Monthly Archives: November 2017

My Dear Writer Have Heart:


It is a place, where the edges of the stream are warmly touched by dandelions, having to survive the tumultuous winds writing and I stare off bare and rugged since 1992. Drawing out bricks in the heart. Shooting blanks at times. Pecking at the bone, it’s dimly whittled form is no more but covered in the fluid of my life.

Yet on being – the eggshell that can hold the yolk and fetter the chain.

On impact, in toe with the children, who are pulling at magnetic speed thus we are writing not ideal, to say the least, but it works. The children are fencing and nagging at my computer screen. My yelling will be of no avail.

Carving out solid hours to fulfill my art is a small part of the challenge the other is finding activities that will hold the children while I write. Often I write emails or texts to myself to keep traction on my current projects.

For example, Dear writing, you’ll have to wait til dinner, while their mouths are full of meats and sweets then I’ll meet you at the pavilion – please you’ve forewarned me of the children. I’ve given my love, my arms, my blood and you’ll require the same.

P.S. even if it’s midnight, I’m coming to write.~KrissyMosley2017


To Whom I Belong:


In this place where my choices are alone but my own nonetheless.

In a place where sorry can’t cut through hurt.

Lonely are the roads to forgiveness.

Lonely paper smiles.

While they choke on safety. Too hard to smooth down. A fraying side too weak to hold us together now. Too careful to let the waters part. And so we pray for a warm rising of the broken sun.

A warmth so strong it forgives our private hurts. Just one single blade of rays would reach through my forest of loneliness and see that I belong…

In this place.