Krissy Mosley Ministries

 

 

So many thoughts are dancing across my mind. As I try and post this. In the past, I was cracking 50,000 words by the seat of my pants.

Oh no, its’ here again it’s here! Deep breaths, Krissy.

This year I’ve taken a more even kill -attacking my novel with a little more planning. Do I suck, yeah! Most likely I will. Cracking up, as I spill the tea. Okay, so I’m a terrible speller. Which many on my blog may know quite well. I think poetry has been my vain for so long it’s hard to flip the switch sometimes. ( which even in poetry my flaws show)

Nevertheless, year after year, I try and suck -onto the page as fast as my- long bony fingers will allow. I do feel more prepared this year. Strangely, yes, which can easily be my downfall. Call me superstitious, like the runner throwing up before the whistle blows -that’s me- my inners they’ be flying all over the place. Somersaults, backflips and the landing is somewhere -novel- somewhere- poetry. Somewhere questioning why in God’s green earth, why do I keeping trying my hand at writing. Only to have writing call my bluff.(sucker!)

In between all that in my head. I tend to drink plenty of water, eat my kids’ junk food. Hey! Only when they’re not looking( don’t judge, I got issues okay). My husband does try and pick up the slack for the month since he knows, I’m in writer’s mode and having all kinds of self-talks- character trips.

So here’s to another year if you’d like to be buddies my user name look for me under  Krissy Mosses and I’ll be writing at the stroke of midnight or rather crying whichever happens first. 🙂

Cheers to NaNoWriMo kindness sis. Krissy

 

 

 

There are multitudes of blessings waiting…

 

 

everywhere I go in my dreams,

I ‘ve been an old woman,

a goat, a slave, then I am young

Phillis Wheatley, reading wa-a-y before my time

on the precipice of tiny clad-anchors, holding mighty ships

together, the bit in a horse’s mouth carrying precious cargo by the saddle,

sobbing up direction,

relics of fleshy-pound clay.  Sutures of umbilical cord strung long lineages/women spilling into children- children spilling into themselves – themselves spilling back into graves

laughter hanging out with baptist…

post-slavery we-free-people – still understanding freedom/exhausted/spoiled on another mans’ misfortunes

that freedom might not have been an understatement – blue haze/ built in-spoon

making revolution /never been pretty in pink

dress for the ball.

smell death coming/running/trying to get the blood out the bone/

running/moving up yonder/playing song and shadow

kindness sis krissy

 

 

 

 

Ideas to implement/improvement in my community and in my home( my original family photo in home book tree

this fall break gifted(me) – A mother of three with this notion of creating a book tree and after thoroughly searching my house for books. The kids and I had more than enough books. I must say we had blast watching the books fall. Quickly learning we needed to youtube this idea.

At our local library – the books are neatly stacked with lights to adorn and so we attempted to do the same. So after trying, and falling and leaning books here is the final result.

Now my kids say- “mom you know I wanted to read that book but now it’s in the book tree now. In which I replied – we still have the E-copied version so no excuses. Looking at the book tree the kids gather around to read more. The lights are calming. A gentle reminder to stop and read is so inviting.

And here is my shorten to-do list of other ideas

*start a crisis hotline in my community( I just found out we didn’t have one)

*create a free hugs event- I believe in human touch- we’ll live longer

* save a little more for rainy days

*give away umbrellas and gently used coats

*give away in condition hair products that I bought but never used to the women’s

shelter

if you have any please list them below.

 

 

The drinking gourd beneath the cheery-red bricks. Set a watchman over dead trees.  They don’t wanna be dead anymore.

Ferryman on the river.

Don’t lose the night.

In the belly of the river over on the other side.

kindness sis. Krissy (free photo pixabay)

I’ve been the invisible friend, the cowlick in the middle of the scalp. Parted sideways, pitching tents for newcomers, A broomstick of sortments, a  lampshade – a tender flicker listening. Flowering others in light

what I’ve been…

When you walked, your shoes stepped over mine, the bumble, the busy/ tend not to see. while there are more fountains /they’ve always been- colored ones, white ones, Latino, cisterns salted with the same steam. Heated from the same mud.

My friends, she’s always speaking

as if I can’t,

“she meant to say”

“sorry – she spoke out of turn”

buzzing under my fog- no I didn’t/watch it/ I’m walking here too

“I know she didn’t bend far over enough, to let you pass.” “Hey, are those new shoes? They look nice on you”

“Where you’d get them? I like that pink lace, iced out/high tops”

I bent down to rub the corner of my toe- to feel it ain’t broke, no parts missing

my thoughts/ belong to hers/ I am the Moabite/ woman at the well/ at high noon

everyone thirst,

I let even you drink first, a common courtesy I believe

my sip will taste different

by the time I start – the waters are warmer now, fountains running, over boiling

I don’t mind – room temperature but from now on, I won’t let nobody

not even you,

my friend, burn my tongue

kindness sis. Krissy (free photo pixabay)

 

free photos -public domain pixabay

 

 

 

 

 

(free photo pixabay)

 

 

I listened to a women’s life story. How the sky became her home. How the trees kept her company when the windy -barks, lean and blow. The clouds to be her pillows on the cold October park bench. Her wavy-coiled black hair had a mind of it’s of own. Her full lips, spake of something I hadn’t yet known. She said

“I’ve never been lonely nor homeless” as long as I’ve had the sky. Wherever I’ve traveled or travailed,  God has been watching and that’s good enough for me.” “I may not have the latest iPod or the lastest touch screen.”

“I’ve got pillars of clouds- some days they’re my angels, beautiful set-moons that mirror God’s reflection.”

“And when the morning comes, it reminds me -this is my home. Robust, rotund -green and full -I’ve always wanted my living room. Big, cozy -free.”

“A fireplace- when the sun goes pink, right before the night-blankets and tucks me in.”

One house of mercy

uncounted windows of love

40 years in the making – breaking everyone

cream-colored porches

scented cinnamon twigs

twisting in the distance, one sense of purpose -the soul searches and searches

praying for a sign of the dove.

kindness sis. krissy

In the early afternoon on a Sunday, October morning it would the last time we lived on Diamond ST. High-rise/torn down/ up and coming/ sun after sun/downtown moons so bright they be blinded by the night-glare/ somewhere watching nightmares inside our dreams

uncovering – the rotten stink of the city-bust and busted potholes of the city, some broken lights- blinking back times, roll away corner boys slumped over in their underwear. rollaway/ dumpsters on fire/Down to the wire/living/sunny-side-up

fresh eggs/no fishing/ no wishing/ fresh frogs/ no jumping

Dear anxiety on living/this will be the last time I let somebody run me off -from where I’ve been – where I spent my earnest dollars- where I laid my hat for the last twenty-seven years

what about my dreams, what about- what’s happening to me…

kindness sis. krissy

I know grace, like I know things fallen, and rivers fly- carrying a raging love.

I know hurt like things dying, and rivers fly -carrying a raging love

She’s a mother and a child

Mother of a saint

son of preacher man

my friend,

 

haven’t been good -much

losing love, I’ve lost touch

 

walking through the world, shoes on backward

looking at the sun, upside down…

combing through the rivers, searching for a raging love

Mother’s hold your daughters,

father’s love your son

its the only raging love 🙂

kindness sis. krissy