There is a pull
beyond the break of
to be made whole…
you take the wreckage of our lives and you are still able to make something of a masterpiece
he’s the master builder never lost a battle
he’s the master potter
never lost any clay
repairer of the broken beyond the break …
kindness sister Krissy
If ever I should become a Love~ poet of sorts’
and I should answer love’s highest call
to be won like thunder on cloudy days or
quietly sit in God’s terrain, smell the sweet fragrance of prayers drifting by
dripping with desperate pleas’ and why, why why,
but suddenly in the foggy trance of grace.
in the midst and in the haze
there but only love should appear,
to drown out our puddles of gloom and fear,
lead us to a secret place,
change our dirty garments, give us holy names
with no more worry, no more pain
wrap us in infinite arms…
I’ll say I met the poet’ of poets’
all that God is, and all that love is,
and all that God is,
Love…
kindness sister Krissy
When our souls have reached the night season and it feels we are strumming our pain with uncertainty, this level of opposition it sits at top of our souls
while the tides are so rapid and waves are all consuming,
but God this is where we meet Jesus, this is where we draw the line from fear
to speak in faith
we draw the line in the night season , for the power of life and death still lies in our own tongues – so we speak life to every dark cloud, we speak life, through the valley of shadow of death ,
in despair and in the dry places, we speak life
so let the weak say I am strong, let the poor say I am rich,
let health enter our bodies as good medicine,
O Lord, keep your hand upon us and let no evil befall your people, enlarge our territory and bless us indeed
your kindness sister Krissy
So we stop,
and hear what the spirit has to say.
We are the branches, I’ll take my body to the altar
lay my body on the altar, encapsulate my tears on this altar
let oxygen move around
O’God revive the laughter of my soul
revive the hope of growing old,
revive the rivers flowing in my belly,
revive the tongues of my trees,
revive my spirit, my eyes that I might see
revive my heart ,my former dreams, revive the latter rain in me
revive the years from whence I came
revive each connective hymn and let me pray,
revive the cartilage in my knees,
revive my prayers- O’ God
we take our bodies to this altar
…
there are all night prayers in mama’s house
all night meetings before you sleep,
we stop,
and hear what the spirit has to say
kindness sister Krissy
Dear God deep down in the waters of my soul
I could hear the symphony of a billion lights
and cords could catch the ache
and for a second time
I would play each cord
of all the lights that would ever be
broken and healing
suffering and sacrifice
fallen and restored
victim and conqueror
this time, you and I would be better for it
o’ this time, there would a billion growing lights
under a fallen plan,
there would a billion growing lights
stand tall under the wonders of a mighty God
there would be a billion growing lights
receiving and understanding the miracles of his plan
this time …
kindness sister Krissy
While the Darkness is still breaking through
God we surrender
in this valley of dry bones
you understand the heartache, the brokenness
and yet and still…
after we have done all that we can do,
to stand,
God,
we surrender,
and declare the Glory of the Lord
Blessings of health, blessings of wealth, blessing of hope, blessing of love, blessings overflowing
God we,
surrender
In the middle of the road
of all that stands on broken-coves
watching the dance of daylight
creeping, slope by slope out the of the frame
withering and wilting
from the way we could have been great
we could have save the day,
maybe made a real change
maybe break pseudo-fame,
maybe held our exhausted heads,
in whisper
proclaim…
America has it problems, our skin to skin issues
maybe its time we solve’em
the haphazardly excursion that nothing’s ever wrong
please excuse me when you see me move
from the lonely broken roads
where the light seems to peep, broken surges
sweltering, broken concrete
I’ll be moving on~kindness sister
Its been forever since I sat down and sent you a message.
You are the wise old friend, I’ve been meaning to get back to.
These day are like water in my hand and sand in my shoes
just when I think I’m holding on. Well you know the rest
it seems to slip and I find myself zapped and whipped
out energy, sputtering out of orbit.
So here is my call, my wise old friend
I’m coming home
its time I get back to me and
set some things straight. ~kindness sister Krissy
Coming back – where the movement is stillness (pose)
chasing shadows -wanting nothing more than presence alone
wanting time… wanting time to think… wanting to breathe in
wanting hope, wanting our youth to survive …
Like flowing waters -wells that never run dry.
companions- posing,
coupled by pride and perfection
to hide against the cage we called home
and our home
built of bricks and bone
slab and muck, twigs of flesh (pose)
to live…
we just want to live.
kindness sister Krissy
Thought I’d slink back into the 3rd grade without a hitch of having to look over my shoulder at Christopher Jones. Or Kwanna Brown. You see I’m not your typical wanna-be, 3rd grader with all her ducks in a row. Art is was my thing and still is my thing. Accept I can’t draw or paint or doddle. That didn’t matter much, seeing I’m an artist, with all the heart and soul of an artist. All the making of what an artist should be.
Drafted somewhere in the pain of 3rd grade staring me down on the blue and white lines. Blobs and blobs of something and a prick of blood in the middle where I’d once stuck myself with left handed scissors. My pop-up monster didn’t glow. Or have fangs or six strange eyes. Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was human or maybe it was me.
I had it etched in my brain that art was supposed to be beautiful. It was supposed to be mysterious on the journey of the greater, unimaginable that God like thing. Maybe becoming apart of the big blue sky, of the dreary clouds so heavy, on the pulse of rage and pollution. Drooping with the possibilities of footsteps.
The kind droplets that etch in deep in the brain,
sounds of God laughing, walking on water. Stepping out of heaven for a quick moment to lift up a little girl or a dying world, to feel wanted like art and accepted like something God made while laughing. ~kindness sister Krissy
Krissy Mosley Ministries 