Category Archives: SECRETS

Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh. Leonard Cohen

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“And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Hey, bullies, ho, bullies, what have ye seen, Flying with the seagulls where the sea was green?

Cicely Fox Smith

0 SAF BELLWOOD

FOTO – seagulls at bellwood nambucca heads

It was there that I found them:
the seagulls – the secret
of where they go at night.
Like snowfall on the road,
a tight-hooked rug of white fleece nubs:
no road, no verge, only birds.

Belinda Rule
Gestalt with Seagulls

“Some pirates achieved immortality by great deeds of cruelty or derring-do. Some achieved immortality by amassing great wealth. But the captain had long ago decided that he would, on the whole, prefer to achieve immortality by not dying.” ― Terry Pratchett, The Colour of Magic

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“Each was anxious to play the part fate had allotted to him, and each was dimly conscious of an inability to remain confined in it, and painfully aware that their secret problems would have been unintelligible to most men of their own class and kind.” 


― Edith WhartonThe Buccaneers

Behold the wonders of the sky What secrets lie within It watches us along the way As each journey we begin. Kismet

http://gigi2.hubpages.com/hub/A-poem-Kismet

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“It doesn’t have to be on Valentine’s Day. It doesn’t have to be by the time you turn eighteen or thirty-three or fifty-nine. It doesn’t have to conform to whatever is usual. It doesn’t have to be kismet at once, or rhapsody by the third date.
It just has to be. In time. In place. In spirit.
It just has to be.”

― David Levithan

We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the secret sits in the middle and knows. Robert Frost (1875-1963)

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I have always known the mystery. It is not the wind, though it is the flow of it, and it is not the waves, though it is their force and colour, and it is not the roar of bushfires or the ache of earthquakes, though these things give voice to it, and it is not the silence between lovers, though it might be what brought them to that silence, and it is not the drive of the ambitious man, or the obsession of the vigilante, though it might be the path that delivers them to their fate. I have known the mystery through the sacred lines of poets set down since the beginning in prayers, vedas, sutras, hymns, incantations, chants—all poems in the conversation between us and the mystery, a conversation that continues regardless of whether we construct the world as sacred or secular, a conversation that insists itself upon those who have the button.

DONNA WARD

http://www.australianpoetry.org/2013/10/09/editorial-6/

“The sound of the sea helps me get back to me.

http://www.tranquilwaters.uk.com/water.html

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Every time we walk along a beach some ancient urge disturbs us so that we find ourselves shedding shoes and garments or scavenging among seaweed and whitened timbers like the homesick refugees of a long war.” 

Loren Eiseley

He seduced me with a pure voice, spoke kind words, and stroked my hair to lower my guard, to make me trust him, to trick me!

Mizuki Nomura, Book Girl and the Corrupted Angel

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Mastering the art of seduction gives one a great power, and like any power, it’s to be wielded with responsibility; a man who wields the art of seduction without a sense of responsibility and restraint is a walking proximity bomb of viral epidemics, needless procreation, heartbroken families, and shattered dreams.”

Mike Norton

However bad at pricing a butcher may be, he won’t price an elephant at 700 cowries. Hausa.

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Shells

Reaching down arm-deep into bright water
I gathered on white sand under waves
Shells, drifted up on beaches where I alone
Inhabit a finite world of years and days.
I reached my arm down a myriad years
To gather treasure from the yester-milliennial sea-floor,
Held in my fingers forms shaped on the day of creation.

Building their beauty in three dimensions
Over which the world recedes away from us,
And in the fourth, that takes away ourselves
From moment to moment and from year to year
From first to last they remain in their continuous present.
The helix revolves like a timeless thought,
Instantaneous from apex to rim
Like a dance whose figure is limpet or murex,
cowrie or golden winkle.

They sleep on the ocean floor like humming-tops
Whose music is the mother-of-pearl octave of the rainbow,
Harmonious shells that whisper forever in our ears,
The world that you inhabit has not yet been created.

Kathleen Raine

http://www.litera.co.uk/proverbs_about_wasting_water/7/

Women, of whatever age, share secrets with each other more readily than they share them with men.

SUSANNE ALLEYN, Game of Patience

Read more at http://www.notable-quotes.com/s/secrets_quotes.html#c8AxpOGBwU9yUAQV.99

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Inis do Mháire i gcógar é, is inseoidh Máire do phóbal é.

In-ish duh War-eh ih gug-ar aye, iss in-show-ig

Tell something to Mary in confidence and she will tell the whole parish.

(People can’t keep secrets.)

A secret is a kind of promise…. It can also be a prison. JENNIFER LEE CARRELL, Interred With Their Bones

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And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.”

