From Dust to Dust

By Bud Koenemund

Why would I fear something I have wished for,
Even tempted, nigh on 25 years?
What suffering exists beyond abhorred
Death’s veil that could eclipse pain endured here?
I should welcome an end to this torment –
The unceasing agony called life – which
Has left both intellect and body rent;
Bereft in spirit; with a soul of pitch.
Unafraid, I hold surrender not a sin;
I’ll embrace the darkness; finally
Set free from worldly struggles; whole again,
Someplace where these griefs no longer bind me.
   From dust, to dust, and thus a debt is paid
   When I, at last, am by the Reaper bade.

Hunger

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

I’ll never again feign lust innocence;
Nor pretend my intentions remain pure.
Rather, I admit this concupiscence;
A heat impossible to endure
When both body and mind burn with desire.
I fear an inferno will engulf all;
Demanding ever more, as the fire
Blazes beyond control. I am enthralled –
My hunger increasing with ev’ry taste –
Being consumed, yet yearning further; the toll
A consequence eagerly embraced,
As I surrender my eternal soul.
   Your perfection would tempt angels toward sin,
   And bring devils back to the light again.

I Make No Secret of My Desire

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

My mind, Lady, I do confess, is filled –
Both awake and in slumber – with fantasies;
Visions erotic from morn through star gilt
Night – illusions bending sanity
Toward madness – dreams that, while wanton, reveal
Subconscious adoration. This lust bears
Certain truth; passion cannot be concealed
For one with whom only Venus compares.
I make no secret of my desire;
A longing, concupiscent to be sure;
Yet, in faith, ‘tis zeal tempered by fire;
Sin purged through the flames, leaving purity.
   But, will transgression be called blasphemy,
   When praising a Goddess in ecstasy?

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.

Seduction by Art

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

My ambition is seduction by art;

Tempting with lyrics that dance across skin,

As poetry speaks love from tongue to heart;

Stirring desire which blesses such sin.

Your form fires the imagination,

Shaping rhyme; verses take life in those eyes,

And a gloved hand could cause an eruption:

Expressions of fervor for one enskied.

I pray these words will arouse ecstasy –

Undressing body and mind; illicit

Acts to satiate lust: a melody

Of moans unifying flesh with spirit.

   My passion grows beyond concupiscence;

   An oath I trust will excuse this offense.

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.

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.

Lust and Love are Alike Attired

By Bud Koenemund

Desire burns hot, torturing my mind
With visions of two becoming one flesh;
Fantasies of your skin pressed against mine,
And endearments lost as we fight for breath.
Surrender to me, and our bodies will
Melt together in the dragon’s fire;
Embracing sin, and ecstasy fulfilled,
As toward the little death we aspire.
Lady, please pardon my vulgarity,
For I lack the pretty prose required
To spark passion. Though ‘tis absurdity,
So oft’ lust and love are alike attired.
   I seek not by words to mislead your heart,
   Offering only truth disguised as art.

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.

Concupiscent

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I write so oft' of my respect for thee;
Assuring my heart's allegiance to thine –
A bosom prized above the air I breathe –
Begging thy hand; our fingers intertwined.
But, lust has o'erwhelmed thoughts of purity,
And desire craves thy touch on my skin,
While we mock the curse of avidity –
Two merged as one in consecrated sin.
Passion swells, demanding release boundless
As fantasy; yielding all; submitting
To nature, and each other; a guiltless
Surrender to hunger unremitting.
   Though I seek no grace for concupiscence,
   I pray my true love will pierce thy defense.

Knowing

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

The worst thing about you leaving – again –
Is knowing in my soul you will come back.
Sure as the dark of night and April rain,
You'll return to heal yourself as you wrack
My sanity once more. I fear you'll wait
Until I've somehow patched together a
Heart you've crushed before. Alas, 'tis my fate
To be punished for the sin of love; flayed
Alive by your indifference; my will
Exiled to the wasteland of rejection,
And devotion exposed as a windmill
I charge heedless of my own destruction.
   Passion I held stronger than gravity
   Has yielded to painful lucidity.

