15 March 2018

There Once was a Man from Verona...

  I wrote this limerick (my first - and probably last) for the St. Patrick's Day contest on a local radio station. It didn't win, but that's just as well; The Mad Limerickeer just doesn't have the same ring as The Mad Sonneteer.


There once was a man from Verona,
Whose wife was a bit of a stonah.
He caught her in bed
With a dealer named Ted,
And, now he lives all alonah.

12 November 2017


By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

Inspired by “The Salvation of Mosul” by Joshua Hammer, Smithsonian magazine, October 2017

  I used to visit the museum, before all this. The purge… The war… I hated this painting; the dull colors, the awkward gaze, the lazy brushstrokes. Sometimes, I’d stare at it for an hour, wondering what people see in it. Other times, I’d avoid the hall where it hung.
  But, when they started closing libraries, and burning books, I knew it wouldn’t be long before they came for everything else. I had to save it… The art… Whatever I could… Even as flames destroyed the building. I rescued this.
  Someday, I’ll give it back. Maybe it will help people remember.

02 September 2017


By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Even as the fighting ended, peace still seemed like an ethereal dream; something that would slip through your fingers like cigarette smoke. The silence was surreal. The sound of gunfire and explosions, aircraft and dying men faded, replaced by…nothing; not even wind blowing across a wrecked landscape.
  Five minutes ago, they'd been at war – now they weren't. They’d run hunched over; sat huddled in bunkers; crouched in foxholes; ducked, crawled, and dove.
  For the first time he could remember, he stood up; stretching to his full height. He'd been a soldier all his adult life.
  “Now what?” he asked.

07 July 2017

Moonlight Muse

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 word story

For Lindsay

  Swaying hips hypnotized him as he followed her along the beach. Leaving behind dying embers, they entered shadow. She tasted of salt, sweat, and Coppertone, and while his tongue stumbled over the stubble of sand clinging to warm skin he swore he’d never known sweeter.
  Her emerald eyes glimmered in silver moonlight, and fingers danced over flesh; taking pleasure in giving the same. Mouths stole breath from one another; surrendering to passion even as they realized the coming day would dissolve the promises spilling from their lips in the dark.
  After, they lay, entangled, whispering drowsy endearments to the stars.

30 April 2017

A Love Letter in Haiku Form - For National Poetry Writing Month 2017

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

Oh, sweet green-eyed muse;
thy emerald beauty has
beguiled my pen.

What words could I use
to tempt your heart as you have
enchanted my own?

Would my feeble pleas
serve to entice elegance,
or prove me a fool?

Desire cannot
be expressed in verse alone.
Still, the soul must speak.

While I lack talent
with speech, these tributes to thee
spring forth unimpaired.

Though I fear the flames
lust has kindled will consume
me, passion rises.

I long to enjoy
the touch of your lips ‘gainst mine –
a divine union.

I beg caresses;
to feel the warmth of your skin
under my fingers.

I yearn to lay close,
our limbs entangled, as we
whisper endearments.

The sanctuary
I seek rests in your bosom;
exquisite solace.

Lady, I live in
faint hope of someday holding
your soft hand in mine.

These creations live
by thy inspiration, and
wither in neglect.

Though weak lines cannot
match your radiance, I pray
they will woo thy heart.

15 April 2017


By Bud Koenemund

A 100 word story

For Lindsay

  I want to push you against the wall, and mash my mouth against yours; kissing you until we’re both gasping for breath. I want to pull your hair, leaning your head back, exposing your delicate neck to my lips. I want your legs wrapped around me as I carry you to bed. I want to tear the clothes from your body as we fumble toward ecstasy. I want to stare into your eyes, and clutch your throat, as we fuck – not making love – each other into delirium until we collapse; sweaty and exhausted; our limbs entangled, as we whisper endearments.

14 April 2017

A Fire Once Incandescent

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 word story

For Lindsay

  Rain pelted the umbrella spread above them. The droplets – furious and unrelenting – splattered against the black nylon, then joined in silver rivulets that ran over the edge to seek the ground. The couple, soaked from the knees down, huddled close as gusts of wind whipped along the gray concrete canyon, threatening their fragile shelter.
  Reaching the entrance of her building, they hesitated for a few moments, neither wanting to let go; each lamenting the drowning of a fire once incandescent. Recognizing her, the doorman fumbled his way into the maelstrom, extending his own umbrella, too late, as she ran past.