La Dama e la Luna

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  She moves like a dream, free of daylight cares; her dress billowing in the breeze. Shadow and light dance across her face, teasing her beauty as she twirls; hidden, then revealed in turn. She is perfection in the sun; but here she is more… she is magic. Almost angelic. Immortal in memory.
  The lady and the moon are twins – one reflecting light, the other emanating it from within – and all the stars in infinite heaven envy them; wishing they could be nearer such grace.
  She inspires both lunacy and peace at once. A solace found in the maelstrom of life.

Fever Dream

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

Joining the club:
a mile high; watching you
squirm in ecstasy.

What I Miss

 By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Last night, I dreamt about you. Nothing momentous, or erotic; just an ordinary scene that faded quickly when I woke to the sadness of your absence, and the knowledge that I can’t even send you a “Good morning, Beautiful” text to enjoy the smile that – once upon a time – would have spread across your face when you realized I’m thinking about you. And, often, you’d send back a “blushing emoji,” because you don’t believe you’re beautiful. But, I’d say it every day – because it’s true – and I had hoped to make you understand it.
  That’s what I miss the most.

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.

Tortured

For TK

Inspired by Jack, Neal, and Allen

We could see the darkness and were blind in the light. We stood, dumb, as a vomit of colors, and words, and numbers whirled around us. We were everything, and everywhere, not with each other, but within everyone; enveloped by a stream of power, drowned and reborn. It was beautiful. And, more beautiful because it was not limited by any form or definition. The waves swept away all thought of past or future. There was only the now, and we were it, and it would never end. It was an explosion, like the birth of the universe, and the death of everything all at once. We wielded energy, pure and liquid, against a roiling sky of neon. We were omnipotent within the world of our minds; and yet powerless to save ourselves. Our minds burned with the fever of knowledge; knowing everything, comprehending everything, thirsting for more, even as it all fell away as quickly as it came. A hurricane raged around us, stripping away our doubt, revealing in chaos: order. We reached out to touch it, to embrace it, and somehow pull it back within us before consciousness blotted it from our brains; struggling to save some small fragment of it. But, it could not be. It could not live beyond this dream, and so much was lost as our eyes opened, once more blind in the light of day.

Dark Dream

There is a storm coming. The sky is dark with clouds. We are running for shelter – some haven I cannot see. I stretch out my hand to you. You take it – hesitantly at first – but then you squeeze tightly.

We run – breathless in the gathering gloom – through tall grass, as the wind rises in our faces.

I turn and try to say your name, but no words emerge. Something in the grass catches my eye. I stop to see and it's already behind me. I release your hand and walk back to find pens on the ground…my pens. I sense you calling out to me. I look at your face, your mouth is moving, but I hear nothing.

I retrieve my pens and see papers spread out on the ground. They are not blowing in the wind, but entangled in the grass.

They are my papers…my words written for you. I feel panic grow within me as I try to grab them, collecting them before they disappear. Schoolboys in gray uniforms stand nearby, laughing at my efforts. They aren't running – only pointing and calling me a fool.

A cold, hard rain begins to fall. I turn to look for you, and you're gone…

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.

A Simple Desultory Poem for a Friend

For Sonia

"To make it burn you have to throw yourself in." - Galway Kinnell

We are left with only memories,
and the bitter pain they bring;
like the gentle recall of a perfume,
sweet as the first breath of Spring,
and skin, warm as sun-kissed grass;
as the course of human events
ebbs and flows through our lives,
ceaselessly pulling us farther and farther
from the place of peace we seek.

While the mind can imagine new love,
taking delight in the unknown and
living in the vicarious illusion of dreams,
we awake to endure the cruelty of solitude
and the numbing entropy of hope.
Despite the desultory touch of discontent,
your heart, repaired, though brittle,
will love again; trusting, like Sisyphus,
in the eventual success of its labours.

What could I promise you
that you haven’t already heard,
from much better men than I?
(Though their oaths, long shattered,
now lie strangled in the dust.)
I can not erase my human flaws;
only endure a Promethean fate,
while praying for the pure flame
to finally free my body and soul.

I could love one such as you,
anointing you as my Muse
and spilling my ink in praise;
if I were not already broken,
and the world were not as it is.
I’d reach up to steal the stars from Heaven
and wrap them in a box for you,
but you’d only make me put them back
so that all the world can see.

There's Nothing More to See Here

The chalk outline, white against the concrete,
Marks the scene of the crime, as a crowd
Gathers, like greedy vultures, in the street.
“Did someone jump?” a voice calls out loud;
“Heart attack?” “Yes,” a cop answers, as he
Unspools police tape to control the mob.
“Well…no,” he thinks to himself. “Not really.”
“People, move back now, let me do my job!”
As a cold drizzle falls, he turns to see
Initials scrawled inside the dusty heart
Blur slowly, then melt away in a sea
Of tears, as two lovers, now torn, depart.
“Folks,” the cop says, as a dream disappears,
“Move along; there’s nothing more to see here!”

Ethereal

For “Her”

You come to me again, ethereal,
in the gathering mist of my slumber,
a vision so vivid I reach out to feel
the warmth of your skin under my fingers.

I should be used to this dream by now,
but I am fooled once again; thinking you real,
as you float, always, just outside my reach,
like dust motes suspended in the afternoon sun.

Your perfume wraps around me like an embrace.
The scent wounds my unguarded heart,
but I close my eyes and breathe it in deeply,
as if the smell could help me hold you again.

I move closer to you, to look into your eyes,
to hold your soft body once again in my arms,
stroke your hair, and taste your sweet kiss…
and to find the answers you always had for me.

The world stirs and you slowly pull away
as I reach out to gently touch your face,
still luminescent in the dying moonlight,
one more time before I open my eyes.