Fleeting Observations Of A Poet
A poem about my thoughts on one of
my favourite poets Dylan Thomas.
This is probably not a true picture,
but reading his work inspired me to
write my own feelings down.
Hushed silence fills the air for this poet in expression;
a free thinker was he, with thunderous bolts of both
confidence and powerful passion untarnished,
imposing...swathing audiences in dramatic metaphors.
Nevertheless: in later life this haggard intemperance,
wildly emanating a storm like rain bouncing off lakes
and rivers of emotion; had repercussions.
Could capturing peace deeply embedded in composed
nostalgia, harvest recollections that entranced? I don't
know much of his past, but I wonder! Did he write in
secret hideouts, receiving pleasure from observing like
myself? Maybe keeping diaries, a gathering of past
frequenters; speaking candidly of Welsh village life,
where ruffled curls whisper, a mother's goodnight.
His voice flies with birds, speaks to hills when
wielding pen with words, driving energy many have
heard; paddling renditions in his wistful memories;
where women with thirst for a man with Utopian
dreams wanted release from harshness, his haven
soaked in ink and parables, these females were
transfixed like bees to pollen.
Was there a boy's childhood wrapped in muddy woods,
with tremulous trees that exploited clear streams of
imagination? Were there bawls of tears from bloody
scraped knees? Did he battle monsters that were really
just in his mind with sticks from ramshackle dens?
Or were these just my own echoes, born energy from
Would charms persistence draw him under cockleshell skies?
Maybe conjuring a vision of struggling fishermen harnessing
mackerel in wrestled nets, as swell releases a tumbled bounty,
then with salty air at their backs; sail into ageless harbours,
where tiny bobbing boats massaged by tides are moored
patiently waiting, while gulls on wing command and battle
for their fishy stash.
Then up slipway again to sup at welcoming Inn
where steady crackle of fire warms the flesh,
before ambling home to bursting aromas rich in
smell and taste, fulfilled comfort of food with wife
and children, before they're all tucked up in bed,
once more those tired men can dream of crystal
oceans deep; that sparkle by moonlight.
Each recital performed increased ascending ideas,
climbing to fame, laced with duty to enthuse,
a platform formula plucked in frail anxiety; that
scuppered his dreams, till trapped in weary web
where danced compositions, that now forever
sleep in restful slumber; for us the reader to
Pixabay free image to use.