Category Archives: passion

New Collection of Poetry

olmI am nearly finished with my new collection of poetry, a book entirely containing poems entirely wriiten by me, with input from my Thing and my Son,  This book has abosolutely nothirng to do with Persea, and I know better than to cross steps with that publisher, who actually sued me previously:  because I did something most writers do, I revised some poems and was honest. 

 

 

IMG_2209

 

This is not the first time I have been involved with this poet, as these photos reveal: 

 

 Here is a quote that Writer L Bush made about this performance: “

Writer L Writer Bush’s comments about the reading with Bob Holman in the Hannan:

“Hi Forker Gryle; I did not film it; I shot pics. Had I known you would go OFF like that, I would have filmed it. I was totally unprepared for the Tina/Ike (happy days) vibe you two had going on. It was FUCKING AWESOME! -w.”

 

and here I am wearing his hat:

 

 

and below here I am on a date with him: I was 60 years old in the photo, and now I am 64, and look like this: No weaves, no extensions, never a relaxer in my life, all the hair is  rooted in my head naturally, yes, I am multiracial, but so what? A black moher asshamed of her appearnce and all the non-black stuff, paternal inheritance !I a not going to deny my father and his father:

 

 

 

Her I am on a date with him; I sas 60 years old, and he was 66.  He even carried me on his back afetr dinner at Vermillion restaurant in Chicago..

THYLIAS MOSS - DREAM BABY DATE DRESSAnd here writng a text to him: 

Now, befefore anothe rlawsuit,  wamnto to point out that I am including no poem at all, still under “control” by Persea.  There is no way I would do that, as Persea rejected a blurb this poet had written for my current –and last! book with Persea, Review of Wannbe (1).jpg

 

This is a fine review of “Wannnabe” but has more to do with my writing than with the publisher, and a book supposedly “comprehensive lacks any poems from what might  be my most major collection of all , “Small Congregations” endorsed by Harold Bloom himself on Charlie Rose, published by Ecco Press, I might add, the one volume of my poetry to which I hold al the rights, so its inclusion would hav e required MY PERMISSION! Small Congregations

 Here is the Persea book involved in the  dispute for  which I was served a suboena in my University of Michigan office: 

 

04. Rainbow Remnents in Rock Bottom Ghetto Sky

Winner of the National Poetry series Open Competition

 

 

I am mentioned in Harold Bloom’s Interview on Charlie Rose, concerning “Small Congregations”:

here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9ieF7LVbyI

The highest possible endorsement in American Letters!

I am mentioned at 12:01

 

He is by far, the finest collaborator i have eve r known, amd if any of you think I would dare use any poem over whch Persea has any say, you re dead wrong! I d onot seek trouble where none shoULD BE.

 

When I went there, I didnt even take a copy of “Wannabe ! why insult him even more! 

Even if I didn’t care about him as much as I do I woudl never treat anyone like that.  

een published n line her:

the poem in question I noticed in a tweet, “Ana’s Survivors” that has only been published online  here in the American journal of Poetry  here:

 

http://theamericanjournalofpoetry.com/v5-moss.html

http://theamericanjournalofpoetry.com/v5-moss.html

 

not in anything  associated with Persea.When i know where and when my new collection, whose title I will not disclose, I will announce that, but it WILL NOT BE PERSEA.  

 I can’t say enouh good things about this man! 

 

Just wait for the collection of petry, and that should clarify many things.  He is my literary Executor, my Collaborator, and my Mr. Muse, Literary Advisor, and can he ever Kiss!  — and yeres, I Love him with all my heart!

 

 

 

 

 

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SEQUEL!

I am 64 now, and loving it!5 DAYS OF MARCH 2018 THINGDOM-02

 

I am also happy to report that I am well on the way to comleting a draft of a equal to a romance novel  “New Kiss Horizon” that emerged in 2016.

NKH WITH BADGE

 

 

A certain man and I have noved on to having a Thingdom

 

Thing” in this case is the perfect ,well, “Thing” because a few years ago, he told me that if we ever bcame some'”thing” the whole damned world should know, and this is his way  of telling the whol damned world in a way I did not anticipate.

Well, whole damned world,  here it is

me and my Thingdom

Me and my Thingdom

 

and since I have it now, I am going to mention how happy and thankful I am for having it.

