Tag Archives: compassion

LFMK (“Looking for My Killer)

I  am very pleased to announce that my collection of prose poams, Looking For My Killer” is now being read by a possible publisher,   and this pleases me greatly, as I have learned that some prose poams for the collection are going to appear in an online journal, Outlook Springs:

These prose poams:

 

1.”Earthquake Vash” –yes related to my romance novel: New Kiss Horizon Cover of NKH

2. “Status Report on Slinky Lust” and

3. “Small virtue and gimme some A+ Bliss

 

The video context for this collection, really an extended PSA announcement come from a video I made with the same name (music composed and performed by Ansted Moss,  who also captured the still images at the beginning of the video poam all vocals by Thylias Moss, also the arranger of the music:  

 

That’s all for now; more very soon.

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Excitement reigns!

I am very excited about my forthcoming –just days now, volume of new and selected poetry! “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code“! (from Persea Books!)

wannabe_front

I haven’t had a new book since 2006, and Tokyo Butter!

 

Tokyo Butter

Tokyo Butter – a search for  forms of Dierdre (really my  late cousin Hilda).

 

The cover image is really a 50X USB microscpe scan I made of flowers from Hilda’s Funneral in 2002.  I  grew up with Hilda as if she were my sister… A terrible loss for me… 

I wonder what she would be like now?  She was only 3 months older than me, born 25 November 1953; I was born 27 February  1954.  “Tokyo Butter” explores some of that… I couldn’t believe that all of Hilda (“Deirdre” in the book) was gone from the world, and “Tokyo Butter” is the outcome of my (as yet incomplete) search for her.

casket roseHILDA 2

 

Here is a version of a video piece I made about a poem in “Tokyo Butter“: The Cultue of Snowmen”:

I really want the Proscope mobile!  Oh what I would capture!

Images I captured with my Proscope Digital microscope:

:

 

 

Hope you’ve already put in your orders at Amazon for “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code“!

 

wannabe_front

Video poam I made, the source of the title of this book soon to be available:

 

 

 

Also, please check out my Amazon Author Page!!

 

You can hear me reading three of my favorite poems from”Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code” for Poets and Writers Here:

 

 

 

http://www.pw.org/content/wannabe_hoochie_mama_gallery_of_realities_red_dress_code

The three poems I read:

  1. Blue Coming
  2. The Glory Prelude
  3. Me and Bubble Went to Memphis 

Also here “Me and Bubble Went to Memphis” here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/features/audio/detail/76019

 

The Glory Prelude video poam here (music composed and performed by Graphic Artist Ansted Moss, Vocals by Thylias Moss who also made the vide poam; contains footage of my mother who has recently been visited by “The Angel of the Lord” –whatever that means.  I cannot compete with “The Angel of the Lord” –noone can):

(my mother is unaware that this footage was captured)

Please don’t tell her, unless you are “The Angel of the Lord”.

she already told me that she’s coming to get me… –I am going to be haunted after her death, so if I make no further posts, you will know that:

  1. I am dead
  2. My mother got me.
  3. My mother succeeded at what Houdini couldn’t
  4. A mother’s love

How mama looks now, as she waits for The Angel of the Lord  (to come back in ways my deceased father can’t):

 

Mama in wheelchair

(She loves Popeye’s chicken, but isn’t supposed to eat it. Diabetes,  Hypertension, Glaucoma, Thyroid problems, loss of the ability to grasp physical objects (with her right hand especially) and to remember anything, Dementia; loss of hearing, loss of eyesight, unless looking at and/or listening to:  “The Angel of the Lord”, but she’s coming back to get me, a promise she has made to the “Angel of the Lord” –I take this most seriously, because she saw “The Angel of the Lord” as real as anything she has ever seen..

“The Glory Prelude to a Widow Shrine System” is for her, the widow since the death of my father in July 1980.   She says “the only man I  need is Jesus”, so I called a man I liked a lot, before I loved him as I do now, “Jésus”.  My mama with dementia, (I love her, but she still doesn’t know. Just wanted to tell her that I had found a good man; I thought that maybe she would like that.  But no.  

