Monthly Archives: October 2019

Poetry Undone:




everywhere I go in my dreams,

I ‘ve been an old woman,

a goat, a slave, then I am young

Phillis Wheatley, reading wa-a-y before my time

on the precipice of tiny clad-anchors, holding mighty ships

together, the bit in a horse’s mouth carrying precious cargo by the saddle,

sobbing up direction,

relics of fleshy-pound clay.  Sutures of umbilical cord strung long lineages/women spilling into children- children spilling into themselves – themselves spilling back into graves

laughter hanging out with baptist…

post-slavery we-free-people – still understanding freedom/exhausted/spoiled on another mans’ misfortunes

that freedom might not have been an understatement – blue haze/ built in-spoon

making revolution /never been pretty in pink

dress for the ball.

smell death coming/running/trying to get the blood out the bone/

running/moving up yonder/playing song and shadow

kindness sis krissy






Do It Your Self: Book Tree

73395464_510478603108089_1112111541404041216_nIdeas to implement/improvement in my community and in my home( my original family photo in home book tree

this fall break gifted(me) – A mother of three with this notion of creating a book tree and after thoroughly searching my house for books. The kids and I had more than enough books. I must say we had blast watching the books fall. Quickly learning we needed to youtube this idea.

At our local library – the books are neatly stacked with lights to adorn and so we attempted to do the same. So after trying, and falling and leaning books here is the final result.

Now my kids say- “mom you know I wanted to read that book but now it’s in the book tree now. In which I replied – we still have the E-copied version so no excuses. Looking at the book tree the kids gather around to read more. The lights are calming. A gentle reminder to stop and read is so inviting.

And here is my shorten to-do list of other ideas

*start a crisis hotline in my community( I just found out we didn’t have one)

*create a free hugs event- I believe in human touch- we’ll live longer

* save a little more for rainy days

*give away umbrellas and gently used coats

*give away in condition hair products that I bought but never used to the women’s


if you have any please list them below.



I’ve been the invisible friend, the cowlick in the middle of the scalp. Parted sideways, pitching tents for newcomers, A broomstick of sortments, a  lampshade – a tender flicker listening. Flowering others in light

what I’ve been…

When you walked, your shoes stepped over mine, the bumble, the busy/ tend not to see. while there are more fountains /they’ve always been- colored ones, white ones, Latino, cisterns salted with the same steam. Heated from the same mud.

My friends, she’s always speaking

as if I can’t,

“she meant to say”

“sorry – she spoke out of turn”

buzzing under my fog- no I didn’t/watch it/ I’m walking here too

“I know she didn’t bend far over enough, to let you pass.” “Hey, are those new shoes? They look nice on you”

“Where you’d get them? I like that pink lace, iced out/high tops”

I bent down to rub the corner of my toe- to feel it ain’t broke, no parts missing

my thoughts/ belong to hers/ I am the Moabite/ woman at the well/ at high noon

everyone thirst,

I let even you drink first, a common courtesy I believe

my sip will taste different

by the time I start – the waters are warmer now, fountains running, over boiling

I don’t mind – room temperature but from now on, I won’t let nobody

not even you,

my friend, burn my tongue

kindness sis. Krissy (free photo pixabay)

God Grant Me One Sign:







(free photo pixabay)



I listened to a women’s life story. How the sky became her home. How the trees kept her company when the windy -barks, lean and blow. The clouds to be her pillows on the cold October park bench. Her wavy-coiled black hair had a mind of it’s of own. Her full lips, spake of something I hadn’t yet known. She said

“I’ve never been lonely nor homeless” as long as I’ve had the sky. Wherever I’ve traveled or travailed,  God has been watching and that’s good enough for me.” “I may not have the latest iPod or the lastest touch screen.”

“I’ve got pillars of clouds- some days they’re my angels, beautiful set-moons that mirror God’s reflection.”

“And when the morning comes, it reminds me -this is my home. Robust, rotund -green and full -I’ve always wanted my living room. Big, cozy -free.”

“A fireplace- when the sun goes pink, right before the night-blankets and tucks me in.”

One house of mercy

uncounted windows of love

40 years in the making – breaking everyone

cream-colored porches

scented cinnamon twigs

twisting in the distance, one sense of purpose -the soul searches and searches

praying for a sign of the dove.

kindness sis. krissy

It’s Personal


In the early afternoon on a Sunday, October morning it would the last time we lived on Diamond ST. High-rise/torn down/ up and coming/ sun after sun/downtown moons so bright they be blinded by the night-glare/ somewhere watching nightmares inside our dreams

uncovering – the rotten stink of the city-bust and busted potholes of the city, some broken lights- blinking back times, roll away corner boys slumped over in their underwear. rollaway/ dumpsters on fire/Down to the wire/living/sunny-side-up

fresh eggs/no fishing/ no wishing/ fresh frogs/ no jumping

Dear anxiety on living/this will be the last time I let somebody run me off -from where I’ve been – where I spent my earnest dollars- where I laid my hat for the last twenty-seven years

what about my dreams, what about- what’s happening to me…

kindness sis. krissy

Rivers Fly

My babies

I know grace, like I know things fallen, and rivers fly- carrying a raging love.

I know hurt like things dying, and rivers fly -carrying a raging love

She’s a mother and a child

Mother of a saint

son of preacher man

my friend,


haven’t been good -much

losing love, I’ve lost touch


walking through the world, shoes on backward

looking at the sun, upside down…

combing through the rivers, searching for a raging love

Mother’s hold your daughters,

father’s love your son

its the only raging love 🙂

kindness sis. krissy



standing at the edge of the water,

buzzing cicadas, leaning trees, gurgling Lilly pads – its the sound our lives makes,

twenty years before- unsettled songs – made their landing,

rainbows on the floor, wringing out my eyelids, dried-up old dishrags

can’t wipe away -what’s spilling over,

telling all my sorrows- it won’t last

can’t color over problems- that’s not gonna solve them

can’t drown away that strange land

spent too long-wondering will it ever change

rainbows to the sky- telling my old blessings

don’t pass me by,  down here in the lyric,

in my spirit,

in my Sunday clothes

down at the waters

incomplete but I’m coming out a new me.

kindness sis. Krissy