“Good Hair” Essay live in Mythos!

airmythos

Very pleased to announce the publication of my essay “Good Hair: an Endordsement of Vanity”  in Mythos Magazine! at this link: https://mythos-magazine.squarespace.com/essays/good-hair-an-endorsement-of-vanity

Please enjoy!

–by the way, I love my hair, and will be going on Wednesday to have my hair done at Penthouse Hair Salon,  561 N. Hewitt Street, Ypsilanti, Michigan 48197.

PenthouseHairDesign

Pat Freeman understands my hair, almost more than I do.

When you visit Penthouse, please ask for Pat.

 

No weave, no extensions, no hair pieces, never relaxer:  100% natural hair.

A clip from the Chris rock film “Good Hair” with which my essay shares a title”

 

 

 

My Birthday weekend ((me ∞ me))

 On Monday, I will turn 63!  –provided I live that long, and I really hope I do.  It has taken 63 years to get to this point, and I will revive a custom began when I was about ten, of recording my thoughts as I walked up and down my street with a clipboard, my thoughts for the last day that I am a particular age.  

I typed most of these crudely on an old Smith & Corona typewriter –long gone, nit even a phto of th typewriter I had, on which I wrote many short stories, including, title may be stated incorrrectly, “Great Catastrophe of the Mysterious Clock/Watch? ”  –sounds like the language I would have used back then.  

 

Different this year, because I will ponder my last day as I remain in love, really for the first time in my life.  I know I was married for forty years, but I have never been in love like this.  Say what you will, but I am delighted to finally love ths way.  Means so very much to me, a lifetime, you know.  

What I cannot say is that he loves me as I love him –that would be perfect wouldn’t it?

I remain confident that the day is coming when I will be able to say that.  I just feel this; no, it is not a feeling like the supected presence of a ghost; there is nothing at all hostile here, more more like a calming breeze, he wrote to me:

“Sitting by a calming fountain in Kiev, just after the bells of St Sofia rocked the plaza — real rocks of noise

I can say a few things: how crazy are you? am I? we?

Pretty crazy, I’d say!

You are a Go For It All woman finally free

You constantly inspire, and I wish to too

Standing off to the side and cheering you on

Hey! Watch out for that banana!

The Mnemonic of Yr Palindrome

TMnOYP” 

 He also wrote a poem for me from which my Dream Baby nickname derives, and his : Higgs or Higginson, for the most remarkable thing, the Higgs boson! –explains why partcicles have mass, could not have mass without them, and please allow me to talk about right here, the mass of his kiss, and the necessity of writing an entire book about his kiss, “New Kiss Horizon” 

 

new-kiss-horizon

There can never be a better love than this! –never!  –all I can say is that I always want him in my life.  I have enjoyed an entire new life because of him.  I do not know how to thank a man for doing what he has done in my life, but he must be thanked.  I can’t allow what he has done to  pass along without recognition, and even if I can’t reveal his name, I assure you that he is real, the gravity of Higginson is very well known to me. I feel his profound gravity most of the time, I am a celestial body always leaning to him, never out of his orbit, never, the cream in his coffee, and that fine journey down his throat, me a bulge in his neck as I continue my warming track descending through him, all six feet of him, the very aroma of me even bursting throgh his blue eyes like dew, drops of his Dakar cologne manufactured just by thinking of him, and what it meant that the first time we kissed was after he had waited 25 years just to kiss me?  

Can you comprehend just what a kiss that was, is?

 

I said to him, “You like my Forked pink Facebook hair, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do. Fishing lines, every strand; that’s part of how you got me; you know that, don’t you?” (He always liked that hair, video still from my youtube video” “Forkergirl Particle Pops a Beaded multiverse):

 

pink-hair-forker-gyrl
next time, I will bite some beads in your  presence, Thomas Robert Higginson

“What I really like is how you get the sexy science; you understand Forkergirl Particle Pops a Beaded Multiverse —and you fill every universe in this multiverse, my multiverse is all you. I know that you like the forking me on Facebook where we reconnect, and you like even better the theory behind her, that pink hair just like those pink flowers I love so much, especially Clitoria, you like that flower too” — that flower that is part of this tiny body, Thomas, and you kiss it on the iPhone when we talk, daily now leading up to when you can kiss it in person. And I kiss you on the screen also…”

Excerpt From: Thylias Moss. “New Kiss Horizon.” iBooks.

