Category Archives: Poetry

On The Other Side of Through:

when i think of all of the ways of i could have given up,

i could have told the world goodbye,

somehow i survived, the wayward June-bugs hopping into hopelessness,

somehow i mounted up the courage to face days i possibly didn’t love me,

i don’t know how , i made it, but

i did~ your Poet Krissy


Business Mantra:Where Dreams Are Made Reality…

I’m dreaming…

Books & Being Sanctuary

In the beginning, I see myself taking a stroll on the beach. My family is with me. The day is partly cloudy, partly sunny. There is a nice gentle breeze in the air. I feel it flowing through my hair.

I look to my left and to my right. I ask my family the big question, are we ready for the Grand Opening?

My beautiful kids nod in agreement. Soon we enter the place of Books &Being Sanctuary. My kids cut the beautiful red ribbons.

There is applause in the background ground. Cheers, and laughter fill the atmosphere. As we enter I see the climbing moss covering trellis. The luscious green blooming -flowers.

Inside there are books on the shelves. Art is in session. There is meditation. There is pottery classes, and painting, poetry workshops, and so much more.

I see myself leading poetry and prayer. I see myself dancing…

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Sitting Down, in progress…

it’s been a couple of rains since I’ve last sat down, next to my soul, like wet, weary, weathered hangers, rotted bones out on the clothes lines of otherness parts of me, consuming endurance like wicker rockers, missing upper teeth , gummy – out washing my words, like smiles, all smiled out, they greet me under the sunny haze on a Saturday night as dark crystal moon sitting, telling, gambling’s of my future, come home they say, relax they say, relish and be, for the sake of being your Poet Krissy Mosley all rights reserved 2023

Ode To The Negro Girl In My Soul: Happy Women’s Month

Ode to the negro girl in my soul , I find it odd to say, you think,  too mightily of what we have become, if you thought lunch counters, and sit ins were a problem, imagine walking down universal generalizations, in grocery stores where A, still can’t point to B, and not feel  swallowed between, cookie cutter hopes, and aisles where residential change is daunting,

there are no Langston Hughes, of my day, who dare to write of bodies stolen from the Motherland, bodies that sing of Freedom, bodies buried before daylight, bodies that can’t hold -free, and when they do , it must be in the key of silent, just another altered variable of Y ,  dark girls, Y-copper sands, Y- dark- black holes and gravity, 

everyday I chant, everyday I speak in verse, make my Jesus a negro girl, like prayers as dreams of steel in my soul, make my song , smothered ancestors of conception, yearning seas of glass, break heavy with sorrow, break full bowls like red-tents, womb-embraced, no weightier thing, birthing, night, consolations of my own darkness, stars of darkened-golden-holy, full-to- overflowing, Ode to the Negro girl in my soul. your poet Krissy Mosley all rights reserved

💙THANKS TO ALL: who write, make art, & live….💙

To the blogs on WordPress that always inspire me , make laugh, give me virtual- hugs, 💙💙💙🤘🏾✨

Maren @

Kym @

Michele Lee @

Ellie @

TrE @

Lori @

Stephanie @

K.E. Garland @

Grace @

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

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, 

where I belong. ~your Poet Krissy Mosley ©2022

by the author of A Poet’s Vision