The Chimes at Midnight

By Bud Koenemund (Written: July 2026) For Lindsay I fear, Lady, it lies not within my Power to make you immortal through words Spilled forth upon a page. Rhythm and rhyme Fall too short ‘fore thy grace. Prose is absurd; Found deficient ‘gainst the scope of beauty Displayed both inside and out. Such discourse, Oft’ repeated, will turn stale; a duty Poets must embrace, lest their vows seem forced. For thee, Muse, I am compelled to create; Finding inspiration in desire – A passion that may never be sated. Yet, here, I strive to raise thy fame higher. Crafting true praise remains my endeavor; As I seek to make you live forever.

By Bud Koenemund (Written: July 2026) For "Her." At first sight, beguiled by your beauty, I became lost in imagination; Creating art for you – not a duty; Rather, some blessing of inspiration. Through this privilege, I sought sacred words That would enter your ears to captivate Heart and soul, heedless of the cost incurred; For passion made me a fool; prostrated By indifference – over and again. My mournful songs echo your absence, While grief traps love in an underworld, straining To hear footsteps; finding only silence. But, unlike the tragic story myth tells, With each look back, ‘tis I return to hell.

By Bud Koenemund (Written: April 2026) For those who do not know peace. Every generation forgets Stories their fathers told; evoking horrors Beyond the pale of humanity; debts Recalled with cold sweat; mem’ries forever Seared into their minds; invisible scars Borne; never quite healing despite years passed. This curse entices the young toward valor; A supposed glory they think will last. So, those terrible lessons must be learned Again; steeped in blood, and death, and madness; Where the dead are free, but survivors yearn For solace: a peace they’ll never possess. Each age is destined to fan war’s embers: Every generation remembers.

By Bud Koenemund (Written: May 2026) For “Her.” Heat endures, though I wonder if it’s worth Fanning embers of a love that’s dying; Going cold by neglect, and growing worse When it seems I’m the only one trying To rekindle those bright flames of passion – Once incandescent – desire that burned In our souls. Shall I accept affection Will never revive? The respect I yearned For denied, my heart glows on a pyre Since your scorn; while what sanity remains Is condemned to the maelstrom of Hell’s fire. True, I offered all… and would again; Yet, a tragic question lurks in that storm: How much of me must burn to keep us warm?

By Bud Koenemund For Lindsay “In the right eyes, you will be art.” – Unknown How could any set of eyes miss the art Contained within you? Even those who don’t Create illumined by you feel your heart: Acknowledging grace as artists are wont. Though it is, in truth, the job of poets To praise beauty; ‘tis thy inspiration – Arising from your spirit, more than my wit – That gives birth to these celebrations Of radiance. All things, seen and unseen; Love and lust; denial and desire; The chaos of black, white, and gray between, Feed the maelstrom of a mind set fire. I must give credit where credit is due: The world will know these words belong to you.

By Bud Koenemund (Written: October 2025) For Lindsay The green-eyed girl, like some ethereal Being, gliding, ghostly in the moonlight, Guided him across the sand. The feel Of her hand, warm and soft in his, delighting Every sense, while his intellect failed; Yielding all to love, lust, and lunacy. Reaching the water, she turned, her face veiled In shadow, and kissed his lips eagerly. His arms enveloped her, pulling her close – A beauty, wondrous, to rival that bright Body celestial – Nature’s awe exposed; In sky and on earth, a heavenly sight. But, like all dreams, this vision could not stay; On waking, fantasy faded away.

Sunshine and Rain.

By Bud Koenemund (Written: April 2024) Half of my heart is still in love with you; A notion foolish as it is sincere, When that affection’s forever imbued By sadness: growing more and more austere. Half of my mind is still in love with you; Yet condemned to recall happier days, ‘Fore passion incandescent went askew; Leaving intellect and sanity razed. Half of my soul still belongs to you; Though ‘tis now mortal – crushed beyond the repair Time can grant; a solace long overdue – As I stumble about in my despair. I seek a peace I fear I’ll never find, While memory and shadow intertwine.