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
My life is a singing bowl
levitating over the song in my head
sometimes I simmer on repeat
sometimes -nimble, sometimes I catch the light
having conversations with my darkness
sometimes beautiful things, sometimes I just be there
bathing, dripping in the goodness
My life too is a singing bowl ~kindness sister Krissy
in my private moment of stolen grief
by public views of what appears
to be a happier version of me
what appears in blink of thunder and flash
to protect brokenness as leaky puddles
of someday when change comes
someday when the world is full stupid some-days
we can’t be tired of being sick and tired too long
because too many of us are dying under the burden of grief
head stones that roll away love in private pastures, shouting to the pieces of the soul that fly. Stay a little longer and let me be human with holes in the middle of my flesh and wounds that remember the safety in the someday when we go home where love is~kindness sister Krissy
our eyes meet
in the coolness of the evening
where
I still believe in sunshine
where goodness can be
in all that is good
everything that good is made of
must lie somewhere in a hidden field of red poppies
powerful enough to heal a desperate
world.
~kindness sister Krissy
I attended a drive through service
not like the fried chicken joint on the corner
or the liquor store that’s never
close. This worship, broken, by parked cars in cramp
parked spaces. Horns tutted, as tambourines.
the shocks on our SUV’s are gone. Reverberating
communion, the preacher dressed in gladness
through the madness of a pandemic
we joined car to car to worship
under the sunshine, under the decaying cross
dripping with mortals singing.
Three block away from where I live
in nature we drive away
having received God in our cars.
kindness sister Krissy
Dear God
we are broken people
in a broken world
with broken things
and broken dreams
and broken spirits
God you know
the pieces of us
how they fly
how they fit
put us together
like humans
with kind hearts
and kind spirits
with smiles on our faces
~kindness sister Krissy
when I am broken, I remember what wholeness is…
Hello, Morning its been a while since
you and I sat down -to share a hug or a smile.
these days don’t come easy, there’s been lots of soul-washing -feelings,
feels like latter rain of latter days
cloud gatherings that tell me how God dips my coffee-made soul deep down in honey
then I’m not alone and the bees are there to pollinate my tears into honeycombs
that tells me all my fears have drawn to the surface something that’s always been eroding
and finally when there’s nothing left to save
my soul and I find morning
kindness sister
Krissy Mosley Ministries 