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There is a park where children play

and so did they, when in their hay day

Boys and girls, now widows meet

Down by the park where shadows creep.

Sunlight wintry in their eyes,

are cataracts, light refractions,

scientific over reactions.

Were this Eden, bathed in glory?

Here is Orpington, a different story,

same theme, a child whines,

I think of him.

Gathering dusty memories

Hour glass, mesmerises

I see his face eclipsed

where the sun meets its end.

When returned, tables turned

The old and the new,

figuratively speaking.

My father, I am seeking.

Through my husband, son.

The battle won, the shoes he wears,

his jeans, even his smelly socks

bring him back, for a moment.

My son. “The living years” by Mike and the Mechanics

on the radio. That year, one Christmas past.

Shift shapes, years one blur,

like a train chuffing,

then vanishing

in the sunlight. I see before me

elements of reason, scientifically sealed from view.

The Turin shroud,

the resurrection.

Each moment, we move a stone,

un-turning the new.

The same is always true.

Heartbeats never dance in tune

with each other, yet the same spiritual dance

like an old romance

brings me back to you.


About Geraldine Ward

Geraldine Ward has been writing and performing various forms of poetry and prose from an early age, and is a regular contributor at the London Farrago Poetry Slam nights. She has published a number of books including the "Now" collection, and has featured in other publications including Katie Metcalfe's "Beautiful Scruffiness" series of magazines.


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