Best Dylan Poems
A Dylan Thomas State of Mind
It’s precisely 2:45am...the time when
~ if I’ve fallen asleep ~
I always awake to find
Myself drenched in sweat.
I lie here beside my beloved
~ as I have so steadfastly since
16 November 2016 ~
Thinking about...wondering...pondering
The end of my existence.
I am not talking about
Taking my own life.
NO!
I’ve seen, heard, touched, tasted, smelt
too much...
I’ve survived too much, felt too much...
I value Howard’s sweet...sweet...
Nurturing soul’s devotion
To keeping me alive these past 40 years
To raise my hand against myself...now.
I AM talking about these things:
Where do we go when we die?
Do I have a soul?
Will I be conscious — at the moment it happens —
That I am drawing my very last breath?
Sometimes, when I awake in the early morn,
Howard is motionless beside me
And I stare at his beautiful face.
Dare I reach out and touch it with one finger?
What if it’s stone cold?
His flesh heavy...dead?
Death.
The End of Living.
The End...The End...The End...
Last January I begged for surcease...
For an end to the pain...
An end to the physical torture...
An end to the psychic suffering...
The constant thoughts of:
“Is there a Hell?”
“Will I go there if I take my own life?”
“What does ‘eternity’ mean?”
Now this morning of 19 October 2017
I am thinking...feeling...praying:
Please...Please...Please...
God/Goddess/All That Is/The Universe/The Spirit
Make my neglected hated scorned body
Healthy and whole.
So I may live
today...
tomorrow...
next month...
next year...
Do not let me go gentle into that good night.
I am alive now...
And I rage...
I RAGE NOW!
....against the dying of the light.
Barbara Dickenson
19 October 2017
Jesus help me with my
problems that I have each day.
When I go through many
things everyday -
like school, listening and grades.
Jesus also help me to be
a great big brother
and a great son to my
mother and father
and a friend to all.
By Dylan Saunders
Do not go gentle into morning light
Young souls should burn and rave at start of day
Rage, rage against the coming of the night
Though wise men at their dawn know toil is right,
Because their deeds must fork some lightening they
Do not go gentle into morning light
Good men, the first wave high, knowing how bright
Their great deeds must now cleanse a putrid bay
Rage, raging against the coming of the night
Wild men, who free the blazing sun in flight,
And learn, too late, earth burned along the way
Do not go gentle into the coming night
Young men, near prime, who see with lucid sight
Keen eyes must see like soldiers in the fray
Rage, rage against the coming of the night
And you, my daughter, here on the glad height,
Curse, bless, mankind with your fierce zeal, I pray
Do not go gentle into morning light
Rage, rage against the coming of the night.
Eileen Manassian
Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night is one of my favorite poems. Dylan Thomas has written a masterpiece. I wanted to write a poem that isn't about the regret that comes with facing death, but rather the awareness that comes from knowing that the dawning of a new day brings with it opportunities to be grasped. I've mirrored some of what he has written and added my take on issues of life and death. There are references in my poem to the need to be environmentally aware. I welcome your feedback.
From blog,
That Life Extends Its Seeds Beyond Our Mortal Coils,
Wherein Truth And Light Sets A Saving Path
My Dylan Tribute poem,
Second poem
Man Is More Than A Vessel Stranded Out At Sea,
Second Tribute Poem to Dylan Thomas
That life may floweth into sad years of old age
Flailing against savage cuts that bring frothing rage
We in our mortal weakness are but flesh and bone
Oft sailing within storms as world's darkness is blown
Seeking life and wonderment on every page
Even if a lost actor on an empty stage
Railing against Time and Fate, and the great unknown
Only to have dreams trampled and peace overthrown!
Whether in the midst of ones' life and joy thus brought
Or befuddled by the chaos of lies when caught
Heart and soul must act as caretaker of ones' life
Wake to thank the morn, overcome the daily strife
Remember that life is a most precious gift
And life sets mystic patterns that eternally shift
Look at the beaming sun, speak well thanking each day
Search for happiness with sincere praise bow to pray!
In this mortal life walk a true and peaceful path
Try to avoid those steeped in rampaging wrath
Search deep for the magnificent bounty of love
Ever look skyward, plead for blessings from above
Hold to the wisdom- life tis a sweet gift from God
For the truth is upon this dark earth we must trod
Man is more than a vessel stranded out at sea
There is a close link between Heaven, God and thee!
Robert J. Lindley, 12-29-2020
Rhyme, ( In Life, Good And Bad Are The Perils We Must Face )
Second Tribute poem to Dylan Thomas..
Note :
After being stumped for days -this came to me this morn.
Spent the day, rewriting and editing. Finally decided that
this is it. As a poet I have said what I wanted and thus
honored the man, the poet as to the best of my ability
to do so… This came after 3 other poems were written
and then trashed.. God bless..
You play me for stupid.
You strum me with lust
across the brass bed,
all the words lying in the dust
of an old refrain.
You play me for stupid
while your smiles suck,
fluttering eyelashes duck
down to cover this
pain in here.
The slithering stealth
of your seductions
no longer intrigues.
I play my deductions,
subtraction reaction
as you disappear
with your tambourine.
Do not go gentle into that good night
of darkness, blight, and disease;
rage, rage against the hour of midnight—please,
with all of your might
until I am at ease!
Do not go gentle into that good night
of solemn, irrevocable sleep;
rage, rage against the wooing of the permanent Deep!
Come to me and to the light—
or else I shall bitterly weep!
Do not go gentle into that good night
of the ebb of your power;
rage, rage against the withering of your beautiful flower!
Deny eternal rest its right
to come before that fateful hour!
