Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Secrecy

“There is not a crime, there is not a dodge, there is not a trick, 

there is not a swindle, there is not a vice 

which does not live by secrecy.” 

― Joseph Pulitzer

"Don't only practice your art, but force your way into its secrets; 

art deserves that, for it and knowledge can raise man to the Divine."

― Ludwig van Beethoven

Secrecy is sometimes considered
of life or death importance. 

“Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.” 
― Benjamin Franklin, Poor Richard's Almanack

Child with Toy Hand Grenade in Central Park,
Photo by Diane Arbus (1962)

“A picture is a secret about a secret, 
the more it tells you the less you know.” 

― Diane Arbus

I feel that telling my secrets makes me less vulnerable. 

What would make me vulnerable are the secrets I keep. 

― Isabel Allende

Midweek Motif ~ Secrecy

According to Wikipedia:

Secrecy (also called . . .  furtiveness) is the practice of hiding information from certain individuals or groups who do not have the "need to know", perhaps while sharing it with other individuals. That which is kept hidden is known as the secret.

Doesn't that make "secrecy" sound clinical and devoid of poetry? I love mysteries and parables which hold more secrets than can be unraveled at any one time. And I enjoy the characters in literature who have secrets or grapple with them. What about you?

Your Challenge:  Write a new poem with a secrecy motif or narrative.

Le Secret

Related Poem Content Details

BY THOMAS JAMES MERTON Translated from the French by William Davis.                             

Since I am   

Somebody’s dream,   

I have a good life. 

Sometimes I go away in my sailboat on a cloud   

and take a quiet little trip. 

I have a secret 

which I have learned how to read inside myself; 

if I told it to you, 

it would make you laugh. 

My heart is naked 

and no one can put clothes on it,   

and nothing can be put on 

that will not immediately fall off. 

        . . . .

       Read the rest HERE.

Grafik

Related Poem Content Details

BY JUAN FELIPE HERRERA

for Tomás Mendoza-Harrell & Lauro Flores

I cut / / / / /

I multiply everyday images. I apply an aluminum point. 

To the landscape. 

To the sentence. 

To the photo. 

To the figure. 

To the word. 

And suddenly, with a slight tremor of eyes, vertebrae and fingers, I 

destroy everything that exists. 

Through the years, I’ve rebuilt the cells, uncovered the signs of the cold, 

immaculate, academic vestibules and of the dead lips and histories in the 

metropolitan streets. 

My surgery is criminal. 

No one has been able to identify the skeletons, the remains, the thousand 

scattered nerves of personages I’ve gathered in order to bring this figure 

back to life. The scars are numberless and invisible. 

Who would suspect a grafik artist? 

Who would suspect this gray table as a chamber of murders? 

. . . . 

Read the rest HERE.

*** 

Please share your new poem(s) using Mr. Linky below and visit others 

in the spirit of the community

(Next week Sumana's Midweek Motif will be Birds.)