I love lots of writers but probably my all-time favourite is Dylan Thomas. I love the outstanding power of his writing, his incredible imagery, and the wonderful pictures he creates with his words.
Dylan also is the sort of writer I’ve always wanted to be: A bohemian, pub crawling, boozing writer who fought with himself as he laboured to paint his word pictures. Whether that was really the case I don’t know but Dylan did like his pubs and he did enjoy a drink.
The fact of the matter is that I’m nothing like Dylan, except we both share a love of words, particularly the sound of words, which is the key to the richness of Dylan’s work, especially his poetry. If you think about it, there must be a connection between the sound of a word and its meaning, a deep organic connection. After all, how did words begin? Imagine…
I wrote this many years ago and it was called ‘A girl called Paper Tangle.’ It was one of those inspirational poems where you suddenly get an idea and just go with it. It has a nice rhythm and trips along well but I was never happy with the ‘paper tangle’ thing. Anyway, not long ago I changed it to Pamela Taylor and the poem feels so much better. Apologies to any girl called Pamela Taylor!
A Girl Called Pamela Taylor
Pamela Taylor wears chic clothes
Designer labels, anything goes.
Her coat has buttons made of gold
She likes to be noticed, she’s bold.
Pamela Taylor wears black boots,
Her body is a gun that shoots.
She’s incredibly sexy and overtly erotic
and her taste is impossibly exotic
Pamela Taylor has blue-eyed eyes
and discreetly she enters other people’s lives.
She’ll trap you with magnetic sighs
and it’s yourself you’ll probably despise
Pamela Taylor knows all the best wine
and any man she wins in time.
She’s every scene-stealer and wheeler-dealer,
And to the social lepers she’s a saintly healer.
Pamela Taylor never pays her fees
She opens locks with other people’s keys
One look will slice you through if you tell her lies