Variations on a Theme

By Bud Koenemund

‘Tis true, I must confess, many of these
Little songs seem only variations
On a theme – rhythms, with rhymes meant to please
The eye: imperfect stabs at perfection.
Yet, what idea, save love, could entice
Such verse prolific; praise so inspired;
Promises of passion and sacrifice,
Whether facing Heaven or hellfire?
I do fear repetition may dampen
A heart’s assessment of sincerity;
Though that judgment will never lessen
Zeal; nor taint these musings with perversity.
   My form is rough; iambs full of defects;
   But, pray, let this not detract from respect.

Complicated

By Bud Koenemund

(Written: September 2020)

Though I may be thought a fool to reveal
Desire – once more exposing my mind
To misery; tearing scars barely healed
After injuries caused by one unkind –
My soul yearns for thee, regardless of chance!
Ignore the torment in our pasts, and stand
With me. Please forgive this awkward advance,
And, grant the honor of holding your hand.
I, here, offer love willingly, despite
Complications which life can oft’ present;
Endeavoring to make my heart respite
For thine, with affection incandescent.
   Through storms of time, this promise will endure:
   Always and forever in passion pure.

Victim or Hypocrite

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

The ardor of my affection was pure
And true, but died slowly; pining away
In vain; enraptured by one insecure.
Now, time has granted freedom from thy sway;
Oaths once clad in shining armor rusted
Unseen, weakened by the rain of deceit
Drizzling off a tongue this fool trusted –
Cursing my heart to live on incomplete.
In faith, I know not if I stand victim
Or hypocrite – though I admit unwise –
For through the years I swore a love undimmed,
While neglect changed my promises to lies.
   Piety I thought immortal is dead,
   Leaving mind and sense tragically unwed.

Valentine's Day

For "Her."

I pray your pardon this Valentine's Day,
For I purchased no card, nor roses red;
No pricey candies, nor Teddy bears; nay,
I make thee a solemn promise instead:
Time will ravage tokens of devotion;
No delight kindles once flowers are dead.
Stale cocoa will not long fire passion;
Nor pretty paper forgotten once read.
I fear, as years pass, plush toys do grow bald.
But, Dear Muse, my love shall remain undimmed
By ages; surviving beyond the pall
Of death, to be celebrated in hymns.
   This affect for thee outlasts holidays;
   It will e'er stand 'gainst wither and decay.

Poets are Fools and the Jesters of Love

Poets are fools and the jesters of Love.
Deceived by Cupid, they weave words into
Illusions stretching to the stars above,
For his intent, thought pure, leads men askew;
Love's gilt, seeming gold, has been stripped away
By sonneteers' tales of disguis'd lust,
And hearts – once immortal – now broken, lay
Hollow as promises crumble to dust;
Lyrics penned at passion’s fiery birth
Melt away, revealing concupiscent
Lies; and all our vows of Heaven and Earth
Burn to ash in flames fueled by discontent.
Oh, be thou prepared to defend thy heart
When poets swear devotion in their art.

A Simple Word Too Easily Said

For Kristen Brownell

Lord, how can so small a word cause such pain?
Indeed, the gift becomes too abstract when
Words, easily said, fall like drops of rain
On the ocean, and fool even wise men;
Oh, how the promises the heart believes,
When it dares to hope, break upon the rocks
Of high speech – but feelings only conceived –
Then sink down into the depths of self-mock;
Verses and oaths so quickly lose their worth
When once solemn pledges become dilute
Through casual repetition and dearth
Of the emotion real and absolute.
Even sweet words, spoke too oft’, turn sour,
And kill the root of this precious flower.

A Universe Begins With Just a Kiss

A universe begins with just a kiss,
The gentle touching of trembling lips,
An exploration of innocent bliss,
And the measured tracings of finger tips;
We take each other in with ragged breaths,
Enduring the raw pleasurable pain,
Inhaling fragrances of mingled sweat,
As every move becomes the other’s gain;
We promise ourselves a lifelong romance,
While lying together in a close curve,
Intertwining in this tender dance
Of pulsating heartbeats and exploding nerves.
Love grows into passion, and leads to this:
A universe begins with just a kiss.

I'll Not Promise Things I Can't Deliver

For "Her."

I’ll not promise things I can’t deliver,
Strands of pearls, or Everest mounts of gold.
In truth you will more likely discover,
I can give no more than my hand to hold;
I won’t promise you some fool’s paradise,
A shining love story perfectly told.
But I’ll be your bruis’d and battered knight,
Fighting life’s dragons, ever brave and bold.
I can’t promise you material wealth,
Though I’ll be, through summer, and winter cold,
A friend, a lover, in sickness and health,
Staying with you when you’re wrinkled and old;
My precious true love, worth riches untold,
I give thee freely from my heart and soul.