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.

Heart for Heart

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

My affection was never held secret;

Attraction confessed; with all its defects,

Sentiment lay exposed from the outset;

Unguarded; lust defeating intellect.

I offered self, desiring the same –

Heart for heart, hand for hand, and soul for soul;

Love enkindling passion without shame;

Intense spirits blazing beyond control.

But, yearning could not win respect, and pleas

Fell on ears deaf to solicitation.

Emotion withered, leaving me lonely,

As desolation replaced devotion.

   Despite intention pure, and honor sworn,

   Everything was too much to ask for.

Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part III: Insufficiency)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

In truth, Muse, I dread thy inspiration;

The mid-night whisperings that tease my ear,

Once more igniting flames of obsession –

A passion undiminished despite years

Neglected; left smoldering and alone.

I must confess, ‘tis not thy tongue I fear,

And rather should embrace the songs you’ve sown –

Sacred melodies I alone can hear –

But, shame lives in my insufficiency:

Knowing mere words are unequal to your

Grace, and their praise oft’ falls short lyrically.

For this sin, thy pardon I do implore.

   These rhymes – unworthy of the page they stain –

   Serve as reminders of love never gained.

The Modern Prometheus

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

What a fool I was to think you my muse!

Believing any mortal could possess

Such grace – a goddess divine; of virtue

Celestial, and spirit unsuppressed.

I swore by your imagined perfection;

Seeking to prove devotion with sonnets

Forged in the fever of self-delusion –

Earning instead shame I fear infinite.

And, like the modern Prometheus, ‘twas

Inevitable this creation would

Destroy my mind, leaving me to puzzle

O’er that emotion most misunderstood.

   Despite defect, my passion was no lie;

   But, love neglected will wither and die.

Guilt

By Bud Koenemund

For T.

I stand guilty; entrapped in self-made plight.

Abandoned by fate, sans defense, I fear,

‘Gainst offenses for which I am indict:

Those of madman, lover, and sonneteer.

I did not think this fervor illicit –

Seeking favor by show of affection.

But, it seems my passion’s too explicit;

And heart’s at fault for miscalculation.

The crime? Infatuation. Foul sin? Lust.

Although I swear my intention was pure,

This imperfect world oft’ inhibits trust,

So your pen wrought the prison I endure.

   Though I’ll not carry this shame forever,

   I must lament the amity severed.

Emerald Eyes

By Bud Koenemund

For C.

I write without hope of gaining favor,

As age precludes the assumption of grace.

Nonetheless, my pen must strive to honor

Beauty; praising the features of thy face

With homage forged in ink, not carv’d stone;

For what alabaster could not help turn

Obsidian when it your fairness shown?

Why even the silent fires that burn

Amidst the heavens daily shroud their flames

Once thy jeweled orbs ope to gaze upon

The world, for they outshine emeralds, and shame

Creatures made dreary by comparison.

   Though my art is oft’ begot in madness,

   I pray these words will prove balm to sadness.

I Still Cut Myself Open on Your Words

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I still cut myself open on your words;
Once more replacing the numbness with pain;
Slicing through my psyche, trying to purge
Thoughts of you, as if blood could help regain
Years wasted, sanity rent, or the pride
Sacrificed pursuing false memories.
Innocence led me to believe your lies –
Seeming to offer love, answering pleas –
But, the more I tried to embrace your heart –
Clutching in vain at an ethereal
Emotion – the faster you tore apart
My world; making life immaterial.
   While wounds may scab over, time will not heal
   The burning torment of the shame I feel.

Aiding and Abetting

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

The deadliest monsters will sometimes bait;
Enticing the naïve by melodies;
Infusing ev’ry song with oaths to sate
Desire – ‘til choruses turn elegies.
The truth, it seems, is that you were never
My muse, and this poet sought creation
In a daydream; no more than some clever
Figment built by his imagination.
If it be necessary to place blame,
‘Tis my heart – deceived at first sight by eyes
Blind in worship – which merited the shame
I bear; a failure that lives undisguised.
   Many fiends hold power to make love sin,
   And, these enemies too oft’ lie within.

I Loved You the Only Way I Know How

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I loved you the only way I know how:
Everything I am, or might have become,
Offered freely, and attended by vows
This affection to death could ne’er succumb.
Although sanity was oft’ suspect, no
Measure of devotion can truly gauge
The quantity I swore to thee would grow
E’er stronger as respect ripened with age.
But, shame will stain one who dares to grant all –
Mind, body, and soul – without guarantee
Of recompense, and I lived on enthralled;
Believing someday you’d answer my pleas.
   By all things enskied ‘tween Heaven and Hell,
   I did worship thee past what words can tell.

