The Lake Diva Briefly Considers Consequences of Heresy by L L Harper
“The Lake Diva Briefly Considers Consequences of Heresy” by L L Harper “God is a polygendered fisherperson of multi-dominational souls.” Overheard as jon boat trolls by dock on Lake Murray Sometimes the stars fall like words from the blazing lips of God who disapproves of the kindling we have become, and we burst into flame, scald moist, summer air as we burn down to charred skeletals, our path stained...
A Snowy Crossing by Catherine Martzloff
“A Snowy Crossing” by Catherine Martzloff I define my creative identity in the following way: As a creator, I’ve always been interested in working with color. I see my life as having a palette of its own and I seek to have the chroma of my experience come through in my paintings. Over time, I’ve realized the only way to achieve this goal is to risk exposure–to unveil my perceptions. Whether the...
The Q | a ping (or whalesong)
Q: What is your ping, your whalesong?*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...
Word is Touch
Here, we hold a space for each other where we allow our inner voice to have the floor where BEYOND is our brief where the water holds our stories and the WAVES lift them up WAVES ALIVE this April 12 | June 14 | August 8-9 | October 11 | December 6-7 _________________________________________________________ My creative intentions are to share my explorations, attempts and hopes with sister explorers,...
Waves of Snow by Holly Guran
“Waves of Snow” by Holly Guran for Danielle Legros Georges The light reveals some tracks out back on dunes of ice—rabbits, squirrels, or the coydog glimpsed next door who slipped so fast below our sight. I want their marks to mean my friend has sent her love to all of us who walked with her. A death too soon, and still too new. A poet who could melt the mounds of ice with sound— her self, her...
Does the sea remember everything? I wonder.
Does she absorb everything? Does she keep it safe?
Virginia Woolf
. . .
The Q: Can you fathom the spectacle that would be created if we moved together, arms outstretched, close enough to touch?
The Q: What echoes through you that longs to take form—a poem, an image, a mark, a whisper of becoming?
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