The Mad Sonneteer

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.

By Bud Koenemund (Written: December 2023) For Christina Alvarado My mind cries out, profaning the universe; Mourning, o’er and o’er, this tragedy – An assault on existence – while cursing A suppos’d caring god’s perfidy. I wish I could hold you in my arms now; Embracing gently; a reassuring Touch to defy despair and doubt; somehow Granting peace – a balm easing suffering. But, I know the strength you possess: spirit, Resolve, stubbornness, and tenacity; With a warrior poet’s soul. Sans fear, You’ll tilt ‘gainst fate for immortality. I have and will always love you, my Friend; Sentiment which shall endure ‘til time’s end.

By Bud Koenemund (Written: September 2023) 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.

By Bud Koenemund (Written: September 2023) Words often evolve over centuries; Rising and falling while meanings altered. Some are lost in language’s vagaries, Disappearing, to be re-discovered In not-always-ancient texts; re-defined – Even the victim of mistranslation – Gaining life hence as lexicons refine; Embraced for use by new generations. But, I believed one word inviolate; Sacred and immune to fate’s quickening; Spoken always without fear or regret, Until the day I learned love means nothing. How does a heart find strength to persevere, When forever doesn’t mean forever?

By Bud Koenemund (Written: May 2023) I fear perfect love is but fantasy; A fiction dwelling solely in my brain; Some trick of the mind’s creativity – That domain where wanton ambling nymphs reign O’er intellect; suffused by fairy tales Oft’ ending happily ever after: Though illusions inevitably fail When affection’s nativity yields hurt. These dreams ne’er align with reality, As I awake confined in loneliness. Yet, this despair does afford clarity – A recognition of unworthiness. Time’s passage will prove no balm for my soul; I am left without cure to make me whole.

By Bud Koenemund (Written: April 2023) I know one way to express devotion: Offering my entire heart and soul – Withholding nothing; risking emotion Perilous; braving passion uncontrolled By intellect. And, the cost has become Too dear as torment strips vitality, Inducing me to wish all feeling numbed – Surrender slouching toward finality. In truth, love has caused me nothing but pain. Though, I doubt any revelation Of zeal could bring joy when such unrestrained Affection only invited destruction. I will feign no more desire for light; Leaving my soul abandoned and blighted.

By Bud Koenemund (Written: March 2023) For Lindsay “Is this what you want?” I ask, even as I squeeze, choking off her breath to reply. She struggles – tempted and teased; slow and fast – Her body craves release, which I deny. Lust will once more transform two into one; The heat of desire burning our minds; A hunger for flesh leaves us both undone, While devouring each like wolf and hind. Though I am in charge, this domination Is dual pleasure – mine derived from hers; Every sense overwhelmed by passion. When the little death comes, all Reason’s blurred. This fire between us can’t be contained; Concupiscence – intense and unrestrained.

By Bud Koenemund (Written: March 2023) For Jenna In humans resides a passion for art. Through poetry, ink, music, paint, or song Many endeavor to express their heart And soul; an act declaring “I belong!” Despite critics – the worst living within Our own minds – we persevere: creating; Hating; destroying; beginning again; Working; changing; crafting; re-editing; Seeking a perfection that oft’ eludes The grasp of mortals; ever contending ‘Gainst doubt; utilizing talent imbued To produce genius. And, at our end, It matters not if results were obtained By tiny increments or sweeping gains.

By Bud Koenemund (Written: March 2023) I wish I could remember to forget – Awakening one day, finally free: My mind unbound, and Reason manumit; No more a prisoner of memory. But, what liberty would that erasure Provide? Only temporary respite? Or, a balm healing the wounds I’ve endured; Allowing re-birth of spirit and wit? Time, I fear, will never grant me solace – Peace has yet to suffuse my weary soul. Indeed, though years have burned away apace, Your absence still exacts a grievous toll. Recollection brings you back to my brain, E’en as I seek deliverance from pain.

By Bud Koenemund (Written: March 2023) For E. With apologies to William Shakespeare I would compare thee to a summer’s day; But, that one’s been done before, by better Wit; and verses, I fear, are overplayed When pretty words, more than actions, matter. Though my muse could ne’er want for invention While you, fairest of fair, do grace this earth, My prose struggles to match inspiration – A predicament oft’ a poet’s curse. Be assured, I pray, these creations Speak truth: exalting spirit unrivaled; A soul soaring beyond comprehension, And mind seeking the wondrous and magical. My willing labor is thy praise, Empress; To bestow immortality my quest.