Guilt

By Bud Koenemund

For T.

I stand guilty; entrapped in self-made plight.

Abandoned by fate, sans defense, I fear,

‘Gainst offenses for which I am indict:

Those of madman, lover, and sonneteer.

I did not think this fervor illicit –

Seeking favor by show of affection.

But, it seems my passion’s too explicit;

And heart’s at fault for miscalculation.

The crime? Infatuation. Foul sin? Lust.

Although I swear my intention was pure,

This imperfect world oft’ inhibits trust,

So your pen wrought the prison I endure.

   Though I’ll not carry this shame forever,

   I must lament the amity severed.

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.”

A New Angel Flies in Heaven Tonight

A lament for the loved lost.

A new angel flies in Heaven tonight,
Lifted up on high by our mournful prayers.
And while, to the eyes, she is out of sight,
In our hearts she will remain ever near;
She takes flight on newfound gossamer wings,
To reside amongst ever bright planets,
Shining stars, and all celestial things.
Let’s rejoice that she’s slipped the mortal net;
She is with God, and loved ones gone before,
In a beautiful place, absent all pain.
Let us celebrate, and lament no more,
A soul free from a broken body’s wane!
We must go on; but through our grief and pain,
Know that our earthly loss is Heaven’s gain.