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“Christian, Jew, Muslim, shaman, Zoroastrian, stone, ground, mountain, river, each has a secret way of being with the mystery, unique and not to be judged” Rumi

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foto of wide river cafe sign in ulmarra on the clarence river of nsw

And at night as I lay a-dreaming, I woke, and a silver moon
Shone fair on a dancing river and laughed to a broad lagoon,
And the grass turned over the fences and rippled like ripening grain,
And clouds hung low on the hilltops, and earth smelt sweet with the rain.

The Last Muster

    William H Ogilvie

Little snakes need to grow in hiding. Haiti.

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Hunting snake by Judith Wright

Sun-warmed in this late season’s grace

under the autumn’s gentlest sky

we walked, and froze half-through a pace.

The great black snake went reeling by.

 

Head down, tongue flickering on the trail

he quested through the parting grass,

sun glazed his curves of diamond scale

and we lost breath to see him pass.

 

What track he followed, what small food

fled living from his fierce intent,

we scarcely thought; still as we stood

our eyes went with him as he went.

 

Cold, dark and splendid he was gone

into the grass that hid his prey.

We took a deeper breath of day,

looked at each other, and went on.

 

Source:  A second Australian Poetry Book compiled by Barbara Giles (Oxford University Press, 1983)

I thought how with your spacious hospitality In its high tide you’d made all life a feast – Douglas Alexander Stewart

http://www.inspirationalstories.com/poems/for-kenneth-slessor-douglas-alexander-stewart-poems/

1 SEAGULLS AT BELLWOOD

 

foto – feeding seagulls at bellwood park in nambucca nsw australia

It was there that I found them:
the seagulls – the secret
of where they go at night.

Belinda Rule

http://cordite.org.au/poetry/notheme2/gestalt-with-seagulls/

The Bow’ry, the Bow’ry! They say such things, And they do strange things On the Bow’ry! The Bow’ry! I’ll never go there anymore!

The Bowery’ is a song from the musical A Trip to Chinatown with music by Percy Gaunt and lyrics by Charles H. Hoyt. The musical toured the country for several years and then opened on Broadway in 1891

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Bowery_%28song%29

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“Walk the Bowery under the El at night and all you feel is a sort of cold guilt. Touched for a dime, you try to drop the coin and not touch the hand, because the hand is dirty; you try to avoid the glance, because the glance accuses. This is not so much personal menace as universal — the cold menace of unresolved human suffering and poverty and the advanced stages of the disease alcoholism.”

― E.B. White, Here Is New York

What a man thinks, that he is; this is the old secret.

Upanishads

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“I would enter the desert alone, to leave in the sand endless footprints only to be obliterated by the wind, to walk the same path each day expecting the same path tomorrow, and perhaps to cease wondering at the bloom and wither of lilies only to linger for death. But no, even in the desert, I would seek a new sanctuary, to contemplate a grain of sand in a sea of dryness…”

― Leonard Seet, Meditation on Space-Time

REST AND DREAM

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“Cucumber and bergamot,” Clary said. “Is there anything else you hate that I ought to know about?”

Jace looked at Dorothea over the rim of his teacup. “Liars,” he said.”

― Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

The Confidant is held together with delicate threads and secrets.

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“And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“I’m fine, except for the swelling and a big headache.”

~ Ken Venn

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“Anxiety is secretive. He does not trust anyone, not even his friends, Worry, Terror, Doubt and Panic … He likes to visit me late at night when I am alone and exhausted. I have never slept with him, but he kissed me on the forehead once, and I had a headache for two years …”
― J. Ruth Gendler, The Book of Qualities

All secrets are deep. All secrets become dark. That’s in the nature of secrets.

Cory Doctorow, Someone Comes To Town, Someone Leaves Town, 2005

http://www.quotationspage.com/subjects/secrets/

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“A woman once described a friend of hers as being such a keen listener that even the trees leaned toward her, as if they were speaking their innermost secrets into her listening ears. Over the years I’ve envisioned that woman’s silence, a hearing full and open enough that the world told her its stories. The green leaves turned toward her, whispering tales of soft breezes and the murmurs of leaf against leaf.”

― Linda Hogan, Dwellings: A Spiritual History of the Living World

1 1 he Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. 1866 - 1939), Saturday 23 July 1910

The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. : 1866 – 1939), Saturday 23 July 1910

Insult is like boomerang. Every time you throw it, it turns back to you.”

― Yasser Kashef

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Our families are well respected
We are easily accepted
We have a drink or two
Even make our own home brew
We like to hunt on land
Bare feet on the hot sand
We hunt in the sea
It makes us feel wild and free
We come near and far
All bare feet without a car
We are proud
We sing out loud
We walk hand in hand
We are apart of the great Australian Land

All Walks Of Life by Sharon Roebourne, Western Australia

http://www.creativespirits.info/aboriginalculture/arts/all-walks-of-life

Goodbye,” said the fox. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

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“Families hold each other in an iron grip of definition. One must break the grip, somehow.”
― Paula Fox, The Widow’s Children