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….
Black Waters Spice,
You do something nice,
A comfy currant with cinnamons and cayenne.
Inside my Low-days,
Fishy-grey thoughts.
I do blame,
wash away with Lavender & Sage.
My black waters spice
I found my happy, smells good too…
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…
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
While the shoes are gathered together
I think of Philly,
no feet walking, just shoes
of where we could go
aligned with blue-black night
I think of London’s skyline
I think of my people
Old man Jack
frozen in the snow
Of “Maya Angelou”
“All God’s children have shoes”
I think of El Paso
and I’ll put on shoes
Poet:Krissy Mosley
Walking this path to share a common suffering,
that only the living know.
My feet found the puddles and I did not dance.
My eyes saw the rivers that I had not cross,
and no one can measure the beauty in letting go.
In step and stride, in the swampy holes ,
Out numbered by the trees.
They teach me to stand.
Without the arms that use to hold me
Stand,
Without a signal nor light
stay here
on this path,that you find,
right.
-Krissy Mosley
I been waiting for Nigerian thunder,
moving against cast-iron trees
cleansing my skin with maple sap
lost in my native tongue tapping my hands
towards the land
my song,my fight
I’m waiting on me…
Krissy Mosley2014 all rights reserved
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 