This wonderful man surprised me by putting his own name on the photo.  I will take choice over coercion any day,  and now I bask in choice, the glow of choice, beauty of choice and whatever possibilities lie ahead.  

Because they do!

 

Choice makes a difference and I am so pleased that here he is choosing me in a most public way.

 

He is the source of my “Dream Baby” nickname.  The very source of love in my life.  I have never made it secret that I love this man.  The photos of me in a man’s hat, well, that hat belonged to him.

 

I even wore it  when I performed at his poetry Club in Manahattan,

the Bowery Poetry Club:

 

 

 

 

I started falling in love with this man the moment he Kissed me in the taxi in Chicago!  Once we Kissed, I knew everything I needed to know! the instant Chemistry is still amazing!  That just doesn’t happen for real, but it  did to me.

He always liked long hair, and do I ever have long hair now (rooted in my scalp, no weave, no extenstions, and no relaxer in my life)!  Would  he still  love me even if I had no hair?  I think so; for he is not a shallow man at all. Very special, one of a kind to be sure.  Do I have it because I’m multiracial?  I cannot say, but I have it.  A few pics of me in a natural way:

 

 

 

 

Nor were we young, I was 60 the first time he kissed me and he was 66.

There is no other man who can Kiss like him on the planet!  Does not the song go, “It’s in his Kiss”?  Well, it really is!

 

I don’t have a photo of us kissing, but when I do, I will post it.  The onyl eperformance we have dome together so far:

 

 

 

My two parts in the movie, featuring excerpts from poems I had written.  What says “Green Light and Gamma Rays” should be as written, “Green Light and Gamma Ways”  

Now he has a name, and I get to use it.  Because he did.  It is so wonderful to be 64 and have Love in my life at  last.  

 

He rocks my world!

 

 

what we have is Solid!

 

 

In my life for more than 30 years.  He first knew me as “Forker Gryle” (His spelling of “Girl” –I had pink hair then.PINK-HAIR FORKER GRYLE

 

A collection of poems that we two poets wrote together: 

 

 

 

 

Aneurysm of the Firmamament

book by Thylias Moss and Mr. Bob Holman

Much more to Follow, Always I hope.

 

 

 

ANNOUNCING THINGDOM!

This will be brief: 

 

At Long Last, I have an official Thingdom with the man I Love!  –you heard it right!  I now have a Thing with a man I have Loved for years.  

 

Thylias Moss and Bob Holman now have a Thing!  I am so very happy about this.  His idea.  He put his own name there; entirely his choice!

 

me and my Thingdom

Me and my Thingdom

 

Below, How having  a Thing with this wonderful man makes me look.  I am about to turn 64,  at the end of this month, and he is about to turn 70 early next month.

 

 

 

 

He rocks my world!

 

 

 

 

From the First time ever I saw his face! I am in love with him!

 

feels good!

 

 

Celebrating Thingdom!

I Thylias Moss, author of 13 published bbooks, incluiding the roance novel, “New Kiss Horizon” recently nominated for a “Book Excellence Award”:

 

NKH WITH BADGEwould also like to announce my “Thingdom“:

 

Thingdom happened on the anniversaty of seeing him in Chicago, 23 October through 26 October.  In the photo, we stand on a bridge in Chicago, IL, and a bridge is somethign that connects things, help them to get past troubled water, for one thing.

 

thingdom 2

 

It has been a long time coming, and I am so glad that it is here.  There is no better man in the world, I assure you of that! No one knows better what a “New Kiss Horizon”  is than this man, because he made it with me.  There is “No One” able to say anything contrary and be telling the truth, “No One” as in Alicia Keys, the theme song of “Thingdom”: (He calls me “Dream Baby“)

We’re in this love together!

 

 I assure you that he and I were on a “Freeway of Love”every moment that we were in Chicago, makin that weekend famous:

 

Thingdom

I am very pleased to announce my thingdom with a man I have loved for several years. Yes; Thingdom on Facebook.  Where the entire romance with, well, Bob Holman began.  Photo taken in Chicago, Illinois, our first weekend together.

 

In the photo, I am 60 and he is 66.  I do not know who took it, an anonymous person happy to see ths elderly couple taking a walk in Chicago.  We stopped and stood on ths bridge that connects us to every possibility of life.  

