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Glass Mountain Writers - Joan Roberts
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Joan Roberts passed her GCSE English exam at an evening class in 1991 and has been a member of the Glass Mountain Writing Group since 2003. Joan says that the Glass Mountain Writers was her 'first foray into the world of creative writing. I was nervous at first, never having written a poem or read aloud any of my own writing, but the friendship and encouragement given by all members of the group have made Thursday afternoons challenging and entertaining.'
Animal Fear
Still and silent,
I wait for you.
Marbled eyes watching,
patterned skin hiding,
you twitch with fear and hesitate.
you twitch with fear and hesitate.
Still I am silent,
Waiting for you.
Time has no meaning,
in hours or days
you must pass my way,
though you hesitate.
you must pass my way,
though you hesitate.
Silent and still
as history was made
and dinosaurs came and
then passed away,
but I am still here
waiting for you.
as history was made
and dinosaurs came and
then passed away,
but I am still here
waiting for you.
Your scream broke the silence.
You trembled with fear
under my pitiless gaze.
under my pitiless gaze.
In a death roll I held you,
blood mixing with spray.
blood mixing with spray.
The dinosaurs left
but the crocodile stayed.
but the crocodile stayed.
Dad’s Jacket
There’s a jacket, hanging in the dry cleaning shop.
Clean and smart pressed and packed,
waiting to be collected.
waiting to be collected.
Do the staff ever wonder,
why go to the trouble of having it cleaned,
then leaving it there as if no one cared.
why go to the trouble of having it cleaned,
then leaving it there as if no one cared.
Should I go and collect it?
He didn’t know when he left his coat,
he would never need it again.
he would never need it again.
I just couldn’t bear to leave it there.
With sadness, I called to collect it.
Paradise Lost
A Greek fishing village, the ideal place to be,
fine silver sands lapped by turquoise sea.
fine silver sands lapped by turquoise sea.
A black clad widow, laden donkey in tow
wends up the mountain to tend an olive grove.
Tavernas emit a tempting aroma;
stifado, mousaka and honeyed baklava.
wends up the mountain to tend an olive grove.
Tavernas emit a tempting aroma;
stifado, mousaka and honeyed baklava.
Worry beads in gnarled hands, old men sit by the harbour,
children splash in the water, pedalos patter by,
children splash in the water, pedalos patter by,
Yannis sells doughnuts, the sun’s high in the sky.
Prostrate in the sun overwhelmed by the heat,
pale skinned and English, I must beat a retreat.
I open my eyes, but there’s no turquoise blue sea;
pale skinned and English, I must beat a retreat.
I open my eyes, but there’s no turquoise blue sea;
I’m roasting in bed, quick, pass the H.R.T.
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