Krissy Mosley Ministries

Dear Hope, I’ve been extra careful not to use your name in vain. Or become too spirited too soon. Mama’s always said not to be getting my hopes up. Although I’ve often seen it come alive in little children. I think it’s because they’re closer to God than all of us. All I know, we could use a spell or two, even use Emily’s Dickinson’ “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all. ”

A dear expectation, of all this good. All that is miraculous. Drinking from fountains, flowing from the vines of healing trees. Fill our cups, God…

Hope for the nations
Hope for the homeless soldier
Hope for the abandon
Hope for the immigrant
Hope for the lonely
Hope for the friendless
Hope for the shut-in
Hope for the mothers
Hope for the motherless
Hope for the childless
for the dying
for the living
for the school teacher
for the police officer
for trauma victims
for social workers
for you and me
and those who have no hope ~kindness sister Krissy

For the first time in forever, I appreciated the silence. The humming heater gently soothing the cold air. The front door wide open, allowing the foggy steam to blanket a warmth to the door.

Meanwhile, daybreak went rogue. Stretched across all the shadows in the night  Then the soul-people gather themselves together huddled through tapered curtains of flesh.

A prize to be alive and not know it. Prize- dreams for the soul-people, dreams that die and are born again. Dreams, staying up all night. Dreams that turn souls into rivers.

rivers bursting through the cracks.
strong, lighthearted, genuine, persistent,
gullable steep, shallow memories.
walking rivers joined at the hip.

standing bodies
what’s eating these waters
in gutters bursting
half skating skeletons

American dreams eating us,
spittle down seeds something
we can grow
rivers, I suppose
un-used rivers
cold, chemicalized,
calculated tides but
what’s a river
with all our old shoes
torn, crunchy cereal boxes
tires, bloated fish
oil spills, garnish
sacred, holy prayers

rivers gotta run
gotta flood out ~kindness sis. Krissy

God is both all of it and nothing of it. In essence, all of it. Then the mind can have none effect on the infinite God that lies within. None of it, known or will ever know, such great tender-fields that holds a mind, a world inside a world, beneath such beauty, in the midst chaos, inseparable stillness.

then I am  whole,
then I embrace,
then I exchange,

a little ” i ”

ignited,
endowed

“I am that I am.”
~kindness sis. krissy

Loving myself, for myself…

In running for my very life. I’ve run from some things that didn’t need running from, only to wind up running again. Although the hills have laughed at me for some time now. I have not forgotten the lesson in climbing.

The hills have a message of its own. The temperature of the hills has pushed me back to the beginning. And I still climb, contending with its pressure. I pull. I ache. I met force with stumbling limbs over here over there.

All my life running is what I knew. To run out of my pain into fear. Run out of that into pressure. Running for my healing. Running to keep out the voices. Running the distance for my life.

Then I got tired sat still on that hill and I listened. Its glowing winds surpassing. Even the rocky steps relaxing, with green grass so sweet.

I could measure this small distance in defeat or finally,
I conclude the hills are me~kindness sis. Krissy

Many times, many times /till I had to give up the count
trying to love somebody/ let somebody love me
and there on the 23 bus stop
A slug crawling/ he trying to find it
Deeply his eyes rolled down into the sewer
slowly, softly/ can’t nobody here you
so dank, so much so
He gasped, I saw it in his eyes
been shot at the curb waiting for the 42 bus
its’ always late every Tuesday, around 6:30 it’ll be late
He might have lived if the bus came or somebody could’ve loved him
say man “don’t die, don’t fall like this”
too much of that happening so what another blk man dead

but I wanted to tell my awaiting self
hug your self/ ain’t nobody got time
loving myself
talking to myself
reaching myself
holding myself
smiling back at me
lending me out to other folks for a short while
until I needed myself again
this is plenty
this is love
calming finger-tips

calming wrinkles
calming eyes
calming lashes
calming whisper
calming pains
this is me, alive~kindness sis. Krissy

A tiny moment to capture
all the light I’d found

the warmth of summer
the morning’ dew, bursting-light

violet-sunset,
winter’s whites on the ground

Glass crack candles
wax pouring out

Hand-me-down prayers of the saints
translating tears/ of blood and faith

tell it to the river
where the river parts ways

The sky carry waters
since I could remember

our prayers became a sanctuary
flimsy little tears setting sail

When I think of a prayer I think
of women who slay dragons in their sleep

I think of the elder mothers/ she placed her faith in me
Held it to the river/ placed sanctuary in my soul

Home is prayer, in time I’d get back there
hold up that light/strike aflame or three
anchor my knees for those alone
fighting invisible dragons

a tiny prayer even
the smallest one
holds all the light
I’ve found~kindness sis. Krissy