Sound Catcher
After 39 years, this is all I’ve done.
Dylan Thomas’ final words
Dylan, Welsh god of the sea, what have you done
but drown yourself in sound and longing,
stroking the arched backs of words, seeking the ones
that curl together like cats on the tongue,
the ones that electrify the dark, that spark
the spongy dryness of the mind. But all your meanings
within meaning can not disguise the fact
you did not rage against the pain. You slid
down the narrow neck of anything you found,
glass and flesh alike, and you drowned, you
who knew why water throws itself against the shore,
spurred your own demise, taking your sweet syrup
of sound, half-hidden on that honey’d tongue
upon which all your words were hung.
Karen Stromberg is a minimalist who prefers the short poem, flash fiction and the ten-minute play. She has been nominated for two Pushcart prizes.
qarrtsiluni 
Stunning language and visual image. Thank you.
Truly beautiful. It flicks you off the end of each line and catches you in the next one with a little spring, a thrill of lyric that sparkles with both memory and thought. Complex and lovely!
Dear Karen Stromberg–I love this poem, every word. Many thanks! robin davidson