Every Generation Remembers

By Bud Koenemund

For those who do not know peace.

Every generation forgets
Stories their fathers told; evoking horrors
Beyond the pale of humanity; debts
Recalled with cold sweat; mem’ries forever
Seared into their minds; invisible scars
Borne; never quite healing despite years passed.
This curse entices the young toward valor;
A supposed glory they think will last.
So, those terrible lessons must be learned
Again; steeped in blood, and death, and madness;
Where the dead are free, but survivors yearn
For solace: a peace they’ll never possess.
   Each age is destined to fan war’s embers:
   Every generation remembers.

Half

By Bud Koenemund

Half of my heart is still in love with you;
A notion foolish as it is sincere,
When that affection’s forever imbued
By sadness: growing more and more austere.
Half of my mind is still in love with you;
Yet condemned to recall happier days,
‘Fore passion incandescent went askew;
Leaving intellect and sanity razed.
Half of my soul still belongs to you;
Though ‘tis now mortal – crushed beyond the repair
Time can grant; a solace long overdue –
As I stumble about in my despair.
   I seek a peace I fear I’ll never find,
   While memory and shadow intertwine.

Remember to Forget

By Bud Koenemund

I wish I could remember to forget –
Awakening one day, finally free:
My mind unbound, and Reason manumit;
No more a prisoner of memory.
But, what liberty would that erasure
Provide? Only temporary respite?
Or, a balm healing the wounds I’ve endured;
Allowing re-birth of spirit and wit?
Time, I fear, will never grant me solace –
Peace has yet to suffuse my weary soul.
Indeed, though years have burned away apace,
Your absence still exacts a grievous toll.
   Recollection brings you back to my brain,
   E’en as I seek deliverance from pain.

We Said Our Goodbyes

By Bud Koenemund

Of course, I had to see you walk away –
My eye drawn to you like a firefly’s
Light in darkness – while memory replayed
The moment when passion withered and died.
Of course, I had to see you walk away;
Enduring one more stab in the heart.
Unable to simply go about my day:
You’d just be gone; leaving me torn apart.
Of course, I had to see you walk away.
We’d said our goodbyes already. But fate
Wouldn’t allow peace, and time won’t belay
Pain. Still, I’ll not let my love become hate.
   Each day, I seek to put sadness behind;
   E’en as your absence constantly reminds.

Grief

By Bud Koenemund

Grief will never refuse a chance to sneak
Up on me – quickening darkness; breeding
Sorrow; tearing apart defenses weak;
Leaving sanity broken and bleeding.
It taints the verses of a thousand songs;
Barely remembered poems can spark life;
Trapping my mind amidst numberless wrong
Turns – where memory waits with whetted knife.
This monster aims not to kill, but open
Wounds thought healed by time; renewing my pain.
Misery, faded – almost forgotten –
Returns, overwhelming what peace I’ve gained.
   Someday, one hopes, suffering may convert;
   For now, there are no days it doesn’t hurt.

Fire Cannot Feed Upon Itself

By Bud Koenemund

With apologies to Galway Kinnell

Fire cannot feed upon itself. Lacking
Fuel to sustain, it will suffocate;
Dying away – light dwindling toward black –
As flames, once furious, quickly abate.
To make it burn, I threw my whole self in;
Sacrificing pride; nourishing our spark;
Then realized I could never kindle
Passion matching mine; that knowledge a stark
Reminder of the wasteland devotion
Leaves behind – solitude seared in my soul;
Scorched by incendiary emotion,
While embers, neglected too oft’, grow cold.
   The love extinguished cannot be renewed;
   Yet, memory smolders with thoughts of you.

Blue Eyes Blue

By Bud Koenemund

For K.

I see the sadness hidden in your eyes;

A pain you try to bury, which lurks still;

Nearer the surface than you know; disguised,

Yet visible; lingering ‘gainst thy will.

Heartbreak and loneliness are compounding

Sorrows; breeding doubt; confusing every

Setback with tragedy; poisoning

The soul. But, trust time will dull memory,

Allowing you to heal. Made whole once more;

Emerging stronger; by love enfolded;

The gleam renewed in those sapphire orbs –

Shining like sunlight thawing Winter’s cold.

   My intent is these verses bring delight;

   A smile, if brief, to draw day from night.

Melted Into Air

For T.

With thanks to Janelle Velasquez,
and the Pittsburgh Public Theater.

Floating ‘cross the stage, her motion revelry;

Ariel: dancing, singing – resplendent

As she shimmers, delighting ev’ry

Faculty – a heavenly transcendence.

This spirit – perfection in form, movement,

Gesture, and expression – enchants the eyes;

Filling admirers with wonderment –

Weaving magic throughout as dreams arise.

Yet, my memory dwells on thoughts of thee,

And days past, when you performed the same role –

A pale blue star becoming muse; briefly

Bestowing thy grace ‘pon this poet’s soul.

   Inspiration bred verse of praise and prayer;

   Tendered respect, then melted into air.

Ars Gratia Artis

By Bud Koenemund

For Arielle

Life has a certain unfairness in it:

Nature entices heart; lust ignores age,

But fate curses me with visage unfit

To woo. Even still, desire rages.

