Devil Mutant Child

I also want to point out that these poems, just about all of them were written in text messages to the man I love, My Thing:  thingdom reigns


Just want to let you know that another poem from Shawsheen Memorial Broom Society 


may be seen online, a portion of  “Devil Mutant Child” as published in Plume 


these words:

Thylias Moss from Devil Mutant Child  as in Plume 


A poem of hair.


Mr in Bob's hat

(I am wearing the hat of  my Thing, my favorite hat, by the way; he is the Pizazz in my life):Thylias and Bob (Higginson) in Chicago


My mother, from the south in the 1930s grew up ashamed of color, of whatever drew attention to her societal unacceptability, her inferiority, lack of formal education, and all associated trappings:  worse of all, her Africanized hair texture.  How she suffered, her own siblings with lighter skin, calling her the “Little Black One” long before “black” had been reclaimed as a badge of pride.  She worked as a maid, serving her superiors, and still having to honor these white women with the complexion and hair she still craves, often dressed in their cast-offs.

No matter what, her hair revealed she was the lowest, as she calls it, that to this day, she tries to eradicate by frying her hair and using all those skin lightening creams.  None leave a permanent transformation which is what she really wants.  Makes me cry every time, my own mother who never learned to reclaim these signs of identity as sources of pride.

She vowed her child would not suffer what she did, despised by paler ones with straighter, “better” hair, “good” hair, for that is what I have, direct inheritance from my pale, mixed race, father and his completely non-black father, an immigrant from India, half Caucasian —yes, she used that term about her own daughter, as I had what she lacked.  Yes, she was jealous of me, used to hit me, in efforts to slap the superiority out of me, but I was too much like my father who refused to hit anything that should be loved. I understand what she saw in my father, but I do not know what he saw in her.

To her, the only writers worth anything were those who wrote books of the bible.  She condemned me to hell, that Christian woman, every chance she got.

In this sense, she who knew nothing about facts of genetics, did her best to have a child who would not suffer these disgraces of inferiority as I would have the badge  of respect and better treatment, decent treatment, simple respect:  college educated with Good Hair.


She cannot love me.

Joy of My Thing’s Philtrum!

Today, I want to share more joy of my Thing’s Philtrum, publication of another poem in my forthcoming collection of  poetry, Shawsheen Memorial Broom SocietyFOR PUBLISHER Selwn Rodda SHAWSHEEN cover art TEXT 01 The poem “Shawsheen Philtrum Temptation” (Is it ever!)

has just been published in Jacar



The way you stand there 

You are nothing but temptation, even

Your philtrum reaching your upper lip, pulling 

it upwards on the left, slight rise I also

Love, mouth wink, your hair is grayer than this,

So white I would imagine those snows around

Uncle T’s cabin, you have also called me T, I even told 

You how to pronounce my name; you wanted to be sure, 

You were pronouncing it correctly, thereafter typing it

So that I could see that you were saying it correctly 

In your mind where it really counts 

And I know that I have spoken, well written, Love more

Than any sacred book allows, wasn’t difficult considering

What I feel, one Kiss filling your philtrum and dripping 

Sweetest tallow ever, landing drop by luscious drop

At your feet then begins to climb you, sweet wines also red 

Arteries like string candy licorice, sugar extractions into

A kind of glass, a climb my hands and mouth make, sugar casing 

Sweeter each centimeter of you, toes to top of your head, sugar chrysalis 

That you are also all in, such wrapping even  more inviting than philtrum

I remember those “Eat-It-All” cones, but never one six-feet-tall, but

Here it is before me, so I follow the embossed directions and Eat all

Of You: Sunday Phitrum Brunch.


Now as many of you know, I am so in love with this man, and my bookshelves are so much like his: my bookshelvesUncanny isn’t it?  Even didgeridoos!


Next month I will be 65, and still in Love for the first time in my life, and I have enjoyed every moment I have known him, 30 years. He, my Thing, will be 71 in March.


And his Philtrum is no doubt one of the sexiest features of him.  I know,  for I have tasted his philtrum. Delicious I must say, like the rest of him. There is no part of him that isn’t tasty 


Me, wearing my Thing’s hatMr in Bob's hat


I love this hat because it’s his.


Me now: january philtrum temp-12


Yes, I am aging, and as you can see, I wear no make-up; I want to be 100% natural for him with my multiracial self.  All my hair is rooted in my scalp! No weave no wig, no extensions for I don’t need them.  My Thing never has to worry about my hair coming off.

And I have never been on a diet, no need for that either!

Aren’t we the couple?

me and my Thingdom
Me and my Thingdom

 The Joy of this Thingdom as expressed by Blackstreet:


Joy by Blackstreet:





New Shawsheen Poems!

I am very pleased to announce that there are two Shawsheen Memorial Broom Society  poems forthcoming for publication:FOR PUBLISHER Selwn Rodda SHAWSHEEN cover art TEXT 01 


Shawsheen Philtrum Temptation” in Jacar

(Philtrum that I adore pictured below): okay, I Love the entire man, my primary Collaborator   truth be told , and why tell anything else?

a Philtrum song .  Enjoy!


b's philtrum-02



“Where H Walked in Shawsheen” in Whiskey Island.

