Tag Archives: Homage to Dylan Thomas


Gibbet – shadowed the long slaughter
of hang – dog afternoons is shaking fleas
at screw-top topless towers ,
– holier than thou –
sweeter than nectar
sea captain’s sermons drowning
empty pots with their cloudburst
souls’ everyday oceans ,
neatly dispensing into quartered calico
absconded tanners,fortuitous recompense
for dismal hours spent not having
an evening loud with beer;

Ragged evenings’ dust-bowled veins
irrigated by glamorous gold nectar ,
restoring exhausted tongues with ,
stories , myths and inebriate fables
of addle-arsed angels serving
plates of tepid manna to wizened ,
crouching rats cornered by a nostalgia
for drooping eyelid afternoons ,
dry as bones sucked to a gleam ,
by licentious hyenas no longer in vogue ,
their severed heads staring
at stones ripped away from
redundant wombs that bled black clouds ,
of court-martialled men
in towns washed by crocodiles’ saline ,
applied by nightingales
to Crimean wounds ;

Ruptured virgin dawns implode
on tongues royally buried
in ashen debris pyramids ,
where squatting toad soliloquies
excavated from the lava depict ,
silken bursting bowel purses
drenching furtive hedges with
their sows’ ears coin congested bile ,
gently loosening lessening
throngs’ senile embrace of
cauterised eulogies morse-coded
beyond adagioed horizons of corteged streets,
their veiled memories of sunken maydayed hives,
charred opiate lives exhaled through membranes
into the ” open sesame ! ” promised grey ,
twisting ,slowly slowly in its Turin-shrouded dreams.

( This poem has lain virtually untouched and unpublished in my personal archives since circa 1988 , a jejeune ” homage ” of sorts to ” Under Milkwood ” and ” Ulysses ” )


In from their meagre-rationed thin-souped

Sunday,they come and sit with unfulfilled hopes

rumbling involuntarily,as they attend their

dog-collared,dog-eared spiritual supplier;

His burdened ox-cart voice lumbering,slow,

methodically paced,hauling cargoes of words

over a rutted terrain of deep doubt

and shallow expectation;

His resonating syllables heaving the load

of insight and of revelation along straitened furrows,

up to the doors of empty-shelved,

stock-less stores bolted and barred

that forever await long ago ordered,

consignments of fresh answers.


    this piece was inspired by the character,the Rev.Eli Jenkins in Dylan Thomas’s “Under Milkwood”.The most excellent performance of which was the 1954 radio version starring Richard Burton.I’m still in the process,somewhat delayed of a thematically similar “play”based on the mythical town of “Wakefield”.