The Dance Volume 2 :: Issue 5

Welcome to Wild Woman Rising

How we choose to live matters. Where we decide to put our energy makes a difference. Radical change is within our power. Now is the time. You are being called to the dance.

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A New Beginning

by Samantha Archer

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God’s Got Curves

by Cara H. Cadwallader

Yeah, I got curves,
I got weight and mass too.
‘Cuz I’m bending time and space around me,
rippling Love, like waves, bobbing and ebbing
to distant shores.
Yeah I got curves.

And I’m sending out these electric pulsations,
short and sweet, bitter and profane,
and  S  P  A  C  I  O  U  S,
Yeah,      I        Got          Curves.

And I’m bowling you over,
knocking you down,
your erect sterility my victory to claim,
‘cuz I. Got. Curves.

And I’m a-rocking and a-rolling,
moving and a-grooving,
this ancestral pot
the womb of our collective consciousness,
‘cuz I got curves.

And I’m sitting on your symbols,
swallowing them whole,
snuffing out the flames of our past destruction,
yeah, I got curves.

And I’m giving breath to new life,
bringing light to the dark,
giving birth to new worlds,
because God’s Got Curves.

Moving In

by em jollie

Sap, rising in the trees, quickening
pulse of Earth in Spring.
We had to tell the six and eight leggers
to move out. Played my drum,
made a pact, & they were gone.
The dust bunnies gathered
conferencing in corners
are another matter altogether.
They whisper of the woman
who lived here before us,
her sorrow collected in cobwebs.
So we open
to witness what she carried,
and invite in the sun
the grace to draw new spirals
of light through windows.
We plant
seeds in trays, fling glass open
in the swirling air we roll
new paint onto walls
so we may live in the sea
in the fire
of the women who have come
before us here. I have lived

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Sun Compass II

by Debbie Weber

Gouache . 5″ x 7″

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by Kerem Brulé

Dear Sisterhood
of the Half Shaved Head,
I want to apologize
if I seem overly enthusiastic,
like I already know you,
when we first meet.
For it is when
I’m among you
that a part of me
feels radiant,
and understood.
It’s hard not to smile
with a crackle of knowing
when our eyes mingle.

We are sisters
of a hair tribe
I never knew existed
in this Universe
until right now.
So I’m sorry
if my longer glances
make it weird for a minute.
It just seems like
we’ve met somewhere before
over these centuries.

Spontaneous poem inspired by my Friday night concert experience.

Tao and the Art of Hitchhiking

by Lin Jiling

First, patience. Most cars drive by. Most drivers don’t give eye contact, or they look away, or even shake their head. Get over your ego. Get over your sadness, disappointment in humanity and exhaustion. Reconnect with your inner peace, and enjoy the journey. You’re walking. Maybe you’ll walk just for a few minutes. Maybe you’ll walk for an hour or more. Maybe you’ll (my favorite) just sit there and read or write, stopping to stick your thumb out at each passing car (I do this on slow roads).

A car finally stops. Check out the driver. What’s your instinctual reaction? Trust that. Trust your intuition, your gut reaction, your innate primal knowing. And if you can’t trust that, then it’s over. Go home. Walk home. Don’t catch that ride, or any other ride, to boot. Your instincts will tell you everything you need to know. Hone your instincts by breaking physical patterns: write with your opposite hand. Take a different route home. Watch people in social situations and make guesses about them, then go meet them. And for hitchhiking: your instincts will potentially save or destroy you. Listen.

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Many Voices

by Bellavia

Mixed media

Words She Wished She Would Have Said

by Paula Jones

On Her Own Series

Mixed media

Mother Pod

by Amy Lenharth

Porcelain . 6″ x 4″

A symbol of spiritual transformation.

Break a Taboo Today!

by DeAnna L’am

“Underneath the color of our skin, all women bleed the same, red, deep, ancient flow of life force. It is this power what makes the blood that naturally flows through a woman during her cycle seem taboo.”

This powerful statement, made by Marjory Meijia is revolutionary in its depth and implications.

