Featured post

Generations Raising Themselves:

I’m more myself now than I ever was.
When I look in the mirror. I don’t see the sad eyed-girl with low self-esteem. Or the abandonment of my mother. To have a second husband and leave us. That was her choice.

To leave her kids with their grandmother during their teenage years. (Never -mind my dead father).

As I bent down to tie my shoe. I let my mind wander back, to that girl, I used to be. On the floor of grandma’s corner house, faced down into the carpet. Hands over my face. I’m barely breathing. Tears falling out the sides.

My brother and his friends are teasing me for wearing the same winter hat.  Day in, day out I wore that hat. It was starting to be really hot. I still hadn’t put a comb to my hair. Let alone, look at that hot mess sitting on my head. So I did, what I thought most 13-year-olds do when no ones looking. I stuck a wool hat on my head and kept it moving. Until those boys snatched it off.

Then all that shame, all that matted-down nappy-shame ran over me. My younger cousin walked in the middle of my disgrace. In the middle of their full on the enjoyment of sheer bullying. She covered me with her love. Being all grown, at six years old. She wiped my tears. Pulled my body off the floor.

I made it. Past their scrutiny, past their foul words. Past the reget of not knowing how to take care of myself.

We’d become best friends that day. She too needed a mother. I cooked her meals, walked her to school. She introduced me to an old school beautician in our neighborhood. The rest is history
God is good like that.~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley

Crucified but Not Alone:

Photo by Vanderlei Longo on Pexels.com

I know I’m nothing like Jesus and those who would be crucified 

the smell of fear bombards across county lines
Salvation in the air, in these troubled times,

coming to the creator,
earnest pining cry, budding from its curdled shell

thrown upon ourselves, for the saving ourselves 

to learn the mysteries of a fallen cross, in between two thieves

athirst, bursting, piercing in his side

humanity comes alive, in the darkness

a pinch of glory

communion wafers, paper thin,

and waters in the blood 

nobody but nobody can carry this cross 

alone.

kindness sis Krissy

Running, Don’t Stop Running, Towards the Light And Don’t Look Back: Kindness Diary,

Dear kindness, I feel there’s so much to say. It seems like the world has swallowed a nightmare pill. Somewhere between earth and mars -we are here. Are we ready to wake up?

I needed to run and write, like my life depends upon it. Only because I believe my life has wrapped itself around my faith.

These are the moments, we use our darkness to pursue light. Running to catch fire. Gently light the wings of the butterfly, running to carry tear drops in teacups. Running…

Moments of the darkness,

“We wear the mask” it shades our fears but not our eyes 

 unforgotten missions, weeping warriors,

our sighs’ our pleas,
our hearts open, God, let it be…

“Nevertheless, not my will, but thine”

“surrendered battles, veils and temples, vinegar, and thorns

to quench a thirst,

unrequited love

souls to save,

a place called home, so let it be.

running, where the light turns,

running around in circles,

running with the wind upon our backs

 please don’t look back, ” I saw a new heaven”

” I saw a new earth” 

kindness sis,Krissy

PUSH: Pray Until Something Happens

(Home Photos of my indoor garden)

Dear Kindness, starting a garden without a green thumb is overwhelming. I felt like nothing would grow. After 4 weeks, I dropped the entire box of seedlings. I almost cried. Okay I did. I sat there in dirt for a moment.

Dirt seemed to fly every which way. I swept my little pods and placed them in the box.

Saddened by my butter-fingers. No one to blame but me. I’m always dropping something or knocking something over. I started praying, humming a little ditty in my spirit.

Praying over my house, over my plants, over my neighbors, over this pandemic and everything in between.

Praying and cleaning as usually. I went to bed and got up the next morning to my surprise things are growing.

Now, don’t ask me, what’s what? At this point. I’m overjoyed!

I just have to keep going and let nature run its course.

Plants are resilient little things, and so are we.

your Kindness sister, Krissy

Hope On My Street: Collaboration with PrayerPower4Today

If ever there was such such a thing as Virtual Prayers -Hugs. This is the place to be! https://praypower4today.wordpress.com/ These ladies have become my prayer friends across the internet: There’s Sue giving out her wisdom, Auntie Ruth, delivering virtual booster shots of goodness, might I add, every now and then “a virtual punch in the arm.” Knocking out those bad vibes.

Then there’s Lori, she’s my writing sister, even though we’ve never physically met. I’ve been touched by her soul. Felt the warmth of her being, seen goodness flow from page to page. I’ve been brought back to life with her words. ( go on over – you won’t be disappointed ) Tell them, the kindness sister sent ya! https://praypower4today.wordpress.com/

Thanks Aunt Ruth for the 411 connect on this one. Lori and I share a love for poetry.

I think it’s only fitting for National Poetry Month.

Photo by Lynnelle Richardson on Pexels.com

Hope inside the soul has way of living in perilous times. Just when I think I’ve hit my lowest point. Or the bottom breaks from underneath me. There is hope stirring. Even on my street. Where the Bodega has closed, the young boy survived the latest shooting, at the church on 21 street. Recently he came to give his life back to God.

We taste hope just as the first lizard of the morning sticks out her tongue 
You’d not notice.
It takes, as they say, an eye.

to catch the beauty of the blue-winged dragonfly
Still, spring cannot be contained;
it bursts into bud: daffodils nodding,
blonde and careless, trees shaking down

three-doors down, in a small caddis, vagrant-vacant lot dripping with hunger 
petals, unseasonal flurries. New grass
pokes shyly from the lawn, and smells,
cut, just as it did last summer.
 
Hope has no fairy tales with rewarding endings 
We are not the same, shaken
as only the most microscopic
menaces can make us. Yet.
Hopes lives in the lives of shattered things 
Nothing can impede the rush to Easter. 
The stone rolls away, light as an egg.
destined for rapture, of better things
What lies inside is awaiting us.

poetry by Lori Strawn, (Lori’s words are Italic, mine are bold)

your Kindness sister Krissy, https://praypower4today.wordpress.com/

A Riot of Missed Spellings : Aka Lifer’s Write Poetry NaPoWriMo

Photo by Yonghyun Lee on Unsplash

Hi everybody I’m kicking off NaPoWriMo with a funny Poem. If you’d like to join the fun 30 days of poetry here’s the link http://www.napowrimo.net/

My life – a knickknack worthless- series of bad spellings,

a bunch of misfires, hootings and shootings

blank on the page

Good morning you fool- you fool!

Failing even on Grammarly.

Double down my character, personified

Looney & Tooney

Porky the pig/ Elmyra’s got the gig

try out for the the circus you- silly- writer-you

“I just wanted to love’m”

and squeeze my life

into miniature size abundance,

play the dozens on more time

but- but

“that’s ALL Folks”

kindness sister Krissy Mosley

To Every Dark Cloud, Speak Life:

Dear Kindness, I’ve always lived facing something if it wasn’t, one thing it was ten other things. A great man once said “you must be able to weep and still be counted as warriors.”

That’s how I’ve been feeling as of late. I feel like sobbing the night away. I feel uncertainty like muddy clouds – my tiny raindrops, are for the angels to carry.

Sometimes when things get to heavy the human body has ways of discarding what it no longer needs. In the words of the good book. I’m paraphrasing, “weeping may endure for one night, but joy must come” joy will come, and we shall have joy after while”

Somehow, after that,

I rise up, with a little more grit,

I rise with a little more strength,

I rise with a little more getting up,

that everything is going to work out,

just fine.

kindness sister Krissy