Monthly Archives: January 2023

Crooked That’s Art: One Sentence: I’m learning to love all the tiny pieces of me.

Smile, Love & Give ( taking in the moments with laughter )

What would you do if you won the lottery?

I would love to travel. Create safe houses for women. I would love put my kids in better schools. Giving them the opportunities I didn’t have. Most of all, I’d give to grassroot organizations , reopen the library that is shut down in my neighborhood. I can see myself giving because, that’s what I do now.

I would love to think money is the answer. I know it can solve a lot of problems. However, on the real, what would I do? Winning the Lottery for me is much deeper one that is spiritual, i.e. enlightenment, long life, with good health, watch the children grow up with no #childhoodtrauma…. funny enough, I was in a playful mood this weekend. So I played the lotto, and won 4 dollars, ha! 🤣Winning the lottery is about living life. Having fun. I plan to do every bit of that! 😊🙌🏾🌻🤘🏾💙 (that’s me as a little girl)

P.S. everything I said, I’m working on. I don’t have to wait, I’m winning right now…. 💙

Sunday Nourishing Love: #Prayers, #Prayersforlove My heart goes out to the Family Tyre Nichols

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the wellsprings of nourishing souls

their dwellings of inner sacredicity

holy journeys, pieces of the one/ whole-

being , where we began

beginnings of the heart as grains of glass & sand

collapsing into everything

everything and nothing is as it seems

so much so, somethings good-bad

like chaos echoes kindness in humanity

how can we live without harming ?

what does wisdom do now?

how do i stop the screaming faces, so jarring?

o’ holy souls /verses in crowded interceding

praying for me to remember,

don’t you remember lapping up the sun in your sleep,

don’t you remember tracking the sound of the deep,

the face of God, the breath of grace, breathing me in the morning,

the alleluia chorus,

and finally a place,

by the author of A Poet’s Vision

Sharing More: From My Out Of Print Book: Saltwater On My Knees #poetry #writerslift

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Healing Sisters:

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My sisters write healings’ til there is only sacred breath, she heals as writes, she heals as she plays, she heals as she prays, she heals as she chants, she heals as she sings, she heals as she dances through the words she speaks, of former wounds and making of these wounds “beauty for mapping”.

Sifting and shifting higher worthiness, all the ways of her own. In worthiness, she is worthy to be blessed, and worthy to bless others.

She is worthy of love. Worthy of loving herself, worthy of her own imperfections. Worthy of holding the high watch of her own peace. Worthy of sacred space & sacred ritual. Worthy to be forgiven & worthy to forgive.

In that of what we are healing-art transformed, for some of us, the most brutal and teeth cutting existence through the fluidity of colorless liquid of miracles, flowing out of our bodies, blood like water, to watch our souls pounding in cadence, “oh’ how, we must sing the Lord’s song in a strange land”~ your poet Krissy Mosley ©2022

Encourage Yourself:

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Reminding myself

that I’m more,

than a number, or a like on the page,

Morning Practice: Prayer & Meditation

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I pray one day,

you wake to find you are person you dreamed of,

with a life fulfilled,

& a smile upon your face

~your poet Krissy Mosley

by the author of A Poet’s Vision

My Dream Home:

i give my dreams a home: a place, my dreams can feel loved, where my dreams can take off their shoes, at the end of a long day’s journey,

i believe, my dreams love out loud, they love outside of me, my dreams have fireplaces all of their own, cozy up to their own kitchen tables, make themselves chamomile tea, in teacups of wooden carved-makings,

my dreams need lots of space to move around in, to be welcome, to feel safe in, to explore the world within me.

i welcome my dreams/ my dreams live here, there’s a welcome mat at the front door, there’s chicken soup for those weary nights, you have to keep the lights burning, a warm bath to rest those old spines,

a bit of jazz and soft splashes of rain, and wind to nourish the shadow- soul, hints of cinnamon, and winter spices tiptoe lightly, beside the dreamer and her dreams,

across the window sill there are dream-pods,

with names of things she’s planting,

each one, a new love,

each one, a starry-night,

blooming rainbows in their own timing,

gently she says,

carry fire, and let it be magnified,

honestly/ unearth/ dreaming-sorrow,

the ones she let die without watering, plucking and pruning.

pour libation, give your dreams a song,

a witnessed potential, feather -spirits,