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Huw Gwynn-Jones: a poem


Late mother one late

morning in February as the day

warmed and she cooled,

no longer she but a mannequin,

startling, waxy and inert –

the first I'd ever met

in a chapel of rest, lidded

doll's eyes pleading no more;

and quite unexpected, unlike

death on the screen – the surprise

was less the absence of life

than the pale clay left behind.

Huw Gwynn-Jones comes from a line of published poets in the Welsh bardic tradition but, until his recent retirement to Orkney, had never written a line himself. After a career in business, he writes poetry to find a different way of hearing the world. He hopes to publish his debut pamphlet, A Sky of Stars, in the near future.


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