When we sat down by the rivers in Zion
When we wore our songs as garments
With every passing tear leaping from our faces
There we were visited by our reflections of dreams
Dangerously collaborating when “ye were gods”
Holding nightfall in our purses

The brocade of morning dancing on our tongues
And we reciprocated the testimonies every saint,
Resurrecting new life in elders, whose blood still cries out from the ground.
Then every war must cease, to scatter the ashes of nations before us.
Seven trumpets will sound the halt in time, Daniel standing in the holy place. Revealing in summation, the first Adam, the second coming

Krissy Mosley 2016

Drumming on the river’s soul.
Clandestine meetings, hushing the rush.
To be with you, away again.
Moving waters breathed in
a little stillness,
a little joy.
Away from shallows in
deeper the winding stairs.
I am the girl before the river, trying to see the world’s reflection.
I am the girl with no hair, shaven but prepared to see my own eyes.
In turn, I’ll be the river moving waters.
Breathed in,
a little stillness,
a little joy.

Don’t you know I physically perfect my broken wings?
The hangnails that prevent me from gliding
The inner high rises lower cautionary
Don’t you know my dance vibrates every appetite?
Blatantly, dis-labeling who I should be
Therefore, I invite you, get to know
Come closer, I am human
Come close and read my signs,
Blood of victims, no more
Bubonic plague, no more
Blue-hearted frozen and distilled
Transcending gender
Don’t you know, my naked truths are rights,
I found my skin like a virgin
My body, my life
My parts, are mine

Kristina Neal Mosley ©2016 “Saltwater On My Knees”

The purpose of falling wonders under hollow world’s like this one.
Tailoring lightening in our hands, as the world, will breathe on you.
Wisdom gills’ are open.

Then the indescribable knowing,
pain has tied its’ shoes to the knees of suffering.
The calling of our names proved that we belong under the falling lights.

Here in the crowning of mornings’ she takes her rest.
In this knowing, we are more than merely surviving, more than the songs we have feathered. Over the tears that march down streets. Burning strength to go on.

So go on,
Chant with the winds that rush. Spread out and part the waters on both sides. Crossover into this knowing, the purpose of falling wonder,

that you are the miracle in waiting, you are the necessary element, you are bone, you are light, you are befalling, wonder in this knowing.

Falling flat on our faces was never a part of our story.
We knew it now, the more gentle we were strolling down
unpaved roads that only we could pave.

Our hands made in the evening- springs, lurking between the half light and half- nighted skies. Our lips firmly planted, but our feet, would pick up the river and move it, wherever there was turmoil or the weeping for freedom.
We’d picked up the river and lay it down undoing, the doings, as we sought out more of the river, more affection for our bodies.

And we could regenerate change, as the river would move along the coast of our limbs, wellness was always within our reach.

Picking up the river has a call,
has a knowing
has a touch
Has a picking up and laying it down.
Undoing the doings wherever there was bereavement,
wherever the weeds grew even mortar and bricks could not refuse

The river’s urgent run
Could not refuse, the best part of the river,
could not hold the waters too long or else you’d be a part of it.

How goes the dreams
of dreamers on the wheels?
Soaking suffering till it oozes.

Cooling by the streams.
And the slightest fainting,
in the scuffle, masquerading
on the dime.

Priming pumps,
Puncturing steam, on and on
Out of time.

Gnats that will not leave,
So you fit and fight,
winds that are not there.

So you stare, and you worry
over needs over hurried.
Lancing luck, on the dime.
Masquerading, battlefields,
You thought you won but did not last.

Come to yourself
Take a long, long look.

And you will see,
Blessings in the streams.

Our songs are filled with contextual transcripts.
Moving upon algorithms,
Centering, rivers of kindred-night.
Lovers tasting love for the first time.

With such passionate flow
And since love began gushing,
For the first time, we knew
Love sweetened

Where the rivers are young
Fools are too

Where the rivers are calling
Love reached tipping-wells

Where nights of kindred rivers
Gushing with savoring meat

For the first time – our hearts
Walked out to meet to her.

google image- Kurt Jackson

Poetry Krissy Mosley

Somewhere deep inside, I release the invisible me. 
Somewhere deep inside, I start to believe –
Somewhere deep inside my light/ dark soul.
Somewhere past the train tracks.
Somewhere in Mississippi- burning.
Somewhere beyond the great spirits

Somewhere deep inside,
Somewhere around the tables of time
Somewhere underneath the world winds

Somewhere way down in sleep
Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning
Somewhere past gravity’s hold
Somewhere deep inside my frazzled strings
Somewhere, inside me

Poem From my ebook “Seventh Fire ” by Krissy Mosley 2016

free google image