Dear clutter, it’s been swell. Living underneath the piles of flimsy wash-cloths and moldy shelves.
I’ve tried, and you’ve lied, about the mess nobody makes.It takes courage to thoroughly clean,
Beneath basements and baseboards.
Look what we’ve become!
Shabby and raggedy,always nagging bout the times when you was as fine as oatmeal.
Please.
I’m not asking.Still my space..
My tears are no ordinary waters.
It was here, my gut rose to take its place.Its gonna be alright.
My life, is gonna be alright.Have a small bite,
These rainy cycles of loving me.All because I indulged in dark cherry, brownies …
Wait never mind the calories…
Got down in the bottom of skillet,
feeling good…
She was not just a pretty orange to peel.Her vitamin c, drove back the mucus of icicles.
Hacking deeply like rusty faucets,
sputtering brown,
then yellow ,almost pasty clear.
She would not quit, come too far in the snow.
Open the oceans wide and you’ll find me.
In the arms of hope,
I’m finding my way to life….
She picked and scratched her edges.Her uterus burst forth in hunger.
By default she gravitated toward evil and worshipped,
in meal,in song,in suffering.
Trying to hold crazy together.
Her crooked places made her stumbled in
Amen,Amen Amen.
Her Halleluiah, swallowed vigorously the evil she had married in her head,
sinner and saint.
Amen.Amen.Amen
She would be driven out in bullet holes,HIV,and over grown-fur coats.
Trying to hold crazy together.
Amen.Amen.Amen
Run.Run.
Run with your Amen
Trying to hold crazy together…
I write to keep my rhythm and string.Sometimes Its all I have, while life abandon’s me.Centering all my ticks and tocks.Cultivating these itchy thoughts. A healthy word a day keep the demons at bay. Regenerating word-cells ; if it were not for writing I would be alone.
Poet:Krissy Mosley
She took her mind out for a short walk.Along the way,the left brain said to the right.
“They divided us and now we must work together!”
The shadows we boxed ,longing for stillness.Fragmented cavities of uncertainty.
Turning onto Cherry street; ant piles shaped the X sign on the sidewalk.
Little dirty children we use to be.Her spirit whistled like the wind.Her body found new land with skin and algae.Under holy waters she bathed daily.
Erupted tides of new beginnings.
Poet Krissy Mosley
I saw a homeless man,shoveling urban trash,
broken glass and all the city’s gumbo;
boiling with winter’s feet.
No pity he plowed
Philly’s streets.
His ringing cell phone surprised my empty pockets.
Rolling onto highways asking speeding cars for change.
The iron cage spoke plain.
“God Bless you girl,
all men are human,
we all just the same.”
Poet Krissy Mosley ©2014
Krissy Mosley Ministries 