 

Now we are a thing! –hallelujah!

 

a whole weekend of firsts! 23 October – 25 October every year!

For this anniversary a most special song, full of meaning for us, “No One” Alicia Keys:

 

 

 

 

Isn’t Love wonderful at any age!

 

thingdom

Online Dating and New Kiss Horizon

 

For this post, I use my former match dot com photo, and my former ok cupid photos.  

They caused quite a stir.  More than I was hoping for actually.  More than I really wanted?  No;

I wanted more; I wanted to see if it was true that I can attract attention.  I really did.  I really do.  All the time.  

“Only dating explained image from this URL: )

Online dating explained

 

My photos from online dating, (by the way, I am 63 years old, have never dieted in my life, have never had any reconstructive surgery, no cosmetic work of any kind.  I do not even wear make-up, no hair weave, extensions or wigs, WSIWYG –all the way.  I have never lied about my appearance): 

 

I self-identity as mixed race, because that is what I am, and I am not ashamed of this at all.  To be honest, I would not mind if more races mixed; for that is true interaction as long as all participating parties agree to interact; all interacting parties leave something behind, and all interacting parties take something different away, do not interact if you are not willing to change, if you must cling to what you were previously, before interacting for interacting will change you if you let it.    

 

a definition of “interaction” states: “:  mutual or reciprocal action or influence” –all interacting parties  change!  

(so stated right here: https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/interaction

 

–Sure changed me, and I am still changing.  Among the many things Thomas Robert told me, all of them wonderful, by the way, he said: “If ever I change my mind, I will tell you” –an he has said nothing to that effect.  So I believe when he say din August 2016, that he loves me–

 

(I do not feel right about online dating; maybe I will in time, but I cannot rush… I have to take my time.  I do not want to make any mistakes; I do not want to feel any pressure, especially just to have  a man not so far away as  Thomas Robert Higginson is.   I also want to be fair to all involved, especially to my own heart. I feel guilty just a bit. I do not want to feel this way, but I am also involved in the promotion of New Kiss Horizon, my most recent book to date, and I want to do justice ti that unbelievable love, and that will take time.  I have a feeling that  will still be pretty; Thomas Robert was the first man to call me that and mean it.  Not just those catcalls I often heard.  He spoke from his heart, and I am not at liberty to say right here all that Thomas Robert said to me –over many, many years –as the real man behind that name, to the real woman behind the character’s name. )

What I have come to believe via “Limited Fork Theory (and life experience, to be sure), is that much racial discrimination can and will cease when there is more acceptance of mixture.  I do not go back five or six generations, no further than my own father, and his father, both pictured here:

 

 

 

Two of the few photos with my father, I was a teenage bride; I never met my paternal  grandfather while he was alive:

 

 

Here is some info about these men and my experience with train whistles: (courtesy questions Bracken Hamlet asked me on Facebook):  

“My father, those long low moans, my father coming back to me… sounds dissolving in the air, night calls, his bounce becoming a sky. He has a long way to travel, from death and its tucking of things inside itself, called burial, but only him curling his tongue into semblance of an ichneumon fly, and that sound is the curl, chalk writing on the night sky. My father once cooked for the railroad, making slaw, his own recipe under handle of the Big Dipper, making a prayer come true, that is what I hear, my father calling me, and I answer, another train, car of his train switching onto another track, and we speak to each other in those whistles, and train treadles of heart traffic…

Warm, loved, a track itself so the trains could enter the station of my heart and join all other memories of him, whippoorwills answering me, duets and trios with scent of dogwood racing along the tracks, the frogs too, a thick froggy carpet that squishy road between homes of my southern grandmothers, one black and the other something else, oh, those platforms where I would wait for the train. My father often whistled and could sound like a train, like President Kennedy too with a yodel stuck in his throat, that’s what he said, the sound of him cutting cabbage for his slaw with the rim of a tin can as shiny as the rails themselves; that my father was rail-thin was often said, he was traveling the best way he could, those special trains, Nickel Plate and Ollie’s; one even said Saskatchewan