 

“Vash, you’re not alone. You do have me. Don’t forget that. You do have me. I am not lying to you. You really do have me. I mean that. You do have me. And I love that video. Helped me get to know what you’re all about; helped me understand the child-woman you are. It’s not just your size, if that’s what you’re thinking… It’s your way of engaging with the world despite all you’ve been through. You don’t know how sexy your attitude is. If there aren’t hundreds of men beating down your door, I’d be surprised. I can’t be the only one, despite what you say, PSOG aside; he doesn’t count, to be expected from your first taste of much needed freedom. Other men have to see what I see; other men must want you too, Vash. Even dead men if you pass over their graves would live again just to want you, Vash. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it. You’re making me say things I should probably keep to myself. But Vash, what I feel is so powerful, and that’s because of you. Vash, my feelings have been growing for 25 years

“These are not sudden or shallow. They have powerful roots. What I feel is deep, deeper than anything I have ever known. And it’s for you, Vash; all for you.”

Excerpt From: Thylias Moss. “New Kiss Horizon.” iBooks.

NKH COPYRIGHT NOTICE:

copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.

 

“It takes time?” he said, and I quite agree. Took me 63 years to really be in love, and I just hope that he doesn’t mind that I feel about him as I do, for if he doesn’t, then my life really will be shaping into the “terrific” life that he also told me was in front of me, not that I can’t have a terrific life without him, but now that I  love like this, I don’t ever want to love another way.

I can’t say for sure, but I am willing to wager that there are very few men loved the way that  I love him, and even fewer men can say that I love them; as only he can say that.  

There are times that I feel rather foolish loving like this for the first time in my life –I am no longer young, but I feel so young thinking of him, and I no longer worry that he may not be worthy of a love like this, because he is; my heart tells me so.  I can’t explain it, but as each day goes by, I love him even more.  

 

I so want to post a photo of the two of us, but I am not so sure that he wouldn’t mind.  Oh I could post photos of him alone, and I think he would like that even less, because I would be posting them without his acknowledgement of that, or just my simply telling him, and he is such a private man, although he is a poet like me, so a few more pics of me; I know it is all right to use these.  

 

He called my the “Cream in his coffee“, so here I am:

Cream in my coffee

Cup of latte I had at B’ 24’s in Ypsilanti

now the song” “You’re the Cream in My Coffee”:

and here’s his poem:

You are the corner of my eye:

          Thomas Robert Higginson

                (for THYlias Moss)

You are my rent-a-poem

You are love jungle — Yoyo, hula hoop!

You are my closing costs

My plasma vibrator my single malt

You? You are my Tampa manatee

You are my Occupy

You are an eucalyptus octopus

And a haircut on an autumn day

Also submarine. Surreality check.

You you…! You YOU you!

That’s who. The Temple of Shenanigans,

AKA Shenanigan Temple.

The complete works. The leftovers.

You are what I’ve been waiting for

And now I’ll never wait anymore.

Dream baby, you are, and indefatigable,

That, too. And you are the cream in my coffee,

And you are the one, and you are my everything,

And you are everything I could hope for.

And still you are more, and still you keep coming,

You are coming like a river, like a torrent,

Like an all day-lollipop where every day is today.

You are the Castle of Doubt on the Plain of Forgetfulness.

You are one more and able to laugh it off.

My sunshine, that’s what you are.

A rocking chair and a band-aid. Violin castanets.

An elusive perfume. You are all history. You are

Breakfast and you are on your way and all

I can do is list, name, and hand out passports.

Because you are who you are in a way that is all

Your way and which, as a poet trying to set it down,

Failure, I am a failure in that you will always be

Something to me both bedrock and ineluctable,

A passion of opposition and an unchecked probity

Of Probability and yet a chemical formula not to be

Tested. The Higgs bosun, that’s it exactly. A gluon.

A ramshackle melody. A forgotten memory that

Never happened and when all is said and done,

Actually nothing was said and nothing was done.

That’s why I keep writing endlessly penning, because that’s

Who you are and when I stop, Surprise, you are

The surprise, you are the inching to the summit,

The chocolate razor, the tadpole’s pole and the

Gate to the Fields of the Lord. I sing you praises and

The answer is more like a light fog saxophone, a

Kingdom Come revelation, a hunch that blossoms

To birth a new species. An appointment for lunch.