The Grapes of Wrack

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

As fruit unplucked will wither on the vine –
Abandoned to burn in a sun of shame,
Then fester and fall – an untasted wine,
So can love denied rot the heart, and maim
A soul. Neglect will corrupt affection,
Provoking a disease incurable;
Leaving all blackened by the infection
Of doubt – oft’ leading to an unstable
Mind. But, though ruined, crops can rise again,
Or serve to fertilize fields left fallow;
The passage of time can mitigate pain,
Allowing ripened spirits to mellow.
   When passion lies wracked in shadows of gloom,
   It will seek out light to renew its bloom.

My Own Worst Enemy

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Heaven knows why I continue to blame
You for my fragmented soul, when the fault
Lies with me alone. But, admitting shame
Achieves no solace – no peace to exalt –
When my thoughts constantly echo failure –
Real and imagined – poisoning present
Delight; making my own mind the jailer
Of happiness. I fear this discontent
Will grow, festering in obscurity;
Resistant to the healing love provides.
Neglect has sullied passion’s purity;
Cursing affection by excising pride.
   Memories of you leave my heart fallow,
   And forever proofed ‘gainst Cupid’s arrow.

What Would Jesus Say?

By Bud Koenemund

For the tired, the poor, the huddled masses.

What would Jesus say if he knew those with
Abundance refuse souls truly in need?
When their ignorance serves to feed a myth
Rather than a mouth, would He call that greed?
Should His pride unfurl when hatred is hurled
At women and children by those who claim
To believe in One who made the whole World;
Or, will His judgment serve to kindle shame?
He commands, “Suffer the little children
To come unto me.” Yet, blessed with plenty,
Many fail His word, condemning millions
Of innocents to life in poverty.
   It is human weakness which makes gold’s worth
   Seem higher than our brothers on this Earth.

Indelible

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

These little songs mock me; e’er taunting in
Ink indelible as the years wasted
Begging love; the shame tattooed on my skin –
A reminder of passion untasted.
My own words accuse, indicting my mind
For crimes unpardonable, and judgment
Is damned, as if fervor can be confined
To those requiting life’s sweetest torment.
While I cannot hope to avoid the sting
Of other’s ridicule, that anguish pales
‘Gainst the unending pain self-contempt brings
An ego stripped bare as sanity fails.
   Though the heart struggles on, forever seared,
   Scars left on the soul never disappear.

Allocution

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I have no choice now but to admit guilt;
The blame, by any measure, 'longs to me
Alone. I will trudge to the gallows built
Atop my shame and deliver that plea;
No remorse tempers this allocution;
Though, one excuse I'll give to mitigate
The crime: My heart was misled by passion –
Fooled into thinking you'd reciprocate.
Much like Will's green-eyed Moor, I have "loved not
Wisely but too well." And, that devotion
Blinded me to truth; leaving a mind fraught
With madness for seeking thy affection.
   On the charge of love I stand convicted;
   My penance, I fear, is self-inflicted.

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.

I Fear Sleep for the Dreams That Often Come

A villanelle for Arthur H. Monigold.


I fear sleep for the dreams that often come
In the darkest hours after midnight,
When my mind is defenseless, my heart numb.

Engulfed in blackness, I sense the phantom
Approach, but I cannot flee, cannot fight;
I fear sleep for the dreams that often come.

Powerless, I am once more his victim.
Past trespass will allow no rest tonight,
When my mind is defenseless, my heart numb.

My innocence again becomes flotsam,
Broken by incestuous appetite;
I fear sleep for the dreams that often come.

The shame of my own guilt becomes tiresome
To bear, though memory will still indict
When my mind is defenseless, my heart numb.

To unrestrained emotions I succumb,
While praying these nightmares fade in day's light.
I fear sleep for the dreams that often come
When my mind is defenseless, my heart numb.

A Disputation of the Existence of Love That Dare Not Speak its Name

For Ian & David Newhem
on the occasion of their wedding
~ 25 July 2009 ~

We are but momentary motes of dust
On this Earth; floating in noontime sunbeams,
Rarely making contact with one we trust,
Or love, enough to share our mortal dreams;
As the fragile threads of this life unspool
And our too brief candle dims toward darkness,
We must seize our own joy, or play love’s fool
On a lonely stage, shrouded in lightness;
Mark not the word of Man; ask Him above
For blessings, and leave mortals to natter.
Look upon past love as prologue to love
To come…for ever, and ever after.
We must dare proclaim love – by any name,
For love unspoken or denied is shame!