Ronald Stuart Thomas

(1913 - 2000 / Cardiff / Wales)

Ronald Stuart Thomas Poems

1. The Absence 9/16/2015
2. Forest Dwellers 2/11/2016
3. The Bright Field 2/29/2016
4. A Marriage 2/3/2015
5. The Dance 12/25/2014
6. Thirteen Blackbirds Looking At A Man 1/3/2003
7. The Woman 1/13/2003
8. The Old Language 1/3/2003
9. The Village 1/13/2003
10. The Dark Well 1/3/2003
11. Welsh History 1/3/2003
12. Sorry 1/13/2003
13. Album 1/13/2003
14. The Ancients Of The World 1/3/2003
15. Ruins 1/3/2003
16. Taliesin 1/3/2003
17. Good 1/3/2003
18. An Old Man 1/13/2003
19. The Way Of It 1/3/2003
20. Poetry For Supper 1/13/2003
21. Night And Morning 1/3/2003
22. A Welshman To Any Tourist 1/3/2003
23. Praise 1/3/2003
24. Chapel Deacon 1/13/2003
25. A Welsh Testament 1/13/2003
26. Evans 1/13/2003
27. The Cat And The Sea 1/3/2003
28. Here 1/3/2003
29. Pisces 1/3/2003
30. On The Farm 1/13/2003
31. Welsh Landscape 1/13/2003
32. A Peasant 1/13/2003
33. Death Of A Poet 1/13/2003
34. Children's Song 1/13/2003
35. A Blackbird Singing 1/13/2003
36. A Day In Autumn 3/21/2004
37. Ninetieth Birthday 1/13/2003

Comments about Ronald Stuart Thomas

  • Theresa Dowling (9/4/2011 2:15:00 PM)

    A recent discovery! A genuine Christian poet when Christian poetry has almost become extinct. Thomas is not known at all in the U.S., except by an academic here and there - he certainly isn't taught. That is our loss!

    11 person liked.
    4 person did not like.
Best Poem of Ronald Stuart Thomas

Ninetieth Birthday

You go up the long track
That will take a car, but is best walked
On slow foot, noting the lichen
That writes history on the page
Of the grey rock. Trees are about you
At first, but yield to the green bracken,
The nightjars house: you can hear it spin
On warm evenings; it is still now
In the noonday heat, only the lesser
Voices sound, blue-fly and gnat
And the stream's whisper. As the road climbs,
You will pause for breath and the far sea's
Signal will flash, till you turn again
To the steep track, buttressed with cloud.

And there at the top that ...

Read the full of Ninetieth Birthday

A Welsh Testament

All right, I was Welsh. Does it matter?
I spoke a tongue that was passed on
To me in the place I happened to be,
A place huddled between grey walls
Of cloud for at least half the year.
My word for heaven was not yours.
The word for hell had a sharp edge
Put on it by the hand of the wind
Honing, honing with a shrill sound

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