by the author of this blog
Hello, Morning its been a while since
you and I sat down -to share a hug or a smile.
these days don’t come easy, there’s been lots of soul-washing -feelings,
feels like latter rain of latter days
cloud gatherings that tell me how God dips my coffee-made soul deep down in honey
then I’m not alone and the bees are there to pollinate my tears into honeycombs
that tells me all my fears have drawn to the surface something that’s always been eroding
and finally when there’s nothing left to save
my soul and I find morning
I wanted to count the days a little longer. Stay under the brightness of the winter-storm. Snow and sun, and snow, slightly picking up mesquite winds. Although our worlds are shifting.
Our Merciful prayers have never been the same. The baby birds were cooing underneath the misty drizzle. The temperatures steady but dropping. The sky and I, weeping over something weak and terrible.
I think we were enjoying too much of self pity as of late. Tasting salt droplets, like leftover pudding. Cream still there just harder, firmer now. Puppy wrinkles for eyelids and the sky too. Didn’t seem to matter much. Neither one of us seem to help the other.
Then my soul goes off without me, as if it should, wondering about darkness, sickness bending one and the same ashy-twig, frantic but holding.
Dear God, the weakness inside my soul seeps out like weeds.
the needs of your people, ever-growing but God, this is where you crack our heads open with miracles unfolding.
kindness sister Krissy
IN memory of The Poem, sung By Billie Holiday “Strange Fruit”
Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swingin’ in the Southern breeze
Strange fruit hangin’ from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant South
The bulgin’ eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolias sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burnin’ flesh
Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather
For the wind to suck
For the sun to rot
For the tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop
In the beginning, of the long dark, frosty night. I stood watching the angelic clouds, beautiful angels hold gatherings-surroundings of the same dark city. Deeper and deeper- angels brought us safely across bridges and stoic mountains holding our dark past within its grooves.
We over came the hatred of ourselves. The hatred of our skin’s- bitter fruit. Strange things, “scented Magnolias sweet and fresh” the eyes of the south, the burning of the mouth and “blood at the root.” Hold out your tongue, chile,’ don’t cut it out.
The soul of black bodies, the soul of white folk, marching,
“Jim crow” behind us,
all the while,
the cross before us.
and we made it,
some places, we bore the heat of the chain,
some bore slavery at its shame, and we made it,
somebodies’ son, somebodies daughter, “swinging on the poplar trees”,
the road are swollen, some, no road at all.
Still, we made it
and all the while, there were “splinters, tacks and boards torn-up”.
We never stop, we never sat down.
and now, my dear chile’, with the road before us, we’ll hold on,
we” hold on chile’.
kindness sister Krissy Mosley
Smoke in slow motion
quiet eyes soaking in the juices
here we are, in snap shot
mounted, suppressed my spirit into a squirt of a lens
reconstructing my soul to water
drinking from the wells that never run dry
walking on the rivers,
smile deeply in the face of adversity,
my soul makes human
makes me believe, there’s still good left in the world
has me thinking – I am machine trapped in its blood
where I bleed out all the colors of all the other humans
our only desire, let out our souls- out and be free
where I escape to be made in the southern warmth and sunshine
hold back evil of this time,
the soul of the prophets’
priestess and people drink down a sad song
blood on the trees , blood in our veins
blood and it rains – making our souls
come alive in all its pain, in all its darkness
damaged and wounded- x-master, x-slave
x-preacher, x-teacher, x-leader
x-destination, sooner or later
we gotta let our souls… if only,
a little while…
kindness sister Krissy
I am worth the dreams that live in me
I am worth the mountains that skip
soothing my troubled soul
cooling waters,open wide
exploding through the errors
down on Georgia st.
I am worth the journey…
(image credit photo: November rain- http://majamaki.com/2012/11/november-rain/ )
emerged – east of the Nile river
deeper – in the Red sea
Nesting in the wilderness
Hatching in milk and honey
I fastened my shoes in Passover
Borrowed gold, exchanged my foreign speech,
not bruised, marked or curse
Yet-upright my soul stood proudly
My soul has a name in Canaan- that’s mighty sweet.