<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u00a0Swansea Son<\/strong><\/p>\n He is here in my autumn of age I remember his name that giggled the stars the ghost in my arms in the cracked black night, You, man of words with the firefly eyes, you, my lone man with the light, lord of all words, <\/p>\n Laura Potts<\/strong>, twice-recipient of the Foyle Young Poets Award, became one of the BBC’s New Voices last year.\u00a0She received a commendation from The Poetry Society in 2018 and was nominated for The Forward Prize in 2019. Website: https:\/\/laurapottspoetry.com\/<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u00a0Swansea Son He is here in my autumn of age the riverlight through windowpanes, the small-hour laughter, the slim-supple night and moonlight eyes on the history page. I remember his name that giggled the stars when the stage of the world lit its lights for him, and I, summer\u2019s daughter, he Swansea\u2019s son […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-19843","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19843","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19843"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19843\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19844,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19843\/revisions\/19844"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19843"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19843"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19843"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nthe riverlight through windowpanes,
\nthe small-hour laughter,
\nthe slim-supple night
\nand moonlight eyes on the history page.<\/p>\n
\nwhen the stage of the world lit its lights for him,
\nand I, summer\u2019s daughter,
\nhe Swansea\u2019s son
\nwhose words in the plash of the water
\nwe hear in the echoes of hills. Still<\/p>\n
\nstill in stairwells the old grey light that writes
\nof the deer shaping the dales, that writes
\nof bonfire-bright old ale, that writes
\nof Death in His coat and tails.<\/p>\n
\nwho didn\u2019t stay to see the wild spring flowers
\nriot on the mountainside, who died
\nlike a steeple that cradles its bones,
\nand whose voice now sleeps beneath Wales\u2019 stones;<\/p>\n
\nwhether I\u2019m there with you or not, well, that\u2019s alright.
\n <\/p>\n