Tag Archives: IWWG

Sealey Chapbk Challenge-17

Journey of the Spirit-Judi K. Beach

Life and Labyrinth

arlene s bice

The gleeful gathering of women-friends

together on a summer eve

to walk a labyrinth.

Each woman walks in from a different place

tho starting from the same spot

to walk a life.

We advance at different lengths

tender our own measured pace

to walk the chapters.

Pausing at each level we feel the experience

recording each sensation

to walk the path.

Arriving at the end, which is also the beginning

in a new direction, all the same

yet each one different.

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Sealey Chapbk Challenge-8

Indigo Tapestry-
Erika E. B. DeRuth

I met Erika DeRuth at IWWG annual writing conference

and bought this chapbook from her in 2000.

A few poem titles with in:

cha cha pinsprites

questions fly

spraypaint on art’


ballet in cowboy boots

apples and underwear

who am i

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Chapbook Challenge-day 4

From the late Judy Beach’s Ritual Writing IWWG

One poem:

Spell For A Desired Position

arlene s bice

Cast a circle

lay a blue cloth in the center

with a blue candle in a blue dish on top

of the blue cloth. Enhance this with a blue

ribbon, let scented citrus oil permeate the air. Be

sure to have blue underwear on. Lay a section of

the newspaper that is desired to be publish in, be-

tween  you and the candle. Lay your article on top of

the desired newspaper. Light the blue candle. Begin

speaking gently to Mother Goddess:  “Please merge

these two that I may become the writer, published

routinely,  desired by many readers, appreciated 

by editors.  Send the power, wisdom,

make way for my path. My grace

 to you with thankfulness.

Blessed be.

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Chapbook Challenge -Day 2

What Brought You Here? Nancy Duei Denofio


It tasted like a nip

of bad wine-it would

curl inside, grabbing

a hold of your heart.

One more time-then

it’s over. They say

tell us again.

It’s self confidence

assurance, liberty of

women, our right.

One taller, stronger, a

warrior. Picture a

dignified soldier.

Children seldom hear

the scrape of a sharpened


Revenge, pillage, spoiled

Deflowered, endeavor, and

weaker, unable to fight

or confront a warrior.

Those who never touched

a blade tell those who have,

“Confront the past.”

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New Challenge- read a chapbook a day for August

Writing What You Love Loving What You Write

From the late Judy Beach

Ice Cream and Love

arlene s bice

It’s more than a childhood memory;

the texture, the flavors, the taste

rolling around my tongue, melting, creamy

soothing my throat, adding to my pleasure.

The biting cold stinging my mouth.

Strawberries freshly picked in spring,

chunks, dripping with sweet juices

lay over the mound of French Vanilla

in a fancy glass rimmed in gold

like kisses laying on my lips.

A summer-ripened cantaloupe,

hollowed out and filled with scoops

of Chocolate; blending, melting

with the juices of warm fruit

coming together as one body.

In the autumn when spicy flavors

of Pumpkin and Buttered Rum tease

the palate, tingling the tongue

licking the drips on the cone,

my fingers wrapped around it.

Cold winds come in winter,

volcanic hot fudge covers the

heaping icebergs of Black Walnut

like your hands caressing my

breasts with your touch.

Seasons define the years,

flavors define the seasons.

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Last year in an IWWG conference poetry workshop of Marj Hahn’s

we wrote from postcards of original paintings:


arlene sandra bice

brilliant yellow in a living urban landscape

where color shows up to reveal

special pocket spaces indicating




are bringing life to a city setting

the creatives gather, cluster, whisper

vibrant partnerships form, friendships, really

latching on as extensions of self

easy to spot, these oases of art, poetry, music

colors abound, signage, posters, murals

in the unlikeliest places, just emerge

unplanned, fed, watered, nurtured

suffering? yes, those who try too hard

seeking perfection; art is life

with scars showing character

your choice, enjoy or no

absorb the blues

taste the reds

seek the yellows

notes fly out as the doors open

flooding the golden light

onto the sidewalks

where it leaks over the curb

into the street bleeding away

spreading love

leaving spots of life on a blue-

blackened night




Filed under art, Poetry