All the Words in the World

By Bud Koenemund

How oft’ did verses take birth in your eyes;
As if each glimpse granted inspiration?
I prayed those poems to Heaven would fly,
And sway thy bosom with proofed affection.
I wanted, for us, immortality –
Bestowing fame lasting beyond our years;
This ambition surpassing vanity:
More a devotion of toil and tears.
In the end, though, my efforts achieved
Nothing but changing pain for passion true;
When desire conspired to deceive
An ever foolish man who dared love you.
   This song mourns the impotence of my art;
   For all the words in the world won’t win your heart.

Slow Motion

By Bud Koenemund

(Written: December 2020)

Know’st thou that moment in each Romantic
Comedy, when yon fiery mistress
Doth approach the hapless teen male, flicking
To and fro, with careless ease, her lustrous
Mane; while time – defying reason – passes
In slow motion, and said young man does gawk;
Stupefied – as concupiscence crashes,
O’erwhelming intellect – too stunned to talk?
I have known thee beyond thirty moons full –
My heart being surrendered from the first –
And, though I am mad – thought, by some, a fool –
I swear to you, with passion unrehearsed:
   When I see thee, my entire world stands still;
   Struck dumb, as heavenly choirs trill.

Dollars and Sense

By Bud Koenemund

Some will deny facts; refute evidence;
Censure prophets whose message fuels outrage;
Ignore inevitable consequence;
In defiance of danger disengage;
Celebrate dividend distributions
Over the desiccated bones of Earth,
And trumpet their only contribution:
Endlessly monetizing nature’s worth;
Squeezing every dollar from land and sea;
Placing short-term profit ‘bove common weal;
Assuming no blame for the bill they’ll leave:
A world’s future condemned without appeal.
   Disbelief does not make science untrue,
   But will compound the penalties accrued.

Epic Romance Fail

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I should have known better; realized from
The beginning that girls like you don’t fall
For guys like me – despite the many dumb
Sonnets I’ve written. Still, I had the gall
To hold faith in crazy fairy tale love –
Gripping two with passion; unshakable
Emotion sacred in the eyes of Jove.
I risked odds not only improbable,
But impossible absent a silver screen,
And the penalty I endure now
Is believing my affections obscene;
Forever beyond what fate will allow.
   This world may justly pronounce me a fool
   For possessing a mind by heart o’eruled.

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.

Maelstrom

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

A maelstrom of doubt threatens to o'erwhelm
Our hearts, leaving them awash in green-eyed
Jealousy; turning this Heaven to Hell;
As we founder in an ocean of pride.
We both must learn to forgive our mistakes –
Allowing imperfection's perfection.
Accept our flaws, and let tempest rewake
Rapture with promises of affection.
Incandescent desire will not die –
With time a spirit drown'd may revive.
In truth, by woe love oft' intensifies,
So, trust 'gainst this storm our spark can survive.
   Grant passion's flame a chance to rekindle,
   And the grace of this world will ne'er dwindle.

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.