The Q | seabed or ocean floor
Sep10

The Q | seabed or ocean floor

Q: Seabed or ocean floor. What is the difference?*Responses will be curated and may be shared with permission.Permission* Yes, I give my permission Show Full AgreementBy submitting your response, you are granting AROHO permission for possible publication – in whole or excerpts – in WAVES, which is also archived on our website and may be shared on social platforms.Name* First Last Address* State / Province / Region AfghanistanÅland...

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Immersion
Aug29

Immersion

For each of us as women, there is a dark place within, where hidden and growing our true spirit rises…Within these deep places, each one of us holds an incredible reserve of creativity and power, of unexamined and unrecorded emotion and feeling. The woman’s place of power within each of us is neither white nor surface; it is dark, it is ancient, and it is deep.   Audre Lorde   ___________________________  ...

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Intermission by Carol Fox Prescott
Aug29

Intermission by Carol Fox Prescott

  “Intermission” by Carol Fox Prescott   Ourselves and myself. What’s the difference? I have been otherwise occupied. What is my way back to this wave on which the writer in me floats? The passion of an idea that must see the light of day. The excitement of discovering the words that tell the story. The delight in the way words appear on the page when I’m writing, so different from the ones that come...

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Silent Conversation by Kiril Nagornyj
Aug29

Silent Conversation by Kiril Nagornyj

  “Silent Conversation” by Kiril Nagornyj     My art is my prayer. My return. My becoming.   ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here   Kiril Nagornyj Artist Statement: My artwork is a meditation on memory, transformation, and the sacred feminine. I work primarily with porcelain—a material that, to me, embodies both fragility and resilience. Its translucency allows...

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The Green Man by Georgia Rhoades
Aug29

The Green Man by Georgia Rhoades

  “The Green Man” by Georgia Rhoades   The crows were calling as they gathered high in the oaks, planning a raid, and after all these years, knowing they did not call to her, she only watched. But clear in her memory was that first year of market, up in the dark after tying love posies and stacking soaps and bundles of herbs, readying for packing in the pushcart. That cart like a friend, earning its dear cost...

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