Poems From The Roxy MIx

These are selected poems from my new collection The Roxy Mix, now available at amazon.com and cyberwit.net.

Poems from The Roxy Mix by Bud R. Berkich (available now at amazon.com and cyberwit.net)

Flirt

You come

out from back,

decked out 

in black

knee-high,

platform boots;

frilly, short skirt;

clingy, tight top--

direct eye

contact--

STOP!

"How are ya doin'?"

"I'm fine, and you?"  (A

I-know-you're-checking-

me-out-and-I-like-it

grin--)

lingering 

past the bookshelf.

Coming Down

And it's-- intercepted!

in the end zone.  (Or,

at least, batted away.)

So, place the ball out

at the twenty or the thirty--

whatever--

It's OK.  I think I

understand.  There's

absolutely nothing wrong.

We'll just line up

on the line of scrimmage,

get back in the trenches

and dig in, so to speak.

After all, it's still early

in the first quarter.

Let's just get the ball back

and do it again.  Start out

first and ten, if you will.

All of this football imagery--

it would drive you mad.

I promise I'll stop.

Alchemy

I feel this night before

like the night before

a big game, or before

a concert on a worldwide tour--

you've been here before,

you've done this before,

but the edge is still there,

and with the edge, the advantage.

What will tomorrow bring?

This resurrection Sunday,

as some would call it--

can we call it that?

Will we be risen to new life?

Will we go on forever in each other,

starting today (it's now 2:30 AM)?

In a way, yes, 

for every time I see you

is like new life to me.  Like

a resurrection of my body

united with my spirit once again--

breathed back into life by you--

every time that I see you is

like seeing you for the first time.

And the time is now.  This is the time

to act.  The time is prime for us to

raise up a relationship that transcends

the death knell of schedules

and situations and obligations which,

in effect, civilize us to no end.

At this time to be Christian,

girl-- let's get a little pagan; let's escape

to a place beyond the walls of this

mausoleum and practice some alchemy--

go outside the confines of the city,

(like they did in Zamaytin's We,

and the illumination that awaited them there)--

be our own philosopher's stone,

turn some lead into gold

and call it you and me.

Confined

to time

within

a box

of concrete

by them,

by him,

and by the

ghost

of her.

I feel 

that time

is now

not

on our 

side 

anymore.

Rapture?

I await

your return,

like a Christian

awaits

The Second Coming

of Christ.

I--

having something

in common

with the Christian

(for a change)--

absolutely no

guarantee

whatsoever

that either Christ

or you

will show up

anytime soon,

if ever.

The difference

is that

I can admit it,

whereas the Christian,

where Christ's coming

is concerned,

will most likely deny it.

However,

both the Christian

and I

act purely

on faith.

But at this point,

it seems that

the Christian

has the advantage

over me,

for I think that

Christ

has one up on you.

Author's Note

These are selections from my published collection, The Roxy Mix, available 8/19/21.

Reviews

[Lisasview]

And, quite a mix it is..
First read ... no reads of yours and I especially liked Rapture... I found it rather clever..
Confined seemed sad... Oh yes, Flirt... great title for another good piece of writing.
I am new to posting but I have been writing for a very long time... Just never let anyone read my work... I posted some pieces from 1970 (I was 22 years old) and, some I wrote recently.
Lisa, now in Spain