Fire in Her Moon Volume 2 :: Issue 8

Welcome to Wild Woman Rising

We choose to harness our internal power to ignite rebirth and feed the creative fire.

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by Ginger Graziano

Raku clay with underglazes, glazes and acrylic paint . 20″ x 25″ x 7″

I Praise the Blood that Flows from Women’s Wombs!

by Terra Rafael

I Praise the Blood that flows from Women’s Wombs!
The Blood of the Mother, shed for you.
Moonly rivulets in every country, tribe and village —
Food of creativity, fertilizing Mother Earth.
The first bed & breakfast of each human soul.
Yes — You Too, when allowed entrance there,
ate your way into the soft landing of Incarnation.
Here, secreted away,
the magic of cells multiplied and differentiated,
safely humming the notes of your DNA in the key of your karma.
From Her Blood you created your own private ocean,
tethered to Her life support, corded from your guts.
Moons and dreams later
came the high tide of labor,

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Red Billed Horn Bill

by Lydia Hesse

Acrylic on canvas . 48″ x 36″

On the Wings of a Hawk

by JoAnne Dodgson

When she got to the dirt path circling the meadow at the edge of the woods, Kyla looked to her left and looked to her right. Feeling pulled in both directions, she was unsure which way to go. While trying to decide, she noticed a shadow moving swiftly across the tall swaying grass. She looked up toward the sky to see who it belonged to.

“Hello!” Kyla brightly called out to the hawk, delighted by the sight of the magnificent bird.

“Hello to you,” said the hawk, soaring by.

“What’s it like up there?” Kyla asked, admiring the way the sun lit up the hawk’s wings and red tail feathers.

“It’s incredible,” replied the hawk. “Beautiful winds. Spectacular views.”

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Kyla called out, thinking quickly on her feet. She realized this was a great opportunity to get a second opinion. “There’s something I’m trying to figure out and maybe you can help me.”

Suddenly Kyla was distracted by the fear of what he’d think of her if she asked a stupid question. She nervously coughed and cleared her throat, delaying for a moment while she silently cheered herself on to be brave and take a chance and just ask.

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Woman’s Canoe Journey

Northwest Coast Salish Style Red Cedar Bark Hat With Abalone Shells

by Mary Snowden

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American Galactic Interview

by Sally Deskins and Laura Madeline Wiseman

Artist and Les Femmes Folles Editor Sally Deskins interviews poet Laura Madeline Wiseman about her recent book, American Galactic (Martian Lit Books, 2014) about the inspiration behind the book, challenging gender representation via her writing, how the environment plays a role in the book and more…

Sally Deskins: Why science fiction and/or why Martians? What was the inspiration behind this specifically, as it seems to differ from your other subjects (or does it not)?

Laura Madeline Wiseman: I started writing American Galactic the semester I took Naomi Shihab Nye’s master class at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. It was a spring of fierce thunderstorms, power blackout and utility men moving along my fence line with flashlights in the dead of night. Across my backyard and in the backyard of my neighbor’s, the silver and black electric lines draped across swing-sets and raspberry canes. Many evenings, I watched the trees gutter in the storm winds. And I wrote for Naomi’s class. Martians walked into my poems during those weeks and stayed around in my poems for the next two years until I finished American Galactic.

SD: Did you want to write about something genderless intentionally?

LMW: I’m interested in literature that challenges gender representation — Marge Piercy’s The Woman on the Edge of Time, Jeannette Winterson’s Written on the Body, for example — and seeks to question gender by asking readers to consider worlds where gender does not dictate roles, clothing and social standing in the former and cannot be tied to the body

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by Karen Noel

Inspiration comes through a meditative connection with nature and the painting becomes a symbolic journal of my inner and outer experiences.

Watercolor and colored pencil . 23″ x 30″

Full Moon Says

by Katlyn Breene

“I am the Moon
the shadow fader,
stumble in the dark
and find a mystery Moon.

The Eternal lover’s Moon.
the gaze up,
and sigh and cry, and kiss Moon.

Whom men, gods and beasts alike
reach up and long to touch.

A mirror of mothers and maidens,
with cracks and craters
as my beauty marks.
The ‘women see yourselves’ Moon,
radiant and perfectly imperfect
constantly changing shape.

Moon that lets you stare up
and bathe in the reflection
of something too hot to touch.
I will make you sweat with passion
and hot-flashes.

