Muse No More

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

You were the brightest light in a Heaven
Of stars – one whose brilliance outlasted morn.
Thy invention made my garden Eden;
A paradise somehow fashioned of worn
Rhymes. Indeed, so oft' did thoughts of you guide
My pen, the world might presume you poet,
And I mere scrivener. Within thy eyes
Lived all my words, and in those words the debt
I'll e'er owe thee. But, deceit lay coiled
In this oasis – neglect at its side.
By one, trust will only molder to spoil;
By the other's poison, affection dies.
   Thy graces with quill I did long adore,
   Though, for want of truth, thou art muse no more.

Why I Can Not Write a Sonnet for You

For Catherine Harren Barufaldi

Ms. Barufaldi, with humble regrets,
I am unable to grant your request
For a sonnet that my own hand begets,
As my words rarely flow at mere behest;
Also, your marital status precludes
The penning of romantic verse or rhyme,
Which – as you know – a true sonnet includes,
This threat’s to turn the poet into mime;
Further, creating for a married Muse
Could lead to a dangerous consequence,
Like Writer assault or Poet abuse,
Leaving this scrivener beat out of sense.
Please, feel free to make future inquiry,
At present, though, I must dodge injury.