Philtrum poems

I am happy to say that I will be sending one of two “Philtrum” poems for Shawsheen Memorial Broom Society to Richard Krawiec for Jacar.  I asked the editor if it was okay if I sent love poems, and he said fine, as long as they are not too Tin Pan Alley.

as in: 


No secret that I adore the Philtrum of my Thing, and I went searching for a Philtrum Lovers group I could  join,  and I happened upon this blog about elevation of the Philtrum

written by one Matthew Dicks, now one of my Facebook friends, as I must be friends with anyone who Loves Philtrums as much or more than I do.


I wrote my two Philtrum poems for my Thing  –in text messages to him, as I am quite the admirer of his Philtrum, and it is visible below:  Maybe you can understand why I love his Philtrum so much (I stare at it for hours, as  he knows because I have told him just how irresistible his Philtrum is –at least for me! He is also my primary collaborator, by the way. And I Love him so very much!

b's philtrum-02

My two Shawsheen Memorial Broom Society Poems  about My Thing’s  wonderful Philtrum are: 

Shawsheen Standard Equipment Fuses




Shawsheen Philtrum Temptation




and one of these should appear soon in Jacar.


Still in Love

Sent more poems from the collection to Vassar College where I did something considered remarkable, gave the Elizabeth Bishop Lecture a few years ago, and I built a website for this visit, “The MidHudson Taffy Company” 


When I returned home, I converted the entire lecture into sound sculpture which may be heard here 


and here.


I was delighted by every aspect of that happening, that event.  Piughkeepsie will never be the same.

Two album covers for the sound sculpture


and my Thing even has a quote pin this website; I put it there, before Mr. Holman and I became involved.  I used to tease him about visiting the  the Taffy website, and his quote is on this page of the Taffy website 


My son was there and everything, so good for him to see his mama in this  context: ANSTED AND THYLIAS READING IN CHCAGO Continue reading “Still in Love”

Conceptual banana poams

Read the Shawsheen Memorial Broom Society poem If You see Something, Say Something in Shawsheen, a collaboration with my Thing 


Here is the text of that poem:


–in response to the poem: “If you See something, Say Something (in Shawsheen), a collaboration with my Thing, Mr. Bob Holman 


“If You See Something, Say Something” (in Shawsheen)



white shadow

crescent moon

Wax (ing)

Wax banana

Wax grapes, apples

in bowls

On my mother’s dining room table


kitchen sink

I see this also

my father washing dishes

scalding water

his skin

down the drain

plates clean, heavenly,

full of banana water spots

we eat the shadows.

two of which

are my father’s

diseased lungs

yet I float on clouds

into such a clean, pure kingdom

that nothing else matters

just a banana which I eat the moment I arrive.


in suds.





IMG_8137The source poem, brilliant I think, and not just because my Thing wrote it.

On the flight back to Detroit from Manhattan for the Strand BookstorePushcart Prize reading, a pushcart Prize I won for the poem, “Blue Coming” that was published in Abstract magazine here. an there you can hear me read the poem a collaboration with my Thing.  in response to his poem, “What You Can’t Know is That poetry is Connected to the Body Again” me and my Thingdom

We are two poets, by the way.

Pushcart Prize Strand Bookstore reading


Strand Pushcart Prize ReadingIMG_8137If You See Something in Shawsheen, Say SomethingConceptual banana poem-017.jpgConceptual banana poem-013.jpgConceptual banana poem-018.jpgConceptual banana poem-014.jpgConceptual banana poem-016.jpg.jpgConceptual banana poem-008.jpg.jpgConceptual banana poem-007.jpg.jpgIMG_0873 (1).jpgConceptual banana poem-019.jpg.jpgConceptual banana poem-009.jpg.jpgConceptual banana poem-010.jpg.jpgConceptual banana poem-005.jpg.jpgIMG_0874.jpgConceptual banana poem-015.jpg.jpgConceptual banana poem-011.jpg.jpgIMG_0873.jpgConceptual banana poem-006.jpg.jpgConceptual banana poem-012.jpg.jpg


WHILE ON THE flight back to Detroit from Manhattan where there as a sudden snowstorm, I was served a banana and made several conceptual banana poems thinking of the poem by my thing, “If You see Something say Something  a photo of his poem, and then the art I made with a banana peel, some of it visible above



I did see something And I did say something with a banana peel, and commitment to A poam that I like; indeed I was collaborating with his poem, tight on the Delta Jet, in plain view,  everyone on the plane could see me as I toyed with the peel,  


and if you like to know what I think about collaboration, read this essay: “

Fuckin’Muse: A Journey into Collaboration by Thylias Moss”

 Here is the cover fo the new book, still in search of a publisher, cover art and the into both by Selwyn Rodda  (my 14th book by the way)

cover of “Shawsheen Memorial Broom Society” AND  THE ARTIST Selwyn Rodda, WHO ALSO WRITE THE INTRO.”

You will see my collaborators listed:



My son, Mr. Ansted Moss:




Me and then me with My Thing, Mr. Bob Holman, most of these poems with written in Text messages to him. I am wearing my Thing’s  HAT IN THE PHOTO ON THE LEFT


and my stuffed animal, Laytial.  Lyrical was a gift from my son when a cranial aneurysm ruptured in July 2011.  Although 97% of people who experience this, die, I lived to love and try to be happy.  I will be 65 in February 2019, my Thing (Mr. Bob Holman) wi8ill be 71 in March 2019.  Ib think we look okay, and that I look fine beside him, and that we look wonderful together in the Thingdom.





Pushcart Prize book