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The Holiness of Dirt

Santa Fe to Taos via the High Road
May 17-26, 2014

by Winter Ross

“Pilgrimage: a journey or search of moral or spiritual significance. Typically a journey to a shrine or other location of importance to a person’s beliefs and faith, although sometimes it can be a metaphorical journey into someone’s own beliefs.” — Wikipedia

I trudge breathlessly, head down, toward our next camp: the parking lot of El Santuario de Chimayo. A Roman Catholic Church and National Historic Monument in New Mexico, it is famous for miracles of healing. I look forward to baptizing my feet in the pure cold stream that gurgles behind the church. (The water is shared with the cattle in the pasture beyond. Shared water and the systems of acequias of New Mexico are sacred, too.) Although I’ve trained to hike the distances expected on this march, I’ve not trained to the pace of walkers who have been on the road for two months already. I hurt all over; my joints are stiff; the soles of my feet are burning.

The High Road sees pilgrims and seekers of many kinds. I have been studying the descansos, the roadside shrines of white crosses, plastic flowers and sometimes stuffed toys which mark a soul’s passing after a traffic accident. And I’ve been avoiding discarded syringes, broken bottles and crushed beer cans all day. My eyes on the red pumice gravel, I nearly run into a marcher holding up a sun-faded rosary he’s found on the side of the road. He offers it, and I, who have recently misplaced my Buddhist mala (but not my Hindu mantra, the chanting of which keeps me going on the uphill) know it’s meant for me. Every tenth bead is a plastic picture of our Lady of Guadalupe, the Christianized Aztec earth goddess, Tonantzin and Mother Goddess of this land.

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Red Connection Necklace

Luisacchi Jewellry Designs

by Sherry Knight

Red is the color of fire.

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Wild Woman Rising is calling you!
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I Choose

by Helene Rose

I choose to deepen
into the experience
of my ordinary Life
and begin to see how
unbelievably extraordinary
this Life truly is.
And how truly blessed I am.


by Susan Korsnick

Acrylic on canvas . 18″ x 18″

Ready represents that moment in our lives when we know that the growing pains we feel mean change is on the horizon. We may not know what is coming, but we know that we are about to enter a new phase of life. Ready is more than a painting…it’s a prayer. It’s what I offer up to the Divine when I’ve done everything in my power to prepare and now, here I am, vulnerable yet strong, ready to take that next step. Each chapter in our lives requires a rebirth of sorts; that’s why the woman in the painting is in a womb with her hands in prayer. Being ready means being ready to surrender.

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Crescent Moon

by Evgenia Art

An intuitive interpretation of the Divine Feminine: strong, powerful, sensual, creator, eternal.

Acrylic on canvas


by Douglas Walker

Grandmother Nakai Breen was a Cherokee medicine woman in southwest Texas. She was known throughout the world for her compassion, her dedication to serving others and her powerful healing capabilities. She was fully connected to multidimensional reality. She was able to call eagles from the sky. She testified on behalf of the Texas Kickapoo before both the Senate and Congress in 1983. Her testimony led to the passage of H.R. 4496, the bill which led to the Texas Kickapoo’s right to land, medical and other citizen rights under our U.S. Constitution. To date, she is the only Native American woman who has ever served in this role. I believe she was one of the “Keepers of the Planet” and a whole lot more.

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by Katherine Brennan

My name is Katherine. For 29 years I’ve lived in a city on the west coast of the United States, famous for its earthquakes. I have a job on the nineteenth floor of a building in the Financial District. In strong winds the building shudders and sways. In movie theaters I always take an aisle seat.

I want to adopt a dog this year. I plan to name him Scrappy. I dropped out of school in the tenth grade. I’ve read all of Dostoevsky and most of Tolstoy. I live alone.

My mother was severely bipolar.

A man I knew told me I had storybook hair. When I was nine years old a friend of my parents called me husky. He watched me in a way that made me uncomfortable. I am afraid of spiders.

The bagpipes make me cry.

I don’t show my teeth when I smile because they are unattractive. I met two young women from Wisconsin yesterday, both schoolteachers. They seemed to think I was interesting and we promised to stay in touch. When I was 13 my family moved from California to Scottsbluff, Nebraska. We lived in a small, beige apartment with a chain grocery on one side and a dead cornfield on the other. There was nowhere to hide from each other.

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by Leticia Banegas

Acrylic and oil on canvas . 59″ x 39″ . Honduras