Tag Archives: the Charman Gallery/Goddess WIthin

Artemis Bee Labyrinth/Goddess: the Divine Feminine at Gargoyles Statuary

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Artemis

 

Into the forest go I

A wild thing at night

I am a seed- a fireweed sprout

I am a she-bear; kindred spirit

Deep in the forest She waits

Shining in the torches- the candles- the stars

Eyes of Artemis

Twilight mirrors shining with truth

My home is in the wild forest

Cedar Madrone sea-mist and bramble

My heart is wild in the tame day-to-day

My soul is free- tending the bees

Nootka rose and blackberry-wild honey and fern

Into the forest go I

Into the forest

Shining…

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This labyrinth poem written in runes made her debut at this year’s ASWM Symposium. I was a guest speaker and part of the We’Moon Artists Panel.  Artemis Bee Labyrinth will be on display at Gargoyles Statuary for their Summer Solstice :”Goddess, the Divine Feminine” group exhibition.

Lisa Noble

lisasstoriesblog.wordpress.com

http://www.cafepress/lisanoble.com

 

Fuzzy Hedgehog Press Indie Book Fair The Charman Chronicles

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Art Not Terminal Gallery in downtown Seattle is hosting The Fuzzy Hedgehog Press Indie Book Fair. I will be there with my Charman Chronicles and prints of new illustrations. June 14 & 15 12-8 Hope to see you there.

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Midnight Bones illustration for “The Rip Tide”  Frankie discovers the perils of going swimming alone.

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Tulip Bee Circle, “Circle in the Dark” Elsa tells Frankie about her secret past in Nazi occupied Holland.

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Doe, “The White Doe” Frankie follows a magical white doe to the center of all things.

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Desert Offering “The Changing Time” Frankie walks out of a mirage and leaves a desert offering.

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Wasp Mandala “Crossing Over” The harrowing beauty of nature looms over Frankie on the hour of the wolf.

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“The Bloody Bride” Frankie tells a ghost story to her friends and wonders if one can really die of a broken heart.

Many Thanks to Mysty Johns for her help with these images.

A big shout out to Kree Arvanitas for telling me about this neat book fair.

“The Charman Chronicles: The Book of Fire” is available on Amazon in book and Kindle format.  Please note: the new illustrations are not in the books yet:  a labor of love and a work in progress.

 

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Jet the Shape Shifter

 

 

            Samhain at midnight I shape shifted to seek the Raven’s Trove. Only then would I gaze upon the mysteries of the Dark Lady Herself. I flew to the base of the Black-oak into the murder amassing to take flight.

            “What is thy epithet?” croaked an ancient Raven. My ultra violet vision showed the crone in brilliant iridescent colors, I spoke with reverence to her etheric beauty:

            “I am she who is carbon; I am coal and the hard caress of the earth, I am the blackness who is Jet.”

            “What is thy quest?” a youngling with sapphire eyes inquired.

            “It is you my Sister and you Grandmother and HERSELF.”

            We flew past the moon; to the Mother of all trees from the beginning of time.

            The Trove: surrounded by a thousand raven fore crones. Their wealth of knowledge: past present and future; the slow secrets of trees.

            “Gather my words,” the grandmother chanted:

             

            “Listen to the Raven’s call, one to one and all to all, in the Black-oak acorns        fall, hear the Raven’s call”

           

We circled:

           

            “Red Madrone far and high; black of wing and bright of eye.

            Soar like midnight in the sky, see the Ravens fly.”

           

All was revealed, I beheld a crystal orb.

           

            “Nestled close in Cedar’s breast is hidden deep a treasure chest.

            Shiny magic is where they rest; seek the Raven’s nest.”

           

Midnight, the Goddess was afoot.

           

            “Rowan wand weaves enchantments, cast and spin and spell and craft

            In a circle in a trance; dance to the Ravens dance”

           

I circled in the center of the altar among a thousand and one ravens.

            “You are revealed,” the ancient one pronounced and my glamour vanished. I, now a plain girl without flight or the gift of bird speak, lost in the woods. “Behold,” said Grandmother only her words were left to me. “Behold…” Grandmother’s words echoed in my soul as I gazed into the orb, in my reflection the face of She who is all Lightness and Dark.

             Initiated, I found my treasure. I am Jet; I will never be just a plain girl again.

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 Illustration from the Charman Chronicles.

 

 

 

 

           

 

 

 

 

 

Calling in Sick on a Friday When it’s Not Raining. B-Town Beat Hear Lisa’s Poetry June 5 at Phoenix Tea

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Calling in Sick on a Friday when it’s not Raining

 

 

Real change lady shares her corner in front of the Sanitary Market

With me and my hat

Today I’m painting henna paisleys by donation

 

“In this months issue”, chants the real change lady,

“I’m one of the poets- buy a copy only a dollar”

 

We share spanokopita and a chai

My stuff and voice sprawling into her territory

Illustrated vegan cookie recipes

Hand made cards with cat faces and sequins

 

“Summer time and the livin’ is easy”

Ahh! Just like Janis

Elsewhere my files pile and the phone rings like a hungry baby

 

Escape market security move-alongs

Do I have a permit and report my quarters to the IRS

Don’t they know that I’m almost in high demand?

 

Piroski lunches and lattes to go- hey you hang up and listen

Buy a paper, support the arts, and sing along

 

I put out more product: self-published manifestos

Lavender scented jewelry- origami cat toys with dangly ribbon bits

 

Real change lady drops a handful of coins in my hat

As I read one her poems out loud

Voice cracking this stolen sunny Friday

I better dance when I sing “Fever”

People seem to like that

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Peace Crane by Lisa Noble, Poets West in Burien Phoenix Tea 7-8:30 

With Kid Gloves… For my Friends at Artech

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       With Kid Gloves

 

These guys barreling through Belltown

In over-sized Izusus

 

These girls in vintage bowling shirts

Hefting their own weight in bronzes

 

Wearing Doc Martins and glitter shadow

To the Christmas party

One polite Spritz cookie always left on the plate

 

Masters of satire and art history

Handling with kid gloves

The treasures of local heroes- the archives of museums

 

Pausing for a wink, a sound-bite joke

Bubble level in back pocket clipboard missing again

 

And then at night like cats

Slipping into dark alleys- drawn like Cyrano magnetism to the moon

 

Men and women ascend to their studios

To paint – to print – to sculpt

 

Working into the night

The fume woozy red-eyed night

Hurry carefully to finish by First Thursday

 

We turn out midweek for each other’s opening glories

Nibbling veggie-platter and cheese dinners

Beaded sweaters and nails scubbed

 

Kiss on the cheek and slap on the back

Looking our best in orange Converse and praise

 

 

We dream Bohemian dreams of fancy

Showing up on time the next day

 

If only we had more time

But pleased to have made the cut

There’s a lot of competition to work in a place like this

 

Oh-to send postcards from Paris- from Barbados

From huts – flats – digs

 

Yet misty-oh so misty

When we really have to say goodbye

 

Belltown espresso fueling double lives

These guys – these girls

 

Big smiles in top heavy vans

Careening down First Avenue

 

Gilded times in float frame display

Handle my memories with kid gloves

Installed securely in my heart

 

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