Sunshine and Rain

By Bud Koenemund

You, Love, are sunshine.
I’m rain. But, I am content,
for flowers need both.

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.

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…

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!”

A Simple Word Too Easily Said

A sonnet for Kristen Brownell

Lord, how can so small a word cause such pain?
Indeed, the gift becomes too abstract when
Words, easily said, fall like drops of rain
On the ocean, and fool even wise men;
Oh, how the promises the heart believes,
When it dares to hope, break upon the rocks
Of high speech – but feelings only conceived –
Then sink down into the depths of self-mock;
Verses and oaths so quickly lose their worth
When once solemn pledges become dilute
Through casual repetition and dearth
Of the emotion real and absolute.
Even sweet words, spoke too oft’, turn sour,
And kill the root of this precious flower.