The Molls
Dylan Thomas
1914 to 1953
I found them lying on the floor,
Male shapes, girl-lipped, but clad like boys
Night after night their hands implore
Emetic Percies for their joys.
They retch into my secret night
With stale and terrifying camp
And offer as the last delight
A crude, unhappy, anal cramp.
Gently they sigh to my behind
Wilde words, all buttered, badly bred,
And when I dream of them I find
Peacockstain’s poems on my bed.
Dylan Thomas's The Molls
I am busy working to bring Dylan Thomas's "The Molls" to life through some unique musical arrangements and will have a full analysis of the poem here for you later.
In the meantime, I invite you to explore the poem's themes, structure, and meaning. You can also check out the gallery for other musical arrangements or learn more about Dylan Thomas's life and contributions to literature.
Check back soon to experience how "The Molls" transforms when verse meets melody—a unique journey that makes poetry accessible, engaging, and profoundly moving in new ways.
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