The Bones of the Poor
Ruth Ann Oskolkoff
Top 10 Best Quotes
“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.”
“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.”
“ 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.”
“Visiting sheer essence of bog and fen, Walking rough footpaths along edges Slowly nearing home, greeting itinerant Passers-by, contemplating end journeys We all take, flying towards distant seas Like great blue herons do, understanding Harmony amid nature’s undulate ways Of old river rhythms, oh Father Thames.”
“Undulating rivulets emerged when Paleocene glacial ice had formed Fluvial rifts worn in naked chalk hills, Currents flowed over burnished boulders Moving past numinous burial mounds.”
“The Bodhisattva rests in glacial air, under a dust of snow, leaves fallen into one arm. This fairyland Buddha sits in an exquisite etched chair, a powdery image of beauty. Winter brings blinding thoughts of flaky falling dreams, slushy icy hard footprints, with crunchy mantras of wind. Forever surrounded by obscuring of days, whiteout of the mundane, penetrating freeze, and blizzard of emptiness. Crystalline diamond Vajra surrounded by endings. Slow drifting meditations that meander to the ground. White snow like bones, cold as death, frozen in compassion. Drifting to enlightenment with vows to return until all are in blessed fields. Icy mantra Om Mani Padme Hum to mountain emptiness, echoing forever in alpine Buddhafields. Not this, nor that— but always something else. These days, we mostly see blessed falling flakes of snow.”
“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.”
“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.”
“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.”
“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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Book Keywords:
tamesas, celts, moorland, oxey-mead-park, buddha, river, queen, bodhisattva, offerings, london, hope, boudica, tamesis, despair, meadow, thames, iceni, pagan, boudicca, endings, boadicea, death, paleocene, buddhafields, fog, tamesa, fairyland-buddha, bog, warrior, light, two-three-and-four, midnight, grasses