Some nectar in a tube, a pillow. Like the new language you

Are, if I could write that I would, you in a race car,

A pendulum, a fire tower, a blimp. A pothole, narcissus,

An a capella cantabile, a big bucket of milk. I can run alongside

You but can’t keep up with you, your tapdancing

Shadow, your clothing made of earth and spit. But I know you

And when you wish me Happy Birthday I trade it for yours,

You not growing old, you everlasting, you infinity you.

–It is my birthday weekend, you know. 

And now some photos of me age 62 –for just 2 more days!

I am wearing his hat; it’s in the drawer of this desk, right beside me.  The photos of “Higginson” street signs were captured by Nancy Boutiler, who told me this about them: “I thought you’d like this photo that I took in Salem, MA
As you probably know the Rev. Francis Higginson joined the Massachusetts Bay Company to form a “plantation” in New England.
Higginson led a group of about 350 Puritan settlers (including many of his own congregation) on six ships from England to New England.
His son, Rev. John Higginson was a leading investigator in the Salem witch trials of 1692–1693…oh, and there were others…
Enjoy the pics.”

Dream Baby” – “Cream in My Coffee”  –two of my nicknames from his poem’ black dress is my “Dream Baby” dress, I wore on my last date with him at Vermilion in Chicago.  Had Duck Vindaloo Arepas,  Sri Lankan Whole Fish, Gin and pomegranate martinis , my fisrt drink of alcohol.. made me sick.  At the time he didn’t believe me, but when I saw him in Minneapolis,  he restricted me to one drink, knowing what had happened and how I had been honest when I told him I had never tasted anything stronger than Chardonnay.

Some of my photos that I know are some of his favorites; he, probably, like any other normal man likes all of them, and the natural hair, no weave, no extensions, no relaxer –he can run his fingers through it without fear, just under 5 feet tall, and just under a hundred pounds without ever dieting.    He’s a foot taller than me and about double my weight. Sure wish I could post that pic of us; it is wonderful! –you’ll have to take my word on that, but then again, for my birthday?  I turn 63 only once, Forgive me, please if it is wrong to display this, but no name.  Just a man , no “THE” man I love….  Don’t get me wrong, nothing makes me happier than to care about him, but to touch him, to kiss him to b kissed by him –I wrote a whol ebook about his kiss, oh yes! –his kiss is that spectacular, just look at him –I wrote New Kiss Horizon wbou what kissing him is like, in which Thomas Robert Higginson says this: “

“Vashti doesn’t know that when I first saw a book of hers with her face all over the cover, I was instantly drawn to it. Her book was in the window of a small bookshop, a new poet, but poets don’t tend to look like that, oozing such sexiness, her lips parted in such an exciting way; I immediately imagined what could slip between those soft pink lips. Me in her mouth, in and out, as natural and as rhythmic as breathing. Vashti kissing me between my thighs; my hand in her hair, pulling it a little, wrapping those long strands around my fingers, burying my nose in her hair.

What a dream baby she is; I knew that with just one look. I got ideas for my fantasy right then, a store with only Vashti products.

Right then and there, I made it a point in my heart, although I was married, to get to know her better, to be able to hold her; maybe pure lust, but I felt it instantly. What a sexy woman she is, and aging in a way nothing else does, as if her clock moves in reverse. She looks more stunning and younger all the time.
I just stare at the picture of her in my mind, as I always do anyway.

“Almost too young for me, and I no longer look my best; I have put on so much weight, but she talks to me as if she doesn’t see it, but how can she not? I know it’s there, and I don’t like it.”

Excerpt From: Thylias Moss. “New Kiss Horizon.” iBooks.

copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.

The first real kiss from him was so, so special! –in the taxi from O’Hare to the Mandarin Moon  hotel:

