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The Bones of the Poor

Book by Ruth Ann Oskolkoff · 11 quotes · Tamesa, Tamesas, Tamesis

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The Bones of the Poor Quotes

“I won't give in to despair while stars are beautiful in the night sky and know we cannot leave here while it is always midnight, and there is only that hope that we grasped and pulled down from these skies. Here where it is midnight we cling to the play of children lining up little tiny drops of joy, small shimmers we hap to wish upon for two blooms in spring, three sparrows to sing to me, and four kisses in the sudden flash of summer.”

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“I hear the soldier’s footsteps right outside From Roman legions that are hunting me— A mother, warrior, Boudica, queen. That swarm of angry hornets aims to sting My skin with fire, piercing me with pain. I will never accept an end like that. Now happily spared the brutality Since you opened up the door to hide me, Anam Cara, you prove to be a friend, To help in my hour of direst need Just as we had previously agreed.”

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“Very soon, I will be travelling there With the great heron out to the North Sea To dance with the deep, where I will just be; Roaming the headwaters and tidal flats Liminal as light upon the surface, In waves that crash on rounded marshy coasts. Think of me as the sun rises each dawn When you feel that surge of an inner strength With each ephemeral moment of time. I know I will be there eternally, Immersed, one with the great estuary.”

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“Listen close—my previous life was good. My mind has many pleasant memories: Camping on the Wensome’s chalk river shores, Running in green fields, picking spring flowers, Exploring the sand dunes and pine forests, A picnic on the mud flats, carefree days At home with my family in the village, Watching the terns, sedge warblers and swallows, Lessons in cooking and animal care, Untamed rivers and lakes, games with my friends, Sandy beaches, marshes, fens, and reed beds, The barn owl who liked to sing every night, Stirring conversations with my husband, Mundane chores alongside both my daughters, Magical countryside, large gray stone blocks, Tall flint walls in a nearby Roman town, Spongy saltmarsh, woodlands, and butterflies. It was all a gift, all blessed—and now I feel an unexpected clarity.”

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“I lay on the grasses in rolling fog, In yellow hayrattle and fairy flax, By the dusky moorland and blanket bog; The snipe chirps out her plaintive monologue, A skylark warbles while diving her tracks, I lay on the grasses in rolling fog; Sky continues his subtle dialogue, The sun recites hymns to the zodiacs, By the dusky moorland and blanket bog; The peaceful clouds roll by in epilogue Casting shadows of forgotten syntax, I lay on the grasses in rolling fog; The meadow hums in ancient analog, Oxeye daisies keep their secretive pacts By the dusky moorland and blanket bog; I need no other church or synagogue Within my particular parallax, I lay on the grasses in rolling fog By the dusky moorland and blanket bog.”

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“Numerous gifted objects; black granite Etchings, carved statues, broken goddesses, Inscriptions, pottery, jewelry, rough-hewn Garnets, flowers, consecrated herbs, skulls, Gold ornaments, weapons, prized artifacts; Sacrifices, ancestors’ ageless prayers Left with olden Father Thames. For them, The sinuous streams were alive, full worlds Of votive offerings inside murky depths, Lifeblood pleas, observances thereafter Troubles now vanished, solemn promises, Treasures carefully bestowed upon Spirits, watchful deities; faithfully Invoking his ancient name Tamesas.”

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“From seasonal splashes near Trewsbury European eels migrate upstream; Myriad carp, redfin perch, brook lamprey, Dragonflies, mosquitoes, wee midges, Pale cormorant, herring gulls, wagtails, Swans glide round woodland tapestry, Braided channel islands rest alone, Arched medieval stone slab bridges, Tree lines fête ash, alder, chestnut, beech. Floodplains, tangled sedge reedbeds, Owls speed above tree-covered islets, Teaming alluvium water-meadows Growing lavender, iris, marigold.”

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“Some sudden light illuminates my mind. Serene as tufted clouds in summer skies Slowly floating through the expanse of air. Calm like the lark who watches from her perch. Weightless like a small dandelion seed. Freedom. I can float away with the breeze. I feel attuned to the sun and the sky, To the yellow oxlip, rosettes of leaves, Clusters of spring flowers under the trees. I feel a presence and sense life rising, Spirit in all things, living soul, divine Shimmer of being within, so sublime.”

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