At last it had been done. Two years after our big move, all my books were in order, unpacked and shelved properly. And for the first time ever, all my Dylan Thomas books were together in one place.

The shelf where they sat was quite wide, with room enough for something to sit in front of the books. A bust of Dylan Thomas would be ideal. Yes, the perfect thing.

So when I was next in town, I looked in the souvenir shops near Cardiff Castle. No luck. The National Museum shop, maybe? Nothing there, either. I widened my search; I went online, asked friends and relatives, contacted poetry society luminaries. Nobody had ever heard of such a thing. As far as anyone knew, nothing like that existed.

I felt a little downhearted when my month-long search ended in failure. If music lovers could have a bust of Beethoven on their piano, then why couldn't literature lovers have a bust of Dylan on their bookshelf? Surely his words had inspired just as many people as had Ludwig Van's music.

Several nights later, I woke suddenly at around 2.30 in the morning, the remnants of a dream still in my head. I dreamt I'd been in a shop and had walked over to a shelf and picked up a bust of Dylan Thomas. This long sought-after treasure was white and about six inches tall; the perfect height to sit on my bookshelf. In my dream, I bought the bust, enthusing the whole time to the shop's owner, and walked home proudly with it.

But the Dylan I had dreamed of wasn't the famous poet. No, it was the young man sitting in his bedroom at Cwmdonkin Drive, head raised slightly, gazing out across Swansea Bay and dreaming in rhyme of the poems that would make him famous.

But my dream made me feel all the more disappointed that I couldn't really find a bust of the poet. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that I had to do something about this sad state of affairs myself - I would get one made!

A friend put me in touch with Barry-based sculptor Jeremy Cooper. I went to talk to him and told him what I wanted. He agreed it would be possible but there were only a handful of photographs of Dylan at the right age. And there was the famous painting by Augustus John, of course.

Jeremy spent two months working away at the bust. Slowly the poet's features began to appear out of the clay. The nose needed adjusting, the mouth wasn't quite right. Then, one day, I visited Jeremy and Dylan Thomas sat there on the table staring up at me. I was delighted.

I watched the light play across its features at different times of the day as it sat on my bookshelf for the next several weeks. It was perfect.

Then a friend visited who was involved in the University Of Wales Dylan Thomas Prize. She noticed the bust and commented on it. I said half-jokingly: "Yes, wouldn't it be nice if you could hand a bronze bust of Dylan to the winner of the prize each year?"

She looked at me and said "Actually ... it would." She went on to explain how the organisers of the prize, which had been set up in 2006 by historian Professor Peter Stead, were thinking of having a trophy made to present to each year's winner along with the cash prize. And, as the Prize was for young writers, my Dylan bust showed the poet at just the right age.

So now I had to make good on my joke. I knew nothing about how you took something made of clay and transformed it by some alchemy into bronze. Fortunately a sculptor friend was thinking of including some bronze elements in his work and had already contacted a foundry in West Wales. So when he went to visit the owner, he took me along.

Yes, it was possible, the owner told me. I'd have to leave my precious bust with him in order for a mould to be taken, but it should only take a month to create, using the age-old 'lost wax' method. That would be cutting it fine - it was already late September and the prize-giving ceremony was in early November.

With a week to spare, the courier delivered the parcel to me and I carefully unwrapped the bronze bust. It had a dull shine like an old penny and looked stunning. The dream I'd had several months before had now been transformed into something fit for a museum.

On the night, I watched as the 2010 prize winner Lucy Caldwell (pictured outside 5 Cwmdonkin Drive) was handed the heavy bronze. She seemed utterly delighted with it and wouldn't let it out of her sight.

One BBC journalist, clearly impressed with the bronze, described it as 'the Oscar of the Dylan Thomas world'. This and other comments convinced me that other people also wanted busts of the poet. So my company Blackmark was born.

I soon found someone who could make copies of the original sculpture. These would be done in a specially-toughened plaster-like material and hand-finished with a coat of silicone, to make them easier to clean. Christening the busts 'Young Dylan', I have now made them available to Dylan fans the world over through a simple, easy-to-use website.

You can find it at www.blackmarkwales.com . Take a look for yourself. If you too want to have 'Young Dylan' on your bookshelf, just get in touch and let me know you saw this article on AmeriCymru, and you can have it for the special discount price of 30 (roughly $45, depending on the exchange rate) plus shipping.

The collector's edition bronze bust is available, too, for 375 (around $570) including shipping.

www.blackmarkwales.com