Sun and Moon

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

Sonneteers are oft’ tempted to compare
Mortal muses with the Sun; an equation
Flawed, for beauty suffers in that glare;
Hindered both by glint, and prose overdone.
But, I, Shakespeare’s garish fire will shun;
Likening your loveliness to the Moon –
Luminous and gentle; a perfection
Inspiring invention; lunacy
Somehow granting focus to intellect;
Transforming this poet’s admiration,
As moonlight changes dark night; bedecking
All in rare magic – fueling creation.
   When day comes, I’ll carry you everywhere;
   Though I can’t see the Moon, you’re always there.

The Green-Eyed Girl and the Supermoon

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

The green-eyed girl, like some ethereal
Being, gliding, ghostly in the moonlight,
Guided him across the sand. The feel
Of her hand, warm and soft in his, delighting
Every sense, while his intellect failed;
Yielding all to love, lust, and lunacy.
Reaching the water, she turned, her face veiled
In shadow, and kissed his lips eagerly.
His arms enveloped her, pulling her close –
A beauty, wondrous, to rival that bright
Body celestial – Nature’s awe exposed;
In sky and on earth, a heavenly sight.
   But, like all dreams, this vision could not stay;
   On waking, fantasy faded away.

Immunity

For "Her."

The poison of thy rejection has proofed
My heart 'gainst love's trick – asking sacrifice
Of everything for naught – and left aloof
A spirit shamed; being too oft' enticed
To lunacy. While flames which once tempered
The steel of passion have been extinguished –
Drowned beneath an ocean of tears offered
In vain – I rise now shielded by anguish.
Although my soul is filled with discontent,
Like some disease endured, I'll grow inured
To further ills. And, affections now rent
Will serve as catalyst for future cure.
   I'll evermore use pain's propinquity
   To fortify hard-won immunity.

Love Does Not Dwell Solely in the Mind

For Amy Lynn Watkins

To make it burn you have to throw yourself in. – Galway Kinnell

‘Faith, love does not dwell solely in the mind,
And will not be controlled by intellect.
It infects the soul, and makes us blindly
Expose that which we oft’ strive to protect;
‘Tis lunacy to pretend we can love
Both truly and carefully – attempting
To keep one foot safe outside the flames of
Passion – for our own hearts are unyielding;
No breast can be proofed ‘gainst Cupid’s arrow –
The magic of love allows no defense.
We must fall completely, or grow hollow;
Razed in the battle ‘twixt madness and sense.
Real love can not flourish by increment,
We must submit and burn in sweet torment.