Saved

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.

Stand

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.

Sweet Nothings

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.

Hell

I Dare You!

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

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

I

Oh, sweet green-eyed muse;

thy emerald beauty has

beguiled my pen.

II

What words could I use

to tempt your heart as you have

enchanted my own?

III

Would my feeble pleas

serve to entice elegance,

or prove me a fool?

IV

Desire cannot

be expressed in verse alone.

Still, the soul must speak.

V

While I lack talent

with speech, these tributes to thee

spring forth unimpaired.

VI

Though I fear the flames

lust has kindled will consume

me, passion rises.

VII

I long to enjoy

the touch of your lips ‘gainst mine –

a divine union.

VIII

I beg caresses;

to feel the warmth of your skin

under my fingers.

IX

I yearn to lay close,

our limbs entangled, as we

whisper endearments.

X

The sanctuary

I seek rests in your bosom;

exquisite solace.

XI

Lady, I live in

faint hope of someday holding

your soft hand in mine.

XII

These creations live

by thy inspiration, and

wither in neglect.

XIII

Though weak lines cannot

match your radiance, I pray

they will woo thy heart.

Want

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.

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.

Yearning to Breathe Free

By Bud Koenemund

I'm an American. Usually, proudly so. Today, not so much. I was born here. My mother and father were born here. Their mothers and fathers were born here. Beyond that, my ancestors came here from other places; mostly from Germany, a bunch from Ireland, some from England and France, and one from Sweden. America is my home. It is my country. But, it is not mine alone! It belongs to all of us -- those who came here in the past, those who seek to come here now, and those who will come in the future! We are a nation built on immigration. That lady in New York harbor says, "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free." I've read that plaque with my own eyes; there is no asterisk denoting "except for Syrians," or any other nationality.

Big Lies and Big Brother

By Bud Koenemund

  It's brilliant actually. The mainstream media tries to do their job; calling out lies, illustrating potential conflicts of interest, and exposing the past of his nominees. But he declares it "fake news," even while demanding the press do their job. Regrettably, the ignorant and The Deplorables blindly accept -- even rabidly parrot -- this.
  The only official news has become that spouted by Big Brother. The only truth is the "truth" from Big Brother. He threatens that contradiction will be punished. "Alternative facts" quickly become the norm. We are to pay no attention to what was said last week; the "truth" is what they say now. It is true, and has always been true.
  Joseph Goebbels would be proud, and George Orwell would be impressed.

One Step Back

A Haiku for Inauguration Day 2017
By Bud Koenemund

Inspired by Catherine Harren Barufaldi

One step back, is all;
The world only spins forward
because love trumps hate!