Kristiana Reed Interviews Kindra M. Austin, Candice Louisa Daquin, Rachel Finch, and Christine E. Ray (aka Brave and Reckless) About The Anthology ‘We Will Not Be Silenced’

I feel so honoured to be part of this wave – a movement created by the passion and courage of four inspiring women.

Brave & Reckless

In the last few years, the stage on which women and men were always expected to prance and perform has changed. Windows are being installed in the wings. The heavy, velvet curtains are being pulled down and the ropes are being severed. The gauze on the lights is being torn or removed so they shine brighter and the ornamental ceiling has wide cracks in the stucco and tears in the paint. All that has been built around us for centuries – patriarchy, gender stereotypes, heterosexuality being the only sexuality, expectations of femininity, toxic masculinity and silence – is crumbling. It is crumbling because of people like the editors of We Will Not Be Silenced.

This anthology, which showcases powerful poetry, prose, essays and art, is the lived experience of sexual harassment and sexual assault. I was given the wonderful opportunity to interview the women who, in response to current…

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Perception Softens

A single tear –
white-hot acid
announces self pity –
abhorrent emotion –

mid-day, body crashed,
I am foul-minded, drag-down
unreasonable – spiteful

shut my eyes against
a world of able-bodies
immune to the struggle

loathe this weakness,
this intolerable disconnect –
body, mind detached from will

futility reality’s wall –
could cry – will not cry –
this day is not done.

Later, tasks accomplished
I pushed through –
I sleep, awaken to nightfall

Soft pinks and blues
in a cottony sky greet me –
beauty offering serenity

and for a brief moment,
a tinge of admiration surfaces
for the woman who survived this day.

(Mish is hosting at dVerse tonight and challenges us to find beauty in something we consider ugly.)



Playing House

A new house promises
evokes dreams
we share a vision –
invite colour,
keep it light,
banish the old.

So we shop,

Shipments arrive
pieces unwrap
instruction followed
products delight

old lamps appear –
those left in storage
all of our years –
and your Nan’s bookcase,
and that blue mirror

and suddenly
our bright, breezy décor
is a fusion of old and new –
and the nostalgia is yours

I sacrificed my memories
for the dream –
am bruised…

Can abide insertion
of personal…yet,
detect underhandedness –
an assertion of the alpha

glancing about,
cannot ignore
influences of my taste –
my preferences
overriding yours..

Withdraw objection –
recognizing the sleight
understand all too well
how ego yearns
for acknowledgment
when establishing a home.

(Many prompts and a recent move have inspired today’s writing:
Fandago’s word of the day – ego
Ragtag Community’s daily prompt – abide
Daily Addictions – detect
and Sammi Cox’s weekend writing prompt which challenges us to use the word ‘fusion‘ in a 130 words.)



Oh, Canada!

Happy Canada Day! Hope everyone stays safe and cool today!

One Woman's Quest

Welcome to my country,
there’s so much to explore.
We really are a friendly bunch
but there’s a few things we abhor

So, we’ve written specific rules
for our visitors to keep in mind –
above and beyond the expected
these oddities are considered crime.

Please refrain from removing
a band-aid while in a public place,
and it’s more than just offensive
to fart when in another’s space.

Should you happen to encounter
our most coveted royal, the Queen,
avoid startling or scaring her, or
your arrest will cause a scene.

Driving a sleigh down the highway
may seem a ludicrous thing to do,
however; it’s actually acceptable if
your horse sports bells more than two.

Taking your feet off bicycle pedals,
is illegal in Ottawa, our capital town,
and riding through Sudbury with a siren
will elicit more than just a frown.

While sightseeing with your mother
in Toronto…

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Notorious Limerence

Regret took root
the moment
I turned you away

grew limbs
with each
empty love

your image
like an icon
taunting me

the certainty
of our perfection
carved in bark

dreams of you
branches reaching
to eternity – bliss

notorious for
poor choices

still reeling
from the rejection
decades later

a limerence
crowding out
heart’s potential.

(Poem written for daily prompt from both ragtag community (limerence) and Fandango (notorious). Highlighted words are links to the daily prompt sites.)



Strength of conviction,
power of physical being,
his spirit timeless –
yet, he is weary,
wonders how he can
a life of integrity, ensure
a future for those he loves,
in the shadows of
civilization’s whims.

(If you’ve received this via email, and cannot see the posted picture, please visit the site.  The image is of a wild stallion who graced us with his presence on our recent visit to Arizona. The poem is dedicated to the him.)



Sorry –
so much inadequacy
bundled into one word
as if five letters
can convey
depths of regret,
shock, dismay

seems I am the spark
to your lighter fluid –
unintentional, I swear

still reeling
from the aftermath
of the explosion

attempting to
deconstruct the
formula –

I am sorry –
that you are enraged,
that you are so obviously disappointed
that you are consumed with resentment –
except, it is sadness, not regret that I feel.

I cannot own this,
was always honest,
did not feed your expectations

learned long ago –
we don’t have the power
to make anyone
feel anything
least of all,

So I’m not sorry,
but maybe
if you could just tell me,
give me an inkling
of what you might need
I can help us out of this hole.

(Prompt for this poem came from the Story Circle Network.  The invitation was to write about associations or experiences with the word sorry.)



Some poems just deserve re-blogging. This is one of them.


keep moving you whisper
the only safe thing to do
through dandelion fields
once yellow with promises
where a footpath crosses
barely visible
like the secret run of a badger
diagonal from edge to edge
avoiding obstacles with booted feet
and the air blistering overhead
wide brimmed tin hats casting shade
eyes on the scything swifts
squelch of mud between steps
and over we go
the rough lichen crusted timbers
the ivy bandaged broken limb
the stream that wets the flat rocks
rippled on a seabed before man
we climb and reach up our hands
but the fruit has not yet formed
and all about us
the song of our foot fall
repeating echoes in hollows


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