Bricks and Windows

Window

 

 

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It’s as though I’m a prisoner.

There are bars outside my windows,

Yet I write with my back to them.

I can feel them etched,

Burnt into my back.

The view is worse

With a brick wall just several yards away.

When stuck and stunted

When the page is blank,

I stare at the bricks.

Not for inspiration

But to just get out of my head.

I notice the different colors and their borders

Almost like a meditation

But without the peace.

 

I am not an offender.

Not in the sense of being

Mad or murderous.

I live in New York.

The bars are for my children

So they will not fall six stories down.

And my view of the brick wall

Is of the building behind.

 

This is how we live here.

Bars         Walls

Dark         Damp Apartments

Without direct sunlight

And never to see the sky.

For the sky is scraped

With bricks and walls and bars on the windows.

 

© Jill M Roberts 2016 All Rights Reserved

Submissions for Book Reviews 

  

If you’d like me to review your book, please email me directly at JillNYC@me.com.
I will give an honest review and send you what I’ve written before I post it on the Book Review page on this website. 
I am open to all genres of fiction and nonfiction, indie, self, and traditional publishing. Within the email please post Book Review in the subject line and you can attach your book as a PDF attachment. 
Please don’t hesitate to get in touch!
All My Best,
Jill M Roberts 

A Moment of Happiness 

From my poetry blog JillNYC.com

  
A Moment of Happiness​

It started out as an ordinary day,

Any ordinary day in one’s life.

We had probably been out the night before,

This memory escapes me now.

We woke to coffee and cigarettes

As we usually did.

You were on the Gucci site

Showing me the style of suit you had wanted.

We decided to hit Gucci on 5th Avenue.

Parenthetically, if you remember,

I wore sweats and a T-shirt, and you,

You wore your father’s old suit which kept it’s wear.

Here we were, walking toward Gucci,

Debating on whether I should visit Iceland on holiday.

Outside the store,

We were one of the anonymous,

But inside, we stepped into another world,

One of the rich, on 5th Avenue in New York City

Where price tags do not exist.

I remember the elevator ride and our conversation.

Stepping out to be greeted by a salesperson,

Whom I ordered around and kept on his toes due to his thirst for a sale.

A vision of you,

Standing there in the suit chalked up by the tailor.

I handed you a wine glass filled with Pelligrino,

To wash down the Xanax forced into your mouth.

When all was done, we were outside again,

Amongst the anonymous.

Later that night, we sat at the Whiskey Bar celebrating our day.

I remember hearing glimpses of U2’s “Beautiful Day”

In the background and thinking how appropriate.

I thought this was the beginning of happiness,

And there would always be more.

It was happiness, the moment.

All our feelings, yours and mine, all mixed up.

The madness of it all.

You see I wanted to give you it all, the world if possible.

To make you happy, in every viable platform.

I know now you did not want it.

Left with everything unsaid and undone between us.

Having that one day with you was my moment of happiness.

You have given all you had to offer for me.

For us.

I am here and you are there,

A huge distance between us.

Know, even though we have not spoken,

I am here,

For the conversation, the friendship, the silence.

Remember always what I said to you before I fled to England,

The night we walked the promenade;

Love doesn’t end because we don’t see each other.

No matter how you look at it,

It’s only Love after all.

Quote for today, Thursday, May 21st

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Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed. 

Alexander Pope

As a child, Alexander Pope (born May 21, 1688) suffered from illnesses that stunted his growth and gave him persistent headaches. He didn’t let any of that stop him from becoming one of the greatest poets of his age.

All My Best,
Jill M Roberts

Just a Dream

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Just a Dream
I was running, panting, and out of breath.
I just couldn’t run anymore.
He was behind me right on my heels.
I had to get to the other side and quickly.
I came to the end and I saw three Doors.
I didn’t know which one was which.
I had to get away and get away fast.
It was eenie meenie miney mo on the go.
I chose the door on the right.
I don’t know why,
It just seemed like that was where I supposed to go.

I had this vibe,
This intuition,
Telling me that safety was beyond that door.
As I opened the door,
A strong wind was whipping around the other side
Trying to suck me in.
The wind wasn’t colorless
It was all different bright colors.
I knew immediate death was imminent
If I didn’t cross that threshold.
The man with the ax had caught up to me.

“Don’t go through that door, young lady.” he growled.
“All you have to do is submit to me,
And this here ax doesn’t have to become your new best friend.” he slyly said with a half grin on his face.
I froze just from his words.
I knew I had to make some sort of move.
I looked at his disheveled face
Then noticed the blood dripping from the ax.
With my hand on the knob,
I turned around and jumped
Into the whirling vortex of air
With my eyes closed.
I said a prayer knowing this was my end.
As the wind sucked me in,
I couldn’t breathe.
My whole body jerked like a seizure.
My eyes opened and I was back home in my bed,
Panting and sweating.
I looked at the clock to see the time.
It had only been 5 minutes since I fell asleep.
The clock displayed 2:17
If you turn that number upside down,
It looks like the name LIZ.
Elizabeth is my first name,
But everyone calls me Liz…

© Jill M Roberts 2015 All Rights Reserved

Quote of the Day for Sunday!

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This is what you must be like. Grow wherever life puts you down. 

Ben Okri

Happy 56th birthday, Ben Okri! The Nigerian writer spent his early childhood in London, then moved back to Lagos right before the Nigerian Civil War broke out. His experiences as a child in wartime influenced work like The Famished Road, which won the Booker Prize in 1991.

All My Best,
Jill M Roberts