By Bud Koenemund
A haiku to celebrate the election of Joseph R. Biden
Inspired by Catherine Harren Barufaldi
Showing posts with label liberty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label liberty. Show all posts
07 November 2020
Liberty's Sunrise
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18 December 2018
Sentinels in Blue
By Bud Koenemund
People dismiss us as inconvenient –
People dismiss us as inconvenient –
Obstacles to work, school, or vacation.
Sentinels in blue; control they resent –
Even while enjoying our protection.
Often, we are targets of ridicule;
Enduring contempt and indifference.
Cursed by the self-entitled for our rules;
Silent as others vent their annoyance.
Still, a few accept this challenge: standing
Firm ‘gainst those who’d see America bowed.
Our mission is the price freedom demands:
A sacrifice many will never know.
Each day, we
rise, making liberty sure;
Pledging to keep this, our
Homeland, secure.
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14 June 2016
Pulse
By Bud Koenemund
For Orlando (12 June 2016)
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!
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26 December 2014
It's Mine, and I Can Touch it if I Want
By Bud Koenemund
For "Her."
Pain is the cost of living, and mem’ry
Its tithe; images – good and bad – that dwell
To merge art with a mind in jeopardy;
Risking yet another descent toward Hell.
Like any addict, I’ll never be free
Of thy damned compulsion; left forever
Trapped between slavery and liberty,
‘Til the mortal coil has been severed.
While my scars will linger, and the bruises –
An ugly, yellow-black – refuse to fade,
There is some profit when anguish ‘comes muse,
And, by genius is suffering repaid.
There is truth in the misery that haunts:
It’s mine, and I can touch it if I want.
For "Her."
Pain is the cost of living, and mem’ry
Its tithe; images – good and bad – that dwell
To merge art with a mind in jeopardy;
Risking yet another descent toward Hell.
Like any addict, I’ll never be free
Of thy damned compulsion; left forever
Trapped between slavery and liberty,
‘Til the mortal coil has been severed.
While my scars will linger, and the bruises –
An ugly, yellow-black – refuse to fade,
There is some profit when anguish ‘comes muse,
And, by genius is suffering repaid.
There is truth in the misery that haunts:
It’s mine, and I can touch it if I want.
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