Condemned

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

Desire for you
will damn my eternal soul;
My lust condemns me.

The Devil and the Darkness

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For M.

  Michelle had a boyfriend she loved. But – from time to time – she needed to see Brian. He wasn’t a friend with benefits… not exactly. Brian was, she thought, the Devil. Somehow, he knew her darkest desires. Often, she felt shame at the disgusting things he made her do – acts she would never reveal to another living soul. Then, she’d admit to herself that he never forced her to do anything, and that she enjoyed the way he made her cum over and over. She’d feel the warm tingle between her legs and pick up her phone to call him again.

Confessions

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Every eye in the hall turned to seek the source of the explosion of laughter filling the air. Their attention focused on the most beautiful woman in the room – suddenly the most beautiful woman in the world – clinging tightly to his right arm. Her smile, and the slowly fading giggles she struggled to control, ignited a fire in his soul, and proved that she was the right one for him.
  Just moments before, she’d leaned close and whispered, “I’m not wearing panties tonight.”
  He’d carefully considered this confession for a second, gazed into her eyes, and said, “Neither am I.”

The Deepest Wounds

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  I don’t hate you for breaking my heart. In truth, I expected it; waited for “the bomb” to drop right from day one. It’s the story of my life, really; I’m used to it. But, I didn’t expect to be stabbed in the back… the blade killing trust and affection in one thrust.
  Sadly, the deepest wounds are inflicted by those held in closest confidence. Despite the danger, we let them in – even provide them with the weapon – and turn a blind eye to the risk. And, as love bleeds out, animosity and the rot of indifference corrupts the soul.

All

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

My flesh craves your touch.

My tongue desires your taste.

But, my soul wants all.

Sweet Nothings

Blessed New Life

A poem to celebrate the late birth of Rebecca Lynn Koenemund:

Lady of Union, Princess of Wilshire, and Empress of Pomona.

By Bud Koenemund: Uncle, Godfather, and Lord Protector of Her Majesty’s northern possessions.

(Written: 2006)

A dawn of golden dreams spills over us,

blinding our thankful eyes with tears of joy

as Nature’s majestic sunrise,

the blessed renewal of life’s promise,

melts the winter snow leaving a new spring.

A child to tempt the voices of Angels

to sing sweet songs of hallelujah

peeks out as we, being but mortal,

stain our cheeks for lack of words

to give worthy praise for this Grace.

Reverent prayers, answered with a precious gift,

now become humble pleas for the strength

of heart to prove worthy of this perfect child.

Each seeking only to provide a lifetime of peace

and protection from the sting of worldly woe,

to love unconditionally, to cheer the smallest victory,

and soothe after the most devastating of defeats,

to teach, and quench the thirst for enlightenment,

and to celebrate the brilliant splashes of paint

that create a masterpiece from a blank canvas.

This pure soul, innocent and celestial,

brought forth in love, enters and prepares to play

the many unknown parts meant for a life.

Pink fingers, the instruments whose talent

God will reveal in his time, reach out

to grasp at nothing, and everything.

And newly opened eyes search to discover

a world both fascinating and frightening,

full of wonder, and then, reluctantly, close

to float within the first beautiful dreams of life.

A Plethora of Haiku to End the Year On

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Once Upon a Time...

For "Her."

Let’s sit and write a sonnet together,
Just you and I. I’ll pour some drinks and play
Songs that still remind me, while you whisper
Words which linger in my ears. I’ll obey
Your charge wistfully, quickening the quill
To flagellate my soul in equal parts
Healing and torture, as grief beyond will
Suffocates the love that once filled my heart;
Anon we’ll return to the past; a time
I knew, even then, was but a broken
Fairy tale, and at the bell’s midnight chime
I am left a knight without his maiden.
I'll fill this page with things I long to say,
For your magic oft’ fades ere light of day.