Under all perceived differences between us as women — our blood flows as one. This profound realization filled my eyes with tears at the first Jewish & Palestinians women circle I held in 1999 in Israel (my country of origin). Having held many women’s circles before, and having been touched time and again by the power of sharing our first blood stories, I was unprepared for the depth of emotions that engulfed us all: Muslim, Christian and Jewish women, divided by years of political bias, cultural stereotypes and accumulated fear of each other’s nations, we found a common ground that effortlessly bridged any perceived abyss between us!

Raised in small villages or in large urban neighborhoods, by deeply religious or defiantly atheist parents, in close-knit traditional communities or in loosely bound modern ones, our first blood stories differed in details, yet shared profoundly common flavors: those of feeling alone and scared, unprepared, ashamed, fearful or just plain ho hum, a similar cord ran through our stories — a thread of invisibility, of a Coming of Age lacking in welcome, honor or celebration.

The potency of our newly found bond was intoxicating! It made all perceived differences between us pale in comparison, dissolve into nothingness in the face of shared monumental

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Malta Mother

by Aradia Lunabella

Where better to worship the Goddess than in the body of the Goddess Herself?

So, I took a pilgrimage to the Island of Malta (home to a vibrant Goddess culture dating back at least 6000 years) in hopes of bringing myself to a passage through time, to experience the pendulum of worship from divine feminine to the masculine and back again. In doing so I discovered the beautiful Goddess art of the oldest temples in the world. Abundant with well preserved sacred sites and artifacts, Malta is the keeper of a secret which our ancient ancestors breathed into the geometric design of many of its temples and enclosures built from huge, weathered

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Bone Woman Sings Her Healing Songs

by Feather Redfox

A Bone Woman is one who heals the sick and releases the dead with her songs and ministrations. That is part of who I am as well. This one is as I have met her from ancient times in battle in Ireland. She wears a feathered cape of vulture feathers as a sign of her identity and was allowed to tend the dead and dying by all sides of a battle for it was she who released the souls of those beings, tore away their human remains and allowed them to transition to Source for new life. She is with us today as part of the cycle of death and rebirth on many levels, both spiritual and physical.

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The Bee Keeper

by White Woman Drums

I am a Drummer, it roots Mother Earth, to All I am, Have Been or Will Be…

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Wild Wise Women

Goddess Music

by Samantha Fernandez

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Women Write Resistance


by Sally Deskins and Laura Madeline Wiseman

SD: Your preface and critical introduction to Women Write Resistance: Poets Resist Gender Violence (Hyacinth Girl Press, 2013) explains the societal importance of the book and resistance poetry, but can you talk about why you put this anthology together here?

LMW: We need spaces in culture for people to resist.

I began working on the anthology seven years ago. During this journey I have explored in my creative writing, my academic research and scholarship, my teaching and my volunteer work the ways in which people resist for change. There are other anthologies where writers resist gender violence or other forms of cultural violence. In fact, there’s an anthology that’s in the works by a pair of editors on gender violence globally that just accepted two of my poems. Anthologies like Women Write Resistance should be published every year, year after year, country after country, place after place, because the space to resist is so necessary for change, for breaking silences, for offering hope.

SD: I really appreciated the use of “sassing” language throughout Women Write Resistance. Can you tell me more about how that came about in poetry and its significance here? What might be an example of “sassing”?

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A Primal Poem

by Mikki Baloy

I want the raw
guts of life, splitting bone and spitting fire
I need to dance on the corpses and graves
of whatever held me
and inhibited
the wildness of all I always knew I was.
I give it all back to the earth
crushing dust to dust under bare feet
I want the blood dark
the roar from deep within my heart
no, deeper–the belly of my belly
shadows of shadows crying out for recognition
I want their voices to smack the mountaintops and hurl themselves down again
into silence,
then laughter at long long last
I want the nectar
the stuff of life
poured over onto me
out of me
quenching a thirst I’ve had forever
I want to rub it all over my body
run through the streets covered in leaves, dirt, blood
shocking spectators to their senses, waking them up
You will die, you will die, my loves! Wake up!
Live while you are alive

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Cafe Discussions

by Nathalie Jackson

As I sit in a crowded cafe in Calgary today, I’m filled with awe at the complexity of the human expression. Somehow, in some way so foreign and unknown to me, we’ve agreed to enter the earth-plane and share this experience with Billions of others of the human species. This is amazing to me. We’ve contracted on a higher plane to have a journey in a human form and find our own unique expression while nearly 8 billion others are also carving out what it means to be alive at this point in history.