“—we sit beside each other, and you can wait no longer… You pull me as close to you as possible, as if I’m already part of your body…
—Now I’m going to do what should have happened to you years ago! But I’m glad I get to be the first man to kiss you this way. I pull you to me —gently — I don’t have to ask you about this; we’re alone on this back seat; the show is on my road now, my desire has built so much that I cannot wait a moment longer; I will not wait a moment longer! —why should I? —
—we could not be closer —
Every fiber of your coat is now part of me; and the scratchiness of the wool is just the texture I crave! —I don’t want anything about you soft; just some of the things you whisper in my ear, and even then, I’m hoping for some edge.
I can’t believe the strength, the possessiveness of the pull. Strong, but I am not forced. Powerful, but I am not forced.
I willingly allow myself to be pulled into you. I no longer have to wonder how to negotiate the transition from friend to lover as that transition is already in progress — so smooth; I can feel myself  twirling and spinning in your arms (fantasy galaxy that I also am)… So easy to imagine dancing with you… You want me, Thomas, you claim me, Mr. Higginson. You don’t say anything, just pull me closer and closer as you take me to the “Mr. Thomas Higginson School of Kissing.” I’ve never been kissed like this… I have never kissed a man the way that I kiss you…
I remember when you said this to me and wrote me this just a couple of days ago, and seemed impossible then, but not at all now:
First,
Baby
I can’t wait
To taste your kiss again
and again
Kiss kissing kisses
Slow you lead your
Beautiful tender lips
Just to rest there
So quiveringly touching
The moment itself
Kissing
 
That is exactly how you’re kissing me… and I cannot resist you. I don’t want to.
You kiss me and I kiss you back —I can’t help it! —not what I planned; I had no idea that you would kiss me this way —as if this is the only kiss you get to have for all your remaining life, and you want to make it last, make it count; best kiss on every scale of measurement, I have to quickly learn how to kiss you —you already know how to kiss me, how to make me feel that no man has ever kissed me before. You want me to feel the depth of these kisses… Depth charge kissing, Fuse-ignition. I’m surrendering to you already… I can’t help it…”

Excerpt From: Thylias Moss. “New Kiss Horizon.” iBooks.

NKH COPYRIGHT NOTICE:

copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.

 

 

Thylias Moss (Dream Baby) and Bob Holman (Dream Lover

Dream date with a dream man, as we stand on a bridge forever connecting us, Chicago, 2014

If you have not yet been kised the way that this man and I kissed, making me forget 40 years of marriage with a single kiss, making me feel orgasmic just from kissing him  –just wait util we got in room 304 of he Mandarin Moon —you better believe that I plan to be in that room with him again.


Thomas, I hope you will always cherish this picture of us; it is hre in honor of my birthday, and how you say I am “not getting older, me everlasting, me infinity me: (me ∞ me)

I invited him the fist time, and now, it’s his turn to invite me.  I will definiteely  come     there.

He will be 69 on 10 March; I will not forget. I never do. He is too important to me to ever forget his birthday.

______________

Read all about it in “New Kiss Horizon” on sale now!

copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.

new-kiss-horizon

More info available here:

 

“New Kiss Horizon” my 13th book (a romance) links:

NEW KISS HORIZON LINKS:

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” on Smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/683373

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” paperback on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss/dp/1540584496

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” Kindle book on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss-ebook/dp/B01N1K0PLC

Link to Thylias Moss Amazon writer page:

https://www.amazon.com/Thylias-Moss/e/B001JSBOQQ

Vashtis Blog (narrator of NKH, maintaining a blog so that readers may keep in touch with developments in the character’s life beyond the book):

Vashti’s blog URL:

https://vashtisblog.wordpress.com/

“Good Hair” essay in Mythos magazine

Apparently publication of my Good Hair: essay remains on track in Mythos Magazine illustrtions and everything.  Here are the inital comments from the edios o Myths:

“Thanks so much for your submission to Mythos Magazine. I loved your piece. The richness of your narration was powerful, smart, and unapologetic, and I’m interested in working with you in the coming weeks to publish it for our site. I know it would be deeply appreciated by our readership. 

Let me know if you accept this offer to publish, and I’ll reach out with more details. We have an illustrator for pieces who would likely do some accompanying artwork for yours, which we can coordinate a bit later. 

Looking forward to hearing from you!”

and here is the followup just received minutes ago, a wee k befor my 63rd birthday!

Hope you are doing well, and sorry for the long delay on my end! 

Our illustrator is going to work on a piece to accompany yours in the coming weeks. Do let me know if you have any specifications for that.

 I’ll be back in touch by the weekend with some logistical things. 

My Best,

Bindu “

and now a few photos of this “good hair stuff”; I must thank my parents for my haiving the hair I have, especially my moher’s own shame of her short, kinky nappy hair:

Mama here with the hair she hates:

FLORIDA PAST

She always wears a wig now, will not be seen without one, and not necessarily the  100% human hair wigs, but  in hers as seen below, the fibers are plastic, but they do cover her shame, the curse of having Afro-textured hair.

