A Curse

                                                                       Medieval jewellery
 

 

Dear reader,

I have never understood how people can violate sacred graves and dig up bones that were put there to rest for ever by loving relatives.

It seems sacrilege.   I think Shakespeare would agree with me as he wrote on his memorial stone:

                                    'Good friends for Jesus sake forbear
                                     To dig the dust enclosed here
                                     Blessed be the man that spares these stones
                                     And cursed be he that moves my bones.'

I think it should be a very private resting place and the bones left alone in peace.  Why do we need to know what was in the coffin?  I would say it was no-one else's business, not even the scientists and archeologists who apparently need to know for some best good reason known to themselves. 

This seems to be the age of knowing everything.  But some secret things are best left secret and I would like to think that when my bones are left to rest, with my bear Aristotle by my side, I will hear the wind and the rain in tranquillity and quiet for a thousand years.  My bones left in peace.

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From Dorothy Wordsworth  May 20th  1800 in Westmorland

'A fine mild rain.  After breakfast the sky cleared and before the clouds passed from the hills I went to Ambleside.  It was a sweet morning.  Everything green and overflowing with life, and the streams making a perpetual song, with the thrushes and all little birds, not forgetting the stonechats.'

From Gerard Manley Hopkins  May 21st 1874 in Surrey

'A mockery of bright sunshine day after day, no rain..... wind always holding from the north, dim blue skies, faint clouds, ashy frosts in the mornings:  saw young icy leaves along the sunk fence bitten and blackened.'

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A Curse

 

 

on those who plunder the earth,

and violate sacred places......

 

A curse on those who disturb

and steal gently-bandaged skulls,

legs, arms, and finger-bones,

jewels: perhaps a pearl bracelet,

a coral ring, hair pins, or a mosiac plate,

set out lovingly with food

for the long journey home.

Who have lain there, at peace,

for many thousand years,

the sand, the desert winds, the rains,

nature’s bed.

 

 

A curse on those whose

laughter and excitement

fills the air, stealing these remains,

transporting them to people

in white coats,

who dissect their dignity,

stick labels on them,

give them to museums

to enlighten an ice-cream licking public.

 

                                                                       *

 

I have a new collection of my poetry out on Amazon.  Should you wish to purchase a copy you can do so here.  There are some new poems and some that you might have seen before.  It is my last collection before I leave this mortal coil and I do hope you will enjoy, at least, some of them.

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With very best wishes, Patricia