Enkindled by your grace and intellect –

Beauty which transcends mortal countenance –

Language ignites an inferno unchecked,

Though tendered lacking hope of recompense.

Lady, my admiration is undimmed;

Respect enduring despite passing years,

And this confession – converted to hymn –

Sings a chorus I pray will please thy ear.

   Yours lives on though other memories fade –

   A light immortal; proofed ‘gainst end of days.

Ten Years Owed

By Bud Koenemund

For Arielle

Once, I presented you with broken prose –

A fool fumbling to reveal affection;

Though much remained unsaid, my heart frozen

By the fear of defeat and rejection.

Thou art fairer than any I’ve beheld;

Azure eyes, radiant as sapphires,

Charm; skin of porcelain in mem’ry dwells,

Setting imagination on fire.

Oh, Muse; these words were owed a decade past.

But, timid, I withheld, respecting age

Despite attraction; avoiding trespass

Or offense; leaving passion unengaged.

   Embers of spirit rekindle this blaze,

   And I must beg pardon for tardy praise.

Weird

By Bud Koenemund

For C.

I’m weird? Pray tell, for writing little songs?

Articulating my feelings with verse?

While futile, would you call struggle wrong;

The offering of sentiment perverse?

But, I beg, remember, in days to come,

When thou art married, and bear two point three

Kids; suffering a man whose brain is numb;

Abiding ignorance, as love’s decreed

Through monosyllabic grunts; recall these

Scribblings fondly. Cherish those mem’ries

Awakened by words spun only to please

Your eye, with rhythm, and rhyme’s symmetry.

   Though there is strangeness in the proportions

   Of my mind, it feeds beauty’s expression.

Guilty in Silence

By Bud Koenemund

For Arthur H. Monigold

He told me not to tell, and I didn’t.

His own grandson – once untainted; trusting –

Protecting a monster whose sin imprints

The soul, poisoning innocence with lust;

Breeding this maelstrom raging through my brain:

Lightning strikes of emotion – wrath and shame;

Hate and self-doubt – a tempest unconstrained.

Yet, misery lurks darkest in that blame

I carry for silence. An accomplice

To evil; remaining mute as he forced

This curse upon others; rending solace

From family: a guilt beyond recourse.

   Though my flesh bears no scar, memory steals

   Peace with injuries time will never heal.

Why?

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

You ask why I will not respond to calls;

Leaving communication neglected;

Letting silence greet appeals, as love falls

Discontented, and spirit’s infected?

Your indifference pierced my heart countless times.

Though, I confess, I granted admittance

To thy blade; an accomplice in these crimes;

Guilty, somehow, for want of resistance.

Still, you endure as muse: a soul’s agony –

Equal parts torment and inspiration –

Your face lingering in memory;

Ecstasy through pain: my devil’s bargain.

   Affection withered afflicted by lies;

   Yet, feigning ignorance, you ask me why?

Words, Words, Words

Madness and Muse

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever." - John Keats

I hold your memory against my will;

Sentiment which imperils sanity

When every thought and dream reminds me still

Of the fool who gave devotion blindly.

But, this world won’t stop for a broken heart.

Indifferent to pain, both moon and sun

Rise, shine, then retire without regard;

Beg heaven for pity, you’ll receive none.

These things I desire can never be

Real. Love, fidelity lasting past death –

Blessed by madness and muse – is fantasy;

Affection shrouded in the dragon’s breath.

   Misery, it seems, lives joy’s companion;

   Torment entwined with beauty and passion.

Angry Muses

By Bud Koenemund

I fear the Muses have abandoned me;

Withdrawing with them that inspiration

Given so freely when I praised beauty

And love in songs of foolish emotion.

The cause ignored, those Nine of myth recede

In solidarity with their sister;

Mortal, though no less capable to breed

Lyric – a tenth goddess whose whispers stir.

This penance – punishment for protecting

My heart – has crippled both rhythm and rhyme;

As words wither, a poet disaffects

Life sans verses gifted past midnight’s chime.

   Her voice has faded from my memory,

   While creation crumbles in fantasy.

A Better Sonnet for Christina Alvarado

By Bud Koenemund

There are dangers every poet knows:

The Lake of Goo, and mindfields filled with words

Defective; emotion twisting their prose,

Or adherence to a form which can blur

Function – risking misinterpretation.

Still they muddle, matching rhythm and rhyme

In little songs to show admiration;

Praise courting immortality while time

Demands submission. Although memory

Will fade away, these verses shall endure

Forever – love sans ambiguity;

Bestowed with reverence and intent pure.

   Absent voice, I pen my exaltation:

   To Venus, and Muse, in celebration.

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.

She Didn't Love Me the Way I Loved Her

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

She didn’t love me the way I loved her;

That truth is as simple as it is stark.

Yet, this acceptance can’t spark will censured,

Nor provide solace to my broken heart.

An ecstasy birthed at first sight was marred –

Devotion became steeped in a cauldron

Of pain – tortured by eyes ‘twould shame mere stars.

Deceived, desire led too near those suns,

And as passion soared, sanity melted;

Burned away in fires of apathy.

Still, madness can’t erase the fondness felt

While affection lives on in memory.

   Respect oft’ spoils through indifference,

   But, what’s pure won’t dim to maleficence.

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?