Wisdom of the Owl – a poem by Huw Gwynn-Jones

Wisdom of the Owl

If I could tell you what the wise owl
knows it would hardly make much 
of a book – a poem perhaps, with words 
that sound something like this:

Friend, I’m an owl, my world 
is simple – I live in the scorch 
and inundation of seasons.
I breed, I fledge, I fly.

We owls root in the patience
of old trees and their saplings,
we stretch our wings to a
featherless moon and dine 
on the scurry of little things.

My wisdom? Well, that’s simple too,
stuff of the earth which can’t
be learned by verse or epithet;
sentience of the half-hidden,
the space between the trees.

And I would rather crane 
and twist my head three sixty
than wring the world’s neck 
with the blindsight folly of your kind.

I’m an owl my good fellow,
and a wit.  Who are you?

Huw Gwynn-Jones comes from a line of prize-winning poets in the Welsh bardic tradition, but until his recent retirement to Orkney, had never written a line himself.  He now writes to find a different way of hearing the world, and has poems published by Eunoia Review, One Hand Clapping and Dreich Magazine.

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