I recognize the fact that just by sitting here, well fed, warm, knowing I’m supported and loved, puts me in a minute category of privileged people. The very fact that I’m contemplating my existence at all classifies me in an even more elitist group of individuals who have the time and the spiritual privilege to contemplate these kinds of things. And so I contemplate and I write because I can, because I’m curious, because I know that my voice, along with every voice, matters. I actually consider it somewhat spiritually arrogant (which is a definite shadow side of privilege) to NOT contemplate. I see so many around me so focused on the mundane – what treasures they’ve purchased, what so-and-so said at work, how expensive everything is, what dismal weather we experience here in Alberta, Canada.

And I wonder, how different would it be if each of these conversations touched into our existential existence, why we’re here, what good is to come from each of our lives, what positive change our voice can be used for?

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by Wilma Stoltz

Acrylic and texture paste . 42″ x 31″

Embody the beauty of a woman’s natural curves
and sensuality.

My Spirit Walks These Arroyos

by Nadine Waltman Harmon


I wondered, sometimes, if Albert, looking at me
through the lens, saw his spirit-eye or was it only
those planes of my body, its contours, its nakedness
that meant little to me. The blind crowd of unbelievers
called his images exotic and scandalous, at a time when
jazz, flapper style was the rage and his photos were the talk
of the town and he often referenced my lineage, my
grandfather, the count, but nude photos and nobility meant
nothing to me. I had already moved on to paint my flowers
while Albert found his way through the lens, both of us remembering
the wildness of other loves that sent us in opposite directions, each
destined to follow our spirit guides. I painted, never tiring of painting a petunia
countless times while the unknowing classified my iris and Jack-in-the-pulpit
paintings as sinful, in their shallow minds finding a comparison to
a woman’s genitalia rather than seeing the mind’s eye in a flower.

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Landscape of Disappearances

No. 24

by Rachel Sarah Jones, PhD

Digital photography . 16″ x 24″

Love Affair With Life

by JoAnne Dodgson

I’m so enchanted with the wild dogs of the desert. Such agile wispy spirits, coyotes move discreetly through sandy soils, prickly pear cactus and piñon pines. Coyotes have a compelling love affair with the night. Their mystical howls dance across the land with the moonlight and owls.

My beloved canine friend, Jasmine, and I had our first close-up encounters with coyotes several years ago. On a hike in the Oregon forest, Jasmine diligently outran a coyote who was determinedly chasing her. Jasmine rushed back to find me on the trail, welcoming the safety of her pack. Sensing a two-legged, the coyote gave up the chase and turned around, disappearing into the trees.

A couple days later as we hiked along the same trail, the forest’s stillness suddenly erupted into an outburst. There was Jasmine running with wild abandon through the sagebrush, chasing a coyote with all her heart.

Inside this dance of the canines, a potent question was being raised. Just how would the curly-tailed pup and the wild dogs co-exist? In their interactions, the canines’ negotiation was fueled by a shared passion for living, the distinct purposes of their lives

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Six of Swords

by Mel Shapcott

Watercolor . 18″ x 24″ . 2014

Crazy Magic

by Trishuwa

This poem, CRAZY MAGIC, speaks to inhabiting self. ‘Crazy’ is not all sparkly. It invites introspection. Doors open to self-knowledge and participation with all life. I contribute my genuine self.

Crazy eyesight is magical.
Like walking around while not moving.

For a long time I thought
everyone had this magic.
(And yes they do.)

Most ignore their crazy part
except on a special day.
A day visited by unbidden memories,
a family of sorts.
They think it’s an illness.

I thought myself ill.
(They’re just thoughts.)
In desperation
I unwrapped myself.
Old parts disentangled and
I studied them, witnessing,
watching and learning.

I made a web in my mind,
The threads of my life
are connected with parts of me.
(although they don’t resemble
their former selves.)

The web is strong.
It can hold all of me.
It’s part of the universe.
It is so strong that it can change
its shape and form.
(And does the more I remember me.)

A year or two ago I set
crazy free to be part
of the web.

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Nigel’s Tableau

by Raven Redfox

Acrylic . 24″ x 24″ . 2014

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Moonlight Embrace

by Pegi Smith

Acrylic on canvas . 48″ x 36″