “hits;”
Courting fame on electronic doodads.
We prefer shock to awe – ignoring art
And substance in favor of flash. ‘Tis crime
To celebrate invention wrought sans heart,
O’er iambic pentameter and rhyme.
The coffin nails arrive with little flair:
“We wish you luck in placing them elsewhere.”

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.