Do not go gentle into that good night
that takes you before the day's done;
rage, rage against the gradual dying of your sun!
Before the end's almost within sight,
fight, fight, so life's still defiantly won!
The master thinks
behind sunglasses:
What new controverses?
And in my dreams
I asked about death.
And the new life after?
The master frowned
behind his glasses:
a controversial point?
The mystery man,
He gave an answer:
His own true opinion?
% %
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%oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooo WHEN I TOLD YOU oooooooo
D E A T H WERE NOT THE E N D
o o o
o o o o
o o o o
o o o o
o o o o
o o o o
o o o o o oo o o o o
P R O B A B L Y W A S K I D DING
I fell asleep listening to Dylan Thomas recite poetry like a lullaby ---
If I am lucky this is what it will be like on the day that I die.
Newport Folk Festival 1965.
Behind the mirror is where we all
Tend to lurk,
Suffering through the pain of glass.
No one likes change,
Sometimes it is almost viewed as a sin.
Then you are punished
For attaining a higher majesty,
An alliance nearly gone.
But the times they were a changing
Folk had to realise,
A new power was being born
The climate just right for change.,
To plug in to the new.
After all a mirror image
Is the same,
But I suppose it is how
You look that matters,
Not what you see.
It was the orthodoxy
Of one Man that changed,
Someone who dared to be different.
It is some what ironic
That he said adieu,
With an acoustic version of
“It’s all over now , baby blue.”
But then,
The rest is history.
Forbid them not the gentle of good night.
Old age welcomes the rest at end of day.
Sweet to tired eyes the dying of the light.
Wise men who know the dark of light is right
Have shared their knowledge with wild youth and they
Go very gentle into that good night.
Good men, while young, enjoyed the daylight bright
And have put follies of their youths away.
Sweet to tired eyes the dying of the light.
Strong men who worked while sun was in its flight
Have earned the right to wave it on its way.
They now go gentle into that good night.
Brave men, near death, who see with blinding sight,
Must shield their eyes from sunlight's brightest ray.
Sweet to tired eyes the dying of the light.
And you my father, there in that bright light
Bless me, your child, with welcome smile I pray.
I now go gentle into that dark night.
Sweet to tired eyes, the dying of the light.
Hello Poetry Soup friends. I’m really excited because there is another member of my family here. My 15 year old nephew JUST joined tonight. If you are a friend of mine, why don’t you just mosey on there and welcome him in? I would be ever so grateful. He usually posts poems on Facebook, like I used to, but being with a community of writers is just another ball game, so please…..Welcome DYLAN MANASSIAN!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Dylan one word shy, defense strong
cutting base lines with intensity
court time's hustling, miles spent
good times with assist, perfect jumper sent
dreams cemented building more to ascend
let your fondness speak to your reality
adorned fertile times tomorrows will be your charm
do diligent s, strive
with smart hard work you will be devine
smile on your big game of life
best wishes, for your sublime tomorrow's
Head bent
His eyes firmly fixed on the ground
Guitar in hand
There he goes
Trying to keep the biting winter’s wind
From nipping at his nose
Baby faced with a bouncing gait
Bob Dylan is walking the streets
Of Greenwich Village
It’s sometime in the late 1960’s
Now, I’m not saying that I’m old
But I remember those times
And when I close my eyes
It was just the other day
That the Village
Was a mystical portal
Of finger pickin’
Music and words that kept you thinkin’
Moonlit nights with lots of coffee drinkin’
And smiles of friends who are no longer singin’
‘cause they’ve gone far, far away
But these days
I can still hear their harmonies walking
Down the streets of Greenwich Village
Past the old Coffeehouses
That no longer have a name
Except for the ones we remember
And on those cold winter nights
When the wind blows chilly to the morning
I can hear
The clickety-clack
Of Bob Dylan’s boots
Walking around the 1960 streets
Of the Greenwich Village I once knew
-----------------------------------------------
While I was writing this
A funny thought occurred to me
… it was this…
Who remembers?
Why Pepperidge Farms remembers
That’s who!
Dig no more for the chains of his grey haired heart
keeping his bones away from the common cart
A wild man who caught and sang the sun in flight
raging going not gentle to that good night
Time holds him still green dead owl crossed on his way
even his glazed blazing meteor eyes were so gay
Simple Welshman not for this proud man apart
love its arms no praise wages for craft or art
Tell on the streets on its back he threw the sun
singing in his chains to there the sea undone
They say never trust a man who does not drink
Dylan Thomas did his best do you not think
Dylan Thomas this his centenary
born on October 27 1914
One of the worlds best poets
Bob Dylan is great
And he is real mate
He started out like Woodie Guthrie
But only roughly
He told us the answer was in the wind
He was all so thin
He went electric and creative
It went hectic and stimulative
He was called Judas and booed off stage
The crowds were in a rage
He fell off his motorbike
And things changed again with a strike
He hid in a basement
Curing his ailment
Then he returned to the watchtower
With even more power
He knocked on heaven's door
And he was back to his fore
He split with Sara
And made a movie about a Clara
There was blood on the tracks
But he reached a new climax
He got lost in religion
And hovered around like a pigeon
He took a slow train
And soon started to regain
He became a shooting star
No signs of any scars
Even though the world had gone wrong
He still sang his song
Then came 'Time out of Mind'
Nothing like it of any kind
Lots of things had changed
But in a sense it was just rearranged
Roll on Bob
But watch your fob
Then came the Nobel Prize
For us it was no surprise
Bob Dylan is Great
And bloody real mate
Bob Dylan is great
Bob Dylan is unreal mate