 

And then there are those who insist that my hair could not possibly be natural, although it is.  

Others have problems wth my hair, not me.

 I was born this way;  I do nothing to cause my hair to grow. NOTHING.  AT ALL.  

You want this hair, you can purchase it. There are all kinds of products that I do not use, well, watch the Chris Rock movie if this is something you do not know for yourself.  

Do I look better because of my hair?   Some men think so, and isn’t that what this is really about?    The sex appeal of hair?  

I cannot say for sure; I only speculate, but in my mother’s case , she hates her hair, and made sure I wouldn’t be born it,  but xI an also say that I am glad not to be bald, and if I am relaxed, that is just my demeanor.  I have the hair  I haeve because of heritage, that’s all.

My parents, the reason for the hair she always wanted and didn’t have.  Specifically my paternal lineage.  I am not in control of my birth; just glad that I was born, and also glad, very glad to have hair, good or not.  Even my hairdresser has commented on my hair, because there is no weave, no hair pieces, no extensions, and I have never had a relaxer, and will be 63 years old in a week.  The only change I make is some occasional hair color.  My hair dresser can attest to that –not that I require any proof.  If you want to think  that I have good hair, then think it.  I’ve been told often anought that I have it.  

Please, I am glad to have it,but no need to make a big deal about it.

And I would not trade my hair for another form.  Yes, indeed, men tend to like my hair, for a variety of reasons, but one thing I can say is that my hair does not come off, unless it is cut off.  The way it looks is the same way I wakeup wih it.  I do no have to have “weave sex” as in the movie “Good Hair” by Chris Rock.

I just want to repeat that I have no relaxer.  I do not need it.  Sorry.  I am a black woman, but that is not all. I am a multiracial woman, if that is needed to explan this natural growth of my hair.  My hair grows the way you see it in these photos. 

If it looks relaxed, that is only because that is the way my hair grows.  

And this clip from the Chris Rock movie also:

I am also naturally small, 98 pounds, and I have never dieted.  No, my life isn’t perfect, but I am thankful for whatever I’ve got, and I do not apologize for it.  

If it took races mixing to give me this look, then let them mix, for I could not exist any other way. I a naturally thin like my father. And his father seen below. Races should mix anyway; such devisions help no one, but my mother was completle bypassed by black movemens she never said it loud that she was “black and proud” because she isn’t.

And at age 87, and about to die, she is not going to change.  I will be sure that she has on a wig for her funeral.  I will be sure that she looks what she considers  “best” 

Love During Nine Climb

Walked up and down the three staircases in my building nine times today.

And these selfies are the outcome.
Hiding nothing, not even my bad teeth.
I am so very tired.

Tired and impatient.

I want my life to begin; I want the closing on my house so that I have only one address. I want to be loved just a tenth of the amount that I love. Surely I don’t want impossible things.

I live in Ann Arbor, not Ypsilanti, and I can’t even get facebook to understand that.

my ex called me this morning to say I obviously “love” the wrong man, if he can hurt me and not care that he is hurting me, saying noting, and that may be true. I do not care anymore;

and my ex is the last one to tell me how to get a man, since he is a man who couldn’t keep me.

 

VASHTI IN John's lap

I was 17, sitting in the lap of my ex.  He was nearly 24. I made the pink skirt.

 

It has been a trying day already

So many people tell me not to love him (see below), but it is too late for that, because I do, and it is my heart to break, not yours. Because as I have said, once I give my heart, I give it, and if he chooses to abuse my heart, that is his choice, but tells me things about him.

I gave it, foolishly perhaps, as if I planned this, I didn’t.

If he wants to be just another in the string of men who have hurt me, starting when I was sixteen; I will be 63 in two weeks; if that’s what he wants to be, I guess he gets what he wants; I sure don’t since I –ouch!– still want him.

 

THYLIAS MOSS AND BOB HOLMAN on a bridge in Chicago 2014

love in full bloom in Chicago

I don’t think I look unlovable. I have been completely honest. This is simply how I look, how I woke up, bad teeth and all, yet I smile anyway. At the end of the world, I will be smiling.

fullsizeoutput_328a

in his hat, of course.