I’ve been divorced since 2013, but makes no difference… Even if nothing goes any furher, I just wanted her to know that I had found someone much better, who doesn’t lie to me, a man I can trust to tell me the truth, whether or not I like it.  He will not deceive me, the most trustworthy man I know. 

and “Hypnosis at the Bird Factory ” (also in “Wannabe”) as a video poam right here:

and Tornado Pi, video poem version of the print poem “Tornados also in “Wannabe“:

 

 

Print version of “The Glory Prelude” in The Offing here:

BUY THE BOOK!

READ THE BOOK!

 

A significant new poem from this collection is: “Higginson Matters in Magnificent Culture of Myopia” and I perform this signture poem from this collection here

(the unnatural emphasis on the word “moss” comes from  a niece of my ex, telling me that I could hardly be moving on with my life, since I still had their name, a name they did not copyright, a name they did not intiate; there are many other “Mosses”; they have no valid claim to the exclusivity of that name:

 

Speaking of things “trustworthy”, I was all set to believe that an unfortunae  sitution with my publisher was greatly improved; I’m still all set for that, but I was disappointed when I saw on the publisher’s website for my book; a quote about me, this mixed-race woman who would never choose a partner based on his color, or a partner who would choose a woman based on her color; I would not exist without mixing… 

and although the quote which offends me now and all that I’ve tried to accomplish in  my writing is gone from the book jacket, I still name, on the website, “the black truths behind white lies” and am still a writer “who speaks bitterness”… I was disappoined to see that, because of the inaccuracy, and immediaetely wote an email to my poetry editor

That is not who I am; I speak TRUTH, no matter what color it is.   And if “black” (a part of me but not all of me) is so powerful that whatever is “black” at all, even a tiny potent, powerful drop; if so powerful that I  can not avoid using a black lens to interpret everything, then everything I see automatically becomes “black” because I see it, and everything  I say automatically become “black” because I say it, and everything I hear automatically becomes “black” because I hear it, and everything I do, automatically becomes “black” because I do it, and everything I touch automatically becomes “black” because I “touch” it, and everything I feel automatically becomes “black,”because I feel it,  and everthing I eat automatically becomes “black” because I eat it,

 then there is no need for me to preface anything I think; anything I feel, anything I do with “black” since I cannot do anything that is not black, so when I think of quantum phyiscs, quantum physics becomes black; every form of math, everything I’ve written here is black; that’s how potent black is, one drop and black heaven is the reward!

 

I continue to think these black thoughts, as I thought them at the University of new Hampshire where in a class for those teaching English composition, the subject was “How To Eliminate Vagueness” in student wiring, and one TA observed that when a sudent writes the word, “black”, the student likely means something else, such as, and this was agreed upon (worth noting that I was the ony visibly “black” person in the room); agreed upon that the student meant “irreversible damage” , so I wrote this poem, for instructors of English 401 at the University of New Hampshire, originally published in Callaloo, then in my book, Pyramid of Bone, nominated for the National Book Critics Circle Award:

about Pyramid of bone, Langdon Hammer says this: 

Although many of Moss’s poems discuss race and gender, these subjects are, explains scholar Langdon Hammer, simply “starting points for her work…her poetry makes such facts of identity seem unfamiliar, their meanings not to be predicted, unavailable to the naked eye.” Known for startling metaphors and vivid imagery, Moss’s work demonstrates an expansive imagination that seeks to connect at times wildly disparate subjects”

Pyramid of bone

Book by Thylias Moss

To Eliminate Vagueness”

 instructions: substitute  irreversible damage for blacwherever it occurs

 

 

In the red-legged locust’s black raids upon midwest soybeans,

in their illicit transmission of tapeworms and parasites

to quail, turkeys, and guinea fowl,

in all the black calendar days that are supposed

to indicate the ordinary.

 

In operating rooms body parts black with gangrene

are excised and trash cans seem to fill with dead crows.

 

There’s a black crust two miles thick in Soweto, some on bread,

around eyes, most on the streets where blood dried

into its own monument.

 

Then my mother’s black face nothing can soften, the sweating,

the forgetting to sleep, the solidarity with anyone troubling,

the compassion only I knew she felt hugging a radio, singing

spirituals, sequestering herself in her widow’s bedroom

praying for women unable to pray.

 

And what of Europeans, what of Asians and Latinos who are

     irreversibly

damaged, whose gangrened minds should be excised but who are

   not black?

 

 

One day I noticed my mother had poured her face onto mine

and had given me spirituals and lullabies.

