Two poems by Geraldine Ward


I will never feel your fingers or
See you on the first day of school.
Read you a story or take you on holiday.
Sing you a song.
Just that one in my heart that longs for you, the first born I would never have.
I watch each child pushed in a buggy and wish it would be mine,
I am listening for a heart beat though it has now stopped for a long time.
So easy to take to the bridge by the river and end it all there.
As nothing can replace, the thought of your face I would never see
Just the empty shell of a baby
That had to be taken from me.



Your eyes
Across continents.
A wolf stared through you and saw
Coal pits reflecting back.

My eyes,
Travelling to space,
Star eyed,
Graduated, my bob hair
Flickers grey
Along a subterranean highway
Where thicker than woods
And thinner than poked out branches
Are your features dwarfed and thin.
Standing around paraffin
I exhale your heat as the fire burns
And I remain stuck to yesterday’s dark shadow,
The foraging coal eyes that stalk me
Like elephant tusks, the ivory whites leer
With strange machismo as the thunderbolt strikes
The lights are out
And all I see
Are those puckered grey eyes
Silhouettes against a backdrop of fantasy.

Geraldine Ward is an author of children’s fiction and poetry, adult short fiction, poetry and a novella. She has had poetry published in I am not a silent poet edited by Reuben Woolley and  Writers Cafe Magazine edited by Marie Lightman.

Our JustGiving page is open for donations to the Children’s Heart Surgery Fund – no amount is too small if you feel moved to support.

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