 

I had the best conversation ever with my mother today,

 

wheelchair-mama

 

and I will be posting a transcription on my Facebook page shortly, after I say this: You know I love you, and if you don’t want me to love you, that’s my problem isn’t it? I fell in love with you. You loved me also, I know you did. Everything you said you did, everything you said, every kiss, every caress, everything you wrote, including this:

“You are one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. You’ve meant so much so deep to me and I just can’t let it go this way.

Loving you, connecting with you deeply via life and poetry, fantasy and caress, was like a new skin. I wear it, but it’s yours.

You have inspired me, informed me, danced me. Your beauty is a trauma to quotidian. I relish your attack on life. I’m in awe of it.

My heart sang to you and you heard and your response, to me personally and in your writing, in our talks and in our shredded breathing,

There’s an electricity of positivity that charges me still.”

and in answer to a letter I wrote you, you said:

“Of course that means ongoing, and how that works with collaborating, mutual performances, seeing each other etc etc —it’s all there, we just don’t know what yet, and that’s the beauty you have given us in this letter. The truth of it.

It means so much
It means everything”

I am naive enough, trusting enough to believe you –have you really never been loved like this? The love is still yours for as long as I feel it. Please treat it with respect.

You asked me to respect something, and I do. But, Sir, you also have to respect me.

 

On 3 Auguset 2016, you told me that you love me.  Has the cat got your tongue now?  Specifically, you said this:

 

“Thylias,  It is Love & that is all, it is kin and Life itself. 

Sending you strength

To which I said this:

You know that I accept this.  I like hearing that it is Love. 

I’m just afraid that it might not be love tomorrow.  

I love knowing that it is Love, I need that more than anything… 

As long as it will continue to be love, I am fine.  

No one can say how long it will continue to be love on this Wildest of Rides, but I am glad to take this ride with you.

Thylias

 


For more of this fascinating love story, read “New Kiss Horizon” by Thylias Moss. Wannt to know what I say to him? Read the book.  I say it all.

new-kiss-horizon

NEW KISS HORIZON LINKS:

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” on Smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/683373

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” paperback on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss/dp/1540584496

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” Kindle book on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss-ebook/dp/B01N1K0PLC

Link to Thylias Moss Amazon writer page:

https://www.amazon.com/Thylias-Moss/e/B001JSBOQQ

Vashtis Blog (narrator of NKH, maintaining a blog so that readers may keep in touch with developments in the character’s life beyond the book:

Vashti’s blog URL:

https://vashtisblog.wordpress.com/

“You Are the Corner of my Eye”

This Sunday morning a few days before I turn 63,  I am sharing my favorite poem, a love poem that Thomas Robert Higginson wrot for me, “You Are the Corner of my eye”

In my romance Novel, “New Kiss Horizon” as ” A Trip to the Tienda”:

new-kiss-horizon

You are the corner of my eye

              By Thomas Robert Higinson

 

                   for Thylias

You are my rent-a-poem

You are love jungle — Yoyo, hula hoop!

You are my closing costs

My plasma vibrator my single malt

You? You are my Tampa manatee

You are my Occupy

You are an eucalyptus octopus

And a haircut on an autumn day

Also submarine. Surreality check.

You you…! You YOU you!

That’s who. The Temple of Shenanigans,

AKA Shenanigan Temple.

The complete works. The leftovers.

You are what I’ve been waiting for

And now I’ll never wait anymore.

Dream baby, you are, and indefatigable,

That, too. And you are the cream in my coffee,

And you are the one, and you are my everything,

And you are everything I could hope for.

And still you are more, and still you keep coming,

You are coming like a river, like a torrent,

Like an all day-lollipop where every day is today.

You are the Castle of Doubt on the Plain of Forgetfulness.

You are one more and able to laugh it off.

My sunshine, that’s what you are.

A rocking chair and a band-aid. Violin castanets.

An elusive perfume. You are all history. You are

Breakfast and you are on your way and all

I can do is list, name, and hand out passports.

Because you are who you are in a way that is all

Your way and which, as a poet trying to set it down,

Failure, I am a failure in that you will always be

Something to me both bedrock and ineluctable,

A passion of opposition and an unchecked probity

Of Probability and yet a chemical formula not to be

Tested. The Higgs bosun, that’s it exactly. A gluon.

