Category Archives: writing

Day12 #WritingMyselfWhole: Miracles of Being

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on

slipping beneath the weeping willows breath
simmering milk of almond berries,
warm and fuzzy, bringing back that
golden feeling,
the winners are many failings in progress
my greater horizon, my greater yet to be
miracles of being,
leaping wondrously, and sublime
shouting to the mama star, I’m glowing winds, I’m bursting
I’m fresh, anointings, and healings too,
I am the Sunday in someday
I am bones of answered prayers
legs and arms and how to get there
sinew over sinew, hugs of
wide -valley-moving,
miracles of being,
going -on
in the soul


woman reading book
Photo by Renato Abati on

Sometimes I’m just a girl, walking into a book store. Swimming in the minds of other writers- ah that’s life! We’re all a little crazy or maybe it’s just me, I can never find the exit-sign in those places. So I stay until almost closing, get a sense -long body lines come out of nowhere, and then there’s another book that catches my eye – I sniff first, tucking in the lastest cut-timber, ah Lanston Huges, The Negro Mother “Children I come back today, to tell you of the long dark way, that I had to climb, that I had to know”…

I move on: Oscar Wilde hitting me the face, The Ballad Reading Gaol “That fellows got to swing” I skip along the lines, chewing -sweetness and everything in between.

“Some love too little

Some love too long

Some do the deed with many tears

And some without a sigh:

For each man kills the thing he loves; yet each man does not die.”

I look up for a minute, rub the cover of the book, gently place it back on the shelf. I wonder about book owners, are they like me? Do they melt? Do their eyes sparkle in delight of books? I know there are many parts of owning books. Selling books, books on display, one day I might know these operations but for now, it is my own personal luxury.

P.S. I always spend $50.00 plus in bookstores, I say its worth it.

signing off Kindness sis. Krissy

The Heavens Are Praying Too:


I kept my eye on on the clouds

puffy masses, light-haze,

clouds praying alongside mine

that together with one of us

reaching God, before the other

the clouds and I, passing vapors

reciprocating midst in the sky

sometimes murky,

sometimes unseen

sometimes making faces

before long I’m wondering

are you following me,

or am I leading,

reeling upsidedown

the freshly-cut  green grass, frost in the air

above there,

where voices are made,

one howling bow, epiphany

that’s how miracles are born,

un-noticed physical things


that is to say

those same clouds are transformed too

they’d known what I soon learned

it’s something of a miracle when

clouds gather,

praying, right alongside you

Kindness, sis. Krissy 🙂 free photo by