I sang them when baskets of black clouds dumped

their transparent flowers over the convent

 

and the nuns’ basic black didn’t get wet

and they carted the flowers home in wheelbarrows

and arranged them like lullabies

and wept silently

 

as we were weeping, mother and daughter together

in my father’s old rocker, the damage already done.

 

                                            for Gary and the English 401 staff

 

                                                       Thylias Moss

Originally published many years ago in Callaloo, then in my award-winning collection “Pyramid of Bone” (University of Virginia Press, 1989)

 

and listen to me read, on the Poetry Foundation site: “The Pampering of Leora” 

 

and this video poam (product of act[s] of making) I made”Cosmic Seduction” is just another black thing I do:

Please enjoy as much of this truth as you can.  I thank you and  am grateful, always.

___________

Included for someone special 

all  for him

 

His if he wants it, the most trustworthy, most deserving  man I know. 

 

 

 

A little something about Doormats – a response to dumping

About Doormats:

I cannot deliberately hurt you.

I can’t even say things against you and mean them…

Not what I want for you at all.  

I care too much about you.  

I want you to be happy, and I feel like a fool for saying this, but nothing that has happened has caused me  to withdraw all forms of  love. 

And even a doormat is powerful in its protection of floor! —yes; it’s stepped on, and those who have stepped unwisely can wipe their feet, but they are the ones most in need of services doormats provide. Praise be to doormats!  

Time for me to elevate doormats —Oh, I’ve joked to myself about a sweetness of revenge that I can’t sustain, and I’m glad, for revenge isn’t sweet at all. And I ask forgiveness for even thinking about it.

because I already know that love in any of its forms is much sweeter than revenge… 

Love is stronger than revenge, stronger than hurt for when these are gone, the hurter wants love, the hater wants love, even if they aren’t sure how to get it, but it is something  elusive to them that they want, and maybe the sheltered for protecting all forms of  love know best how to get it, and how to give it… 

I’m still working on this.  

Genuine Friendships are built on the most powerful forms of love… 

For true friendships have to be able to endure storms and rages throughout every universe to which one may fork —it is love that ultimately survives…  —this is a reality of life, a reality of my life —just as real as anything else, and love is also a bridge, a lifeline, a tether —and it works better for being sheltered protected from what would make it less effective by exposure and a reduction of some of love’s power.  Love in all of its forms requires sheltering to be love… 

I AM A WARRIOR FOR FORGIVENESS!  A WARRIOR FOR COMPASSION!

Ted Talk about Compassion with Rabbi Janice Tabick,

my favorite Ted Talk

Do You Have The Courage To Forgive?

I have been struggling not to hurt myself — for peace of my own mind, I have to forgive him, for I am hurt by his hurt, hurt that I am causing so I must take this path to preserve friendship we’ve had for thirty years, until we tried intimacy that (apparently) meant more to me than to him… And that made me question the 30 years that were very good, and I shared my questioning with him! –now I want to be a Warrior for Forgiveness, a Warrior for Compassion so that we’ll be able –so that I’ll be able to move to a much better place where I can live with myself, and ignore those telling me that he should never be forgiven, but that’s not the kind of heart I have, believing that in the end, it is forms of love that will prevail;  yes, the Power of Love! 

Warrior for Forgiveness!  

–the only way!

–I feel hurt, but so does he… and I’m no longer going to try to measure my hurt against his hurt. We are both hurting and without friends that we’ve been for so many years… I am 61, and he is 67 –I just don’t know how much time is left, but, as I said, I truly believe that love is stronger, more durable than revenge which in the end would only cause more hurt for both of us, so I’m moving toward forgiveness; I have to, for I can’t live with myself otherwise.

The Truth Warrior

The-Truth-Warrior---Forgive

I think many of us already know of the power of forgiveness however how many of us really practice it in our daily lives? Many times we choose to hang on to the hurt, the anger, the guilt and the pain rather than let it go and forgive the person who has wronged us. I know that it can be easier said than done however when we choose to forgive, we are doing it for ourselves.

If for example somebody wrongs us in some way and we choose to hold anger and hatred towards that person, we are really the ones who are suffering and hurting in the situation. This anger and resentment that we feel has been known to turn into disease in certain people’s lives. I know in my experience that when I had anger towards a person, I thought in my own head that I was hurting that person by…

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