A ramshackle melody. A forgotten memory that

Never happened and when all is said and done,

Actually nothing was said and nothing was done.

That’s why I keep writing endlessly penning, because that’s

Who you are and when I stop, Surprise, you are

The surprise, you are the inching to the summit,

The chocolate razor, the tadpole’s pole and the

Gate to the Fields of the Lord. I sing you praises and

The answer is more like a light fog saxophone, a

Kingdom Come revelation, a hunch that blossoms

To birth a new species. An appointment for lunch.

Some nectar in a tube, a pillow. Like the new language you

Are, if I could write that I would, you in a race car,

A pendulum, a fire tower, a blimp. A pothole, narcissus,

An a capella cantabile, a big bucket of milk. I can run alongside

You but can’t keep up with you, your tapdancing

Shadow, your clothing made of earth and spit. But I know you

And when you wish me Happy Birthday I trade it for yours,

You not growing old, you everlasting, you infinity you.

Higginson Street (by Nancy Boutilier)

I thought you’d like this photo that I took in Salem, MA As you probably know the Rev. Francis Higginson joined the Massachusetts Bay Company to form a “plantation” in New England. Higginson led a group of about 350 Puritan settlers (including many of his own congregation) on six ships from England to New England. His son, Rev. John Higginson was a leading investigator in the Salem witch trials of 1692–1693…oh, and there were others… Enjoy the pics.

(photo by Nancy Boutilier)

Cream in my coffee

and here is the response poem I wrote to his poem, forhcoming in Black Renaissance Noir:

A First Response to “A Trip to the Tienda”[i]

 

for Thomas Robert Higginson

 

 

My alpha and omega poem

braided into my hair

 

that falls into the poem like breezes,

that falls into you

acrobatic atmospheres

 

homecoming, prom

 

this poem

 

these bosons of alphabet

 

form my prom, my graduation,

 

valedictory address, where I live now, really

 

live, as if for the first time

 

(inside you)

 

my sense of direction, elevation

 

slow home-cooked meal

 

—poetry food —

 

indulgence, cure for every disease

 

including religion: church of me,

 

apron, radon shield,

 

spikes of hair, double helixes of braids,

words of the poem expand, latch

 

onto proteins of my hair, food poetry

 

chromosomes of a new child incubating

 

in margins: complete peptides

 

perfect matches, IDEAL genetic codes

 

pearls, apologies, endless apologies

 

to the fine poet who wrote this

 

for me, my doppelgänger —

 

my poetry food,

nourishment, sustenance, one-a-day,

one every day

 

each of your arms is a stanza,

each hair on your body is punctuation

 

:placing us together:

 

compass needles pointing to lovers,

 

science of poetry,

 

Thomas Higginson becoming true north

 

somehow resisting magnetic north

 

to be

my gateway to bliss

 

kept for too long undercover.

 

This monument

 

this testament

 

is forever, and acted out religiously,

 

ideally

 

and perfectly

 

in a single windy city weekend

 

[i] Published, in slightly different form in Black Renaissance Noir

” edited by Quincy Troupe.

A little early for  Valentine’s Day, 

but here are the poems anyway; may they inspire you.  I must say that I remain inspired by Thomas Robert’s poem. Always.   And I am always Dream Baby.  No matter what. 

NEW KISS HORIZON LINKS:

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” on Smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/683373

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” paperback on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss/dp/1540584496

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” Kindle book on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss-ebook/dp/B01N1K0PLC

Link to Thylias Moss Amazon writer page:

https://www.amazon.com/Thylias-Moss/e/B001JSBOQQ

Vashtis Blog (narrator of NKH, maintaining a blog so that readers may keep in touch with developments in the character’s life beyond the book):

Vashti’s blog URL:

https://vashtisblog.wordpress.com/

___________

NKH Review by Thomas Robert Higginson”

NKH is a miracle of consciousness in a body formed by the future.” —Thomas Robert Higginson

(he is a real man; not purely a prodcuct of dreams, even though I do dream about him.  He is Dream-worthy material.) 

NKH Review by Bhaskar Mukherjee:

“craft that blends courage, candor and pathos in such a marvelous way”

India’s Daughter

India’s Daughter” (film by Leslee Udwin) as shocking as it may be to some, is true.

you may watch it here: 

 

 

 

and/or here:

 

I am sorry that this is also our world.  

Hope remains.