Monthly Archives: December 2014

To the Pen…

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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

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Sisters

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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

Hundred and Four

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This time when I grow up.I do it right.With no hashtags,scratches toward the back.When I grow up,I’ll see the  moon souls’.When I grow up in this world,I’ll start over at hundred and four. Smile at little more.Cry a little harder.Scream a little louder,venturing in and out of sleep.

Poet:Krissy Mosley

Judah’s Birth

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I am so thankful of this Motherhood experience;just as it is with all the crying and laughter.When I think of Christmas I think of Judah’s Birth

A Poet's Vision

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.

The night fall of 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 get her prep right away…

What was wrong? Having my baby too soon ;

Underdeveloped lungs ,bad prenatal care, transfered from here to there.

Throwing up my bowels is what I remember ,eight months three weeks

.Bleeding internally.

“Count to ten”, said he the doctor,

placing the oxygen mask over my face .

It was dark all day…. 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…

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Together

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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

Frosty Day

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I came here, ready to write the day away.

I stubbed my toe against a corner closet-step.

I warmed my coffee pot instead. 

Flopping down to the chair that needed me, like everything else in the room:

the children crying, my plants are dying, the cold called me too.

I grabbed my socks put them on, fed the babies with tiny spoons.

Sipped my mocha piping hot and then I could not write.

Ah-ey, there goes my day.