Tag Archives: humanity

Master Of Everything:

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Written and Spoken by the author of Visionarie Kindness

There is a pull

beyond the break of

to be made whole…

you take the wreckage of our lives and you are still able to make something of a masterpiece 
he’s the master builder never lost a battle

he’s the master potter

never lost any clay

repairer of the broken beyond the break …

kindness sister Krissy

Many Meetings’ With Love Poets’

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Kindness sister Krissy

If ever I should become a Love~ poet of sorts’

and I should answer love’s highest call

to be won like thunder on cloudy days or

quietly sit in God’s terrain, smell the sweet fragrance of prayers drifting by

dripping with desperate pleas’ and why, why why,

but suddenly in the foggy trance of grace.

in the midst and in the haze

there but only love should appear,

to drown out our puddles of gloom and fear,

lead us to a secret place,

change our dirty garments, give us holy names

with no more worry, no more pain

wrap us in infinite arms…

I’ll say I met the poet’ of poets’

all that God is, and all that love is,

and all that God is,

Love…

kindness sister Krissy

The Call of the Spirit:

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written and spoken by the author of this blog VisionarieKindness your Kindness sister Krissy

So we stop,

and hear what the spirit has to say.

We are the branches, I’ll take my body to the altar

lay my body on the altar, encapsulate my tears on this altar

let oxygen move around

O’God revive the laughter of my soul

revive the hope of growing old,

revive the rivers flowing in my belly,

revive the tongues of my trees,

revive my spirit, my eyes that I might see

revive my heart ,my former dreams, revive the latter rain in me

revive the years from whence I came

revive each connective hymn and let me pray,

revive the cartilage in my knees,

revive my prayers- O’ God

we take our bodies to this altar

…

there are all night prayers in mama’s house

all night meetings before you sleep,

we stop,

and hear what the spirit has to say

kindness sister Krissy

Growing Lights

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written and spoken by the author of this blog Kindness sister Krissy

Dear God deep down in the waters of my soul

I could hear the symphony of a billion lights

and cords could catch the ache

and for a second time

I would play each cord

of all the lights that would ever be

broken and healing

suffering and sacrifice

fallen and restored

victim and conqueror

this time, you and I would be better for it

o’ this time, there would a billion growing lights

under a fallen plan,

there would a billion growing lights

stand tall under the wonders of a mighty God

there would be a billion growing lights

receiving and understanding the miracles of his plan

this time …

kindness sister Krissy

God We Surrender…

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written and spoken by the author of visionariekindness

While the Darkness is still breaking through

God we surrender

in this valley of dry bones

you understand the heartache, the brokenness

and yet and still…

after we have done all that we can do,

to stand,

God,

we surrender,

and declare the Glory of the Lord

Blessings of health, blessings of wealth, blessing of hope, blessing of love, blessings overflowing

God we,

surrender

Moving Up a Little Higher

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In the middle of the road

of all that stands on broken-coves

watching the dance of daylight

creeping, slope by slope out the of the frame

withering and wilting

from the way we could have been great

we could have save the day,

maybe made a real change

maybe break pseudo-fame,

maybe held our exhausted heads,

in whisper

proclaim…

America has it problems, our skin to skin issues

maybe its time we solve’em

the haphazardly excursion that nothing’s ever wrong

please excuse me when you see me move

from the lonely broken roads

where the light seems to peep, broken surges

sweltering, broken concrete

I’ll be moving on~kindness sister

Something God made while laughing:

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Thought I’d slink back into the 3rd grade without a hitch of having to look over my shoulder at Christopher Jones. Or Kwanna Brown. You see I’m not your typical wanna-be, 3rd grader with all her ducks in a row. Art is was my thing and still is my thing. Accept I can’t draw or paint or doddle. That didn’t matter much, seeing I’m an artist, with all the heart and soul of an artist. All the making of what an artist should be.

Drafted somewhere in the pain of 3rd grade staring me down on the blue and white lines. Blobs and blobs of something and a prick of blood in the middle where I’d once stuck myself with left handed scissors. My pop-up monster didn’t glow. Or have fangs or six strange eyes. Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was human or maybe it was me.

I had it etched in my brain that art was supposed to be beautiful. It was supposed to be mysterious on the journey of the greater, unimaginable that God like thing. Maybe becoming apart of the big blue sky, of the dreary clouds so heavy, on the pulse of rage and pollution. Drooping with the possibilities of footsteps.

The kind droplets that etch in deep in the brain,

sounds of God laughing, walking on water. Stepping out of heaven for a quick moment to lift up a little girl or a dying world, to feel wanted like art and accepted like something God made while laughing. ~kindness sister Krissy

Singing Bowls of Me:

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singing bowl image pixabay.com

My life is a singing bowl

levitating over the song in my head

sometimes I simmer on repeat

sometimes -nimble, sometimes I catch the light

having conversations with my darkness

sometimes beautiful things, sometimes I just be there

bathing, dripping in the goodness

My life too is a singing bowl ~kindness sister Krissy

Pieces of My Tears

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Photo by icon0.com on Pexels.com

in my private moment of stolen grief

by public views of what appears

to be a happier version of me

what appears in blink of thunder and flash

to protect brokenness as leaky puddles

of someday when change comes

someday when the world is full stupid some-days

we can’t be tired of being sick and tired too long

because too many of us are dying under the burden of grief

head stones that roll away love in private pastures, shouting to the pieces of the soul that fly. Stay a little longer and let me be human with holes in the middle of my flesh and wounds that remember the safety in the someday when we go home where love is~kindness sister Krissy