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
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It was more than a sickness.
It was more than love,
more than,
fear and faith;
it was more than a date.
This thing and I;
more than still-toed shoes
dancing good bye.
God and I,
became lovers,
became joy,
became sweet buttermilk coffee
together without exasperation.
More than a swimmers smile
more than death, more than life,
I am a conqueror,
this God and I.
Poet: Krissy Mosley
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She birthed
laughter, through prayer and rhythm.
I can hear heavy moans multiplying;
like evergreens planted by the waters.
Gurgling plops of translucent hope.
No more bleaching cream or formulas’ for cocoa butter tones.
The patches of skin laid by the Almighty
imperfectly red-brown
I am ,
beauty of peace,
this is my healing.
Poet Krissy Mosley© 2014
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Blind
Lifeless itches,gazing out loud.
Why God
us,black.
Like black was my disability,
like my limitation.
Arrayed with watering blue beauty
saturated with sulfur and determination.
Open my eyes that I might see.
Open my eyes that I might let some stuff go.
Put money in my cup,
sitting ,
rocking the wall.
Blocked by a sighted limitation
denied smells of musty desperation .
Its was not blindness but a loss of vision.
Not blindness but a loss of direction,
Not blindness but “shiftlessness”
God why us
black,
Faulty lines had me believe
I was blind.
Poet Krissy Mosley
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Judah’s Birth
Men say, giving birth is a beautiful thing…
I agreed silently until my turn came.
Laying flat on a table.
exposed, vulnerable,
anticipating the cry of a newborn.
Nightfall – raining, pouring, down on the windows.
my body traveling through multiple changes
10 centimeters deep Dilating…
Sounds of medical staff in the distance.
I could hear doctors say to get her prep right away.
What was wrong?
Having my baby too soon.
Underdeveloped lungs, bad prenatal care, transferred from here to there.
Throwing up my bowels.
Eight months three weeks
Bleeding internally.
“Count to ten”, said the doctor,
placing the oxygen mask over my face.
Reflecting,
making peace with the soul maker.
I thought I was eating right; working so hard to keep my status of medical care and salary.
Going to school did I mention working.
The daily stress of being a wife, friend, keeping up w/ the status of my foes.
Pursuing my dreams.
listening to crowds, testify ,suck it up girl, don’t quit,
Legs and arms were swollen from being on my feet, consuming too much salt.
A prizefighter black eyes, white lips
I gave birth on the emergency table,
cutting my baby, out of me…
The nurse leaned, she said, “its all your fault you know”.
Day three up on my side.
Wheeled around to NICU, observing my daughter, fight for her life.
Three pounds 13 ounces tubes everywhere.
Staring at her frail body, watching her bones breathe under the hot light.
Crying and praying asking for forgiveness.
Telling God I didn’t know.
Pumping milk for a baby who couldn’t suck for several days.
I named her Judah.
Poet Krissy Mosley
Krissy Mosley Ministries 