Deadly Sin

Am I not a mortal, born into sin;
An imperfect man, destined to transgress?
Shall I stand condemned for the beast within;
Tendering prayers entreating forgiveness?
No! I'll abandon virtue for thy kiss,
The warmth of your skin on my fingertips,
And whispers shrouded in the Dragon's mist –
Where carnal urges rise and reason slips.
Each time I see you, I long to confess
This fault; to admit the concupiscence
Burning through my body. Though, what blessing
Would that bring, when lust o'erwhelms innocence?
   Your touch alone can sate this desire,
   And damn my soul to the eternal fire.

Ninth Step

For "Her."

Do not presume your ninth step is my first
Toward granting absolution. In truth, your
Effort is wasted on a man well-versed
In scorn; possessed of a heart love abjures.
Struggling to amend rips open old wounds
Festered in a decade of bitterness;
Revealing a soul where malice abounds.
Of sin I stand not guiltless, but confess:
‘Tis not my place nor power to excuse
Others, while I cannot forgive myself.
No, I am a fool whose mind is abused
By allowing hate to feed on itself.
Though pardon’s a grace that sets conscience free,
You’ll have to go on healing without me.

What Shall I Write of My Desire for Thee

For Amy Lynn Watkins

What shall I write of my desire for thee,
So that I would not cause offense to thy
State, virtuous as I hold it to be,
Nor mar my reputation in your eyes?
How might I explain, without terms vulgar,
The fire burning in my body and mind
Amid dreams – both waking and in slumber –
That keep you in this damn’d lust enshrined?
Though my soul will stand condemn'd for sin,
And I will spend eternity disgraced,
I beg thee, Muse, give me the words to win
Thy hand, and so grant me a mortal grace.
I make no secret of concupiscence,
But seek your love to reclaim innocence.

The Ways That My Body Remembers Yours

For Amy Lynn Watkins

My lips remember the curve of your neck,
And my tongue recalls the taste of your skin.
My fingers can feel the warmth of your back,
And my ears hear you moan my name again;
Your wondrous perfume returns to my nose,
And your eyes penetrate…searching in mine.
When I think of the times I’ve held you close,
Each sense ignites a fire in my mind;
Our bodies entwined, melting together
In a warm and wet enveloping cloud,
Were caught in illusions of forever,
As lust wrapped us both in the Dragon’s shroud.
Muse, my passion demands that I explore
The ways that my body remembers yours.

I Would Write My Poems on Your Body (Redux)

For Amy Lynn Watkins

I would write my poems on your body,
With words that linger like kisses on skin;
Timeless lines praising all you embody,
And find no shame in committing this sin;
I would give sonnets like warm caresses,
To trace o’er your flesh eliciting sighs,
And pen for you most unworthy verses
Of love many know only with their eyes;
The fire of our passion would become art,
Raging higher as desire mates with rhyme,
Requiring no fuel but these beating hearts
To defeat assured death and outlast time.
On flesh and bone the world will take its toll,
But love grants endless life unto your soul.

'Tis Sin to Write for Thee Perilous Beauty

For Jamey.

‘Tis sin to write for thee Perilous Beauty,
Praising hair infused with streaks of gold;
While to hold peace is the law and duty,
I here defy God, and so curse my soul;
When by convention I should be silent,
Denying my pen the words you inspire,
Your loveliness compels me to relent,
And thus celebrate eyes cut from sapphire;
In truth, I am a scoundrel to transgress
Upon sacred vows with mellifluent
Rhymes of lips and skin, though I must confess,
I blush at my guilt, but do not repent.
Accuse me not of mere concupiscence,
In faith, my love will serve as my defense.

Your Beauty Makes a Coward of My Tongue

For Erene.

Your beauty makes a coward of my tongue,
As if thy form has robbed me of my voice.
With Cupid’s blind-shot arrow am I stung,
Though, by my faith, I dote without a choice;
Your lips steal the very breath from my lungs
And drive my mind beyond the edge of sense.
By the heat of thy touch, is thought o’erwrung,
Yet, by that same palm, I crave indulgence;
While ‘tis sin to love thee, I’ll be brave still,
Praying such boldness overwhelms your heart.
Give me thy hand, if it should be thy will,
And I’ll stoke the fires of passion with art.
But speak my name and all I am is thine,
For with my pen I’ll praise thy love divine.