Centennial Ode: October 2014

If Dylan Thomas were still alive,
He'd cringe to see my jittery jive.
I do not aim to vex his ghost.
He is the poet I love most.

I love him more than bacon and eggs;
Yes, more than Tina Turner's legs.
I love him like the whiskey neat
That I knock back at Grafton Street.

I love his voice, brazen and sure,
More than the Smiths, more than the Cure.
I crave his rave like chocolate cake,
Like chunks of fudge. Make no mistake:

I love him more than pizza pie,
Than Branagh's Hamlet, or ham on rye.
This raucous rhymer, roly-poly:
I love him more than ravioli!

My rising moon, my setting sun,
My bardic ocean, he's the one.
I think he's nifty, think he's fine,
Forever young at thirty-nine.

Now, in a heavenly pub or joint,
He's laughing a laugh and lifting a pint
Or maybe thundering sonnets and psalms
To herons, pipers, Wales in his arms.

Poetry by Tommo The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 31 times
Written on 2021-06-04 at 00:57

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text

Christopher Fernie The PoetBay support member heart!
Dear Tommo,

I thoroughly enjoyed this joyous tribute to the evergreen DT. Indeed, I can see him 'singing' the words in a Soho pub, and adding a few of his own.

'I love the sound of Tommo,
Sweeter than Perry Como,
When I hear Tommo croon,
He sends me over the moon.'

Bravo, brother poet!


jim The PoetBay support member heart!
This is wonderful, but its jovial, quick and quick-witted tone reminds of another of your favs—W.H.A.