Variations on a Theme

By Bud Koenemund

‘Tis true, I must confess, many of these
Little songs seem only variations
On a theme – rhythms, with rhymes meant to please
The eye: imperfect stabs at perfection.
Yet, what idea, save love, could entice
Such verse prolific; praise so inspired;
Promises of passion and sacrifice,
Whether facing Heaven or hellfire?
I do fear repetition may dampen
A heart’s assessment of sincerity;
Though that judgment will never lessen
Zeal; nor taint these musings with perversity.
   My form is rough; iambs full of defects;
   But, pray, let this not detract from respect.

Fire Cannot Feed Upon Itself

By Bud Koenemund

With apologies to Galway Kinnell

Fire cannot feed upon itself. Lacking
Fuel to sustain, it will suffocate;
Dying away – light dwindling toward black –
As flames, once furious, quickly abate.
To make it burn, I threw my whole self in;
Sacrificing pride; nourishing our spark;
Then realized I could never kindle
Passion matching mine; that knowledge a stark
Reminder of the wasteland devotion
Leaves behind – solitude seared in my soul;
Scorched by incendiary emotion,
While embers, neglected too oft’, grow cold.
   The love extinguished cannot be renewed;
   Yet, memory smolders with thoughts of you.

From Crush to Crushed (Part VI): One Lie

By Bud Koenemund

“I just want you to be happy.” I lied.
The first, and only, one I told her;
After ruin inevitably denied
Those flames I fought to kindle – smoldering
Embers never reaching incandescence.
It’s bullshit. I know it. She knows it, too.
Still, it’s what you offer – at pride’s expense –
When there’s nothing else to say; naught to do.
Yet, even in this deception lives truth;
Despite betrayal, I cannot wish pain
On a soul once adored, but seek to soothe
Their conscience, while my own heart is constrained.
   I can’t pretend as if I didn’t care;
   Obliterating the affection dared.

From Crush to Crushed (Part V): The Other Shoe

By Bud Koenemund

Right from our start, I knew how this would end:
The only way it can for guys like me…
Though I hoped ‘gainst hope passion could transcend
A past of loss – erasing misery –
Intellect recognized the bitter truth,
And shouted warnings which went unheeded;
Burying a soul in despair unsoothed,
When your turn pronounced my love unneeded.
Sadly, even if it’s true, “I never
Intended to hurt you” doesn’t lessen
This pain I feel. Those words wound forever
The heart a fool left in your possession.
   I composed verses praising her beauty,
   Unaware of how ugly she could be.

From Crush to Crushed (Part IV): Idiot

By Bud Koenemund

"Everyone's heart is an idiot." - Thomas Paris

My heart, I fear, has played the fool again;
Deceived by lies; left inconsolable,
After desire o’re sense gained free reign,
And malice made passion disposable.
How many times can a heart survive
Being broken – shattered anew – before
Surrendering; refusing revival
Only to stumble on forever torn?
If everyone’s heart is an idiot,
Why seems it especially so with mine?
In the book of love found illiterate;
Destined to be alone by fate malign.
   Affection oft’ exacts a dreadful cost;
   Intellect is crushed and sanity lost.

From Crush to Crushed (Part III): It Ends the Same Way

By Bud Koenemund

I’ve seen this episode before… many
Times. Inevitably, it ends the same way;
Bud fools himself into thinking any
Woman could give a fuck. A display
As pitiful as it is laughable;
Watching this clown blunder ‘gainst his own heart;
Enduring agony while damnable
Madness poisons a spirit torn apart.
Though he knows the risk invites solitude,
He’ll create passionate sonnets, and send
“Good morning, Beautiful” texts, as prelude
To a climax that leaves him unmended.
   While there is holiness in affection,
   Suffering oft’ becomes love’s conclusion.

From Crush to Crushed (Part II): All or Nothing

By Bud Koenemund

My heart knows but two ways: all or nothing!
Rushing toward love with reckless abandon;
A fool; ignoring intellect’s warnings;
All the senses overwhelmed by passion.
Unable to acknowledge this danger,
My mind soars on winds of euphoria,
As desire and judgement ‘come strangers
Reveling in temporary glory.
Indeed, this flaw corrupted affection
For thee – I gave devotion sans Reason;
Leaving my spirit in destitution;
Stumbling through a wasteland all alone.
   This defeat must be confessed unblushing;
   I gave all… and ended up with nothing.

From Crush to Crushed (Part I): Fooled

By Bud Koenemund

You fooled me into believing I could
Be worthy of love; a soul misled to
Think – despite previous defeats – this would
Work; that affection was given one who
Might finally requite the warmth received;
Mirroring my effort and devotion.
But, once more, this heart’s desire deceived
A mind vulnerable; lacking notions
Of treason; blind to prevarication.
Though intellect provided ample warning,
Enchantment deafened sense, and illusion
Grew quickly, obscuring misgivings.
   Reality killed my season of joy,
   And lies left behind a spirit destroyed.

Heaven Help Me

By Bud Koenemund

(Written: January 2021)

Heaven help me, I get lost in your eyes;
My mind enchanted by those circled orbs –
A maelstrom of fantasy spinning – while sighs
Escape from lips longing to kiss yours.
Oh, I must confess, too many waking
Thoughts are consumed by daydreams; my focus
Struggling ‘gainst grace; Reason’s forsaken,
Abandoned to a barely disguised lust.
Yet, even this concupiscence is pure –
A respect undimmed by base desire –
And my heart requires no other cure
But passion, for which I’ll risk Hell’s fire.
   I do revel in thy beauty endued;
   Treasuring ev’ry moment spent with you.

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.