You know, I will always miss my father. Always. I was never spanked because of him; he did not believe in hitting; if something can be loved, you don’t hit, you love it. That is how he raised me , so unlike my mother; how different they were. I don’t think she ever hard the trains. Maybe just a screech of metal on metal, trains encountering obstruction on the tracks, circles in her mind, constricting it. Oh I also recall the magic of being in Terminal Tower when the locomotives chugged into Higbees underground, and the magicians’ smoke filled the space, overlaid more drawings on the luscious artwork, murals (that never should have been destroyed, work sewer rats could do, but I would think that even they would gag on such colorful profundity and drop like tubes of oil paint, potential usefulness squeezed out, fat gray gloves decorating the scene); smoke gushing out of the front silver plate, folded with the fold pointing out like a collar cradled in silvery recollections; this is what irons wanted to be, but not even that Rowenta came close, the steam irons would slobber on the clothes when they weren’t working properly; they wanted to be flattened for usefulness on the railroads, my paternal grandfather built them, hammer and pickaxe, Native American, Caucasian and immigrant from India, dry-land stevedore, oh, oh, oh, these memories….those murals in Terminal Tower railroad station“:

 

— Some of this deserves, warrants repeating, and some of this will pear in slightly different form in a book I am at long last writing about my father, including a scene I will have to completely  imagine since my father’s death in 1980; he got to see not one  of my books while he was alive; he never got to see his only biological grandson; he never got to see me truly happy with a man, the way I was with Thomas Robert Higginson, and I wish my father could have seen that photo of me standing beside Thomas Robert on a bridge, happiest weekend off my life so far;  (even my son who never met my father, commented that he had never seen me happy with a man before, and I know with all my heart that  true.  

 

–Must sidetrack for just a bit right here, because I was married  for forty years, and did not know the pleasure I found with Thomas Robert —  says a lot about Thomas Robert, I know, and it is not my intention to embarrass him; but when a man has achieved something as special as this, you just do not keep it to yourself, 

 

(If you want to know more, and I hope you do, then by all means read, New Kiss Horizon!

new-kiss-horizon

 

 

 

end of sidetracking, but not the end, probably never will be, of feelings for Thomas Robert Higginson)

 

 

(find out more about New Kiss Horizon here :

 

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/)

 

 

Dear Thomas, I sure hope that you do not mind my posting in this blog a photo that said to me was pure “delight’ –that’s what I felt, also; I am standing right beside you where I belong, and you are standing right beside me where you belong, always:

THYLIAS MOSS AND BOB HOLMAN on a bridge in Chicago 2014

Vashti Astapad Warren with Thomas Robert Higginson: love in full bloom

and I am writing a scene in which my father is holding his usual study, his brothers-in-law sitting at the dining room table , table my mother still has, by the way, his lectures on the composition and location of the human soul, a bottle  of Old Mr. Boston nearby, pale in the glasses, like my skin when it sparkles (as it did when I was with Thomas, especially whenever he kissed me and I kissed him); Thomas Robert is a drinker too; they would have enjoyed each other very much, and my father would have been joyous indeed to see that I had loved someone like Thomas Robert Higginson.

 

mr-boston-brandy-logo

 

image from :http://www.liquor.com/brands/mr-boston/

 

 

Back to the business of reverie, and repetition, for all of this is true, nothing truer has ever existed:

 

You know, I will always miss my father. Always. I was never spanked because of him; he did not believe in hitting; if something can be loved, you don’t h it, you love it. That is how he raised me , so unlike my mother; how different they were. I don’t think she ever hard the trains. Maybe just a screech of metal on metal, trains encountering obstruction on the tracks, circles in her mind, constricting it. Oh I also recall the magic of being in Terminal Tower when the locomotives chugged into Higbees underground, and the magicians’ smoke filled the space, overlaid more drawings on the luscious artwork, murals (that never should have been destroyed, work sewer rats could do, but I would think that even they would gag on such colorful profundity and drop like tubes of oil paint, potential usefulness squeezed out, fat gray gloves decorating the scene); smoke gushing out of the front silver plate, folded with the fold pointing out like a collar cradled in silvery recollections; this is what irons wanted to be, but not even that Rowenta came close, the steam irons would slobber on the clothes when they weren’t working properly; they wanted to be flattened for usefulness on the railroads, my paternal grandfather built them, hammer and pickaxe, Native American, Caucasian and immigrant from India, dry-land stevedore, oh, oh, oh, these memories….those murals in Terminal Tower railroad station

 

copyright © 2017 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.

 

“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”