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.

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.

Malice Aforethought

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Oh, what delight you must’ve taken each
Time you returned to strip my soul anew;
Dangling your heart ever beyond my reach,
While I, blind in love, couldn’t see the clues
Which might, perhaps, have spared me the malice
Swirling about your breast like a maelstrom;
Spewing words sharp as daggers, and callous
Deeds intended to leave sanity numb,
Even as I pledged renewed devotion.
But, the years of pain have taught a lesson,
Lifting thy enchantment – a curse broken –
And passion faded like mist in the sun.
   I won’t claim affection turned enmity;
   Rather, your spite has engendered pity.

Deceit and Pity

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Once upon a time, I would have given
My last breath to hear you whisper my name
In love; the balm healing a soul riven;
Reciprocation of passion untamed.
But, your deceit ruined affection, and
To thy mem’ry I am no longer bound.
Your occasional communiqués can
Only be efforts to re-open wounds –
And that Siren song is now powerless.
Although attempts to tear at sanity
Persist, their effect is rendered harmless;
Inspiring nothing more than pity.
   Henceforth, I’ll never take thy word as truth,
   For ‘gainst your deceptions my heart is proofed.

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.

The Bosom of Venus

By Bud Koenemund

For TK
(& James Franco)

Thou art, Lady, worthy of sweetest rhymes,
That might entice the bosom of Venus;
Possessing a beauty which transcends time
When thy visage serves to kindle genius.
The mysteries of inspiration lay
Beyond my ken, but I must praise thee, Muse;
As verse twirls in a lyrical ballet,
I accept thy favor without excuse.
Yet, I would trade all those words for a kiss,
And the sound of you whispering my name;
Oh, welcome desire and hasten bliss,
As souls unite, forged strong by passion’s flames.
   My sanctuary lives within thy breast;
   A place I pray my heart may find its rest.

Paradise or the Abyss

By Bud Koenemund

For TK

Enchantment from first sight I do admit;
Physical separation cannot quell,
Nor the disparity of years omit,
This truth which has too long in shadows dwelled.
Yearning to touch you compels – fingertips
Caressing skin warmed by dragon’s fire –
My mouth constantly hungers for your lips;
Though, lust is not the limit of desire.
I would, Lady, endeavour to become
The poet held highest in thy esteem;
For you, muse, who so oft’ has left me dumb,
Might mend my heart, and a lost soul redeem.
   I beg, let not impediments divide,
   And embrace these lyrics birthed in your eyes.

A Poet's Obligatory Ode to a Blank Sheet of Paper

By Bud Koenemund

At rest now, on desktop – yet, I reflect,
Not long ago part of a mighty tree –
Poised as canvas for form crafted perfect,
But oft’ revealing insufficiency.
Does it yearn, like the poet, to become
Great – an ode comparing a summer’s day;
Evening stops by snowy woods; or songs from
Lovers lamenting loss; a chance to gain
Immortality in some small measure?
When the muse speaks, and quill dances with page,
Mere words metamorphose into treasure.
A frenzied scribe ink alone can assuage,
   As they create worlds with paper and pen –
   Driving imagination beyond ken.

By Muse Gifted

By Bud Koenemund

How do poems arise if not by muse
Gifted? Bestowed upon the inspired
Like sparks flickering off a lighted fuse:
Prelude to a blast of creative fire.
But, where lies the line between flame and fuel?
Is there divide ‘twixt poet and Goddess;
Or are scribes indebted for each jewel
Conveyed through genius? And, while less modest
Egos, so often inflated by pride,
May out of hand reject this argument,
Their hubris will stand tribute to the tide
Of rhythm and rhyme Erato has lent.
   I can never repay thy influence;
   Nor suitably praise such mellifluence.

The Girl in Those Sonnets

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Can a human really be that perfect?
One being inspiring creation
Of a hundred little songs; an object
Celestial deserving ovation?
May a sole muse supply myriad rhymes
Required to fuel so many quatrains
Pledging devotion ‘til the end of time;
Even if those poems are writ in vain?
I would not believe sans experience –
Bless’d with the maddening gift of words,
As if by some Heavenly existence,
Though denied return of my love absurd.
   "Her;" Dark Lady to a mad sonneteer:
   The genius I will forever hold dear.