Category: Audio Poem

The Ladies of Workforce Management Poems #2

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NaPoWriMo #4: The Wolf Mother: For SS

The Wolf Mother: For SS Tremaine L. Loadholt 2022 April 03

you aren’t just punching keys
and hitting buttons on the other
side of the screen, you come
equipped with Mama Bear claws
ready to pounce on belligerent
individuals who dwell in insouciance.
I imagine you grimacing mockingly
at people who are senseless as 
they make demands for something 
we cannot do.

you don’t need a cape, yet you’re
out here saving us from verbal abuse
and people who haven’t had their
share of walking over hot coals 
in a world not meant for many of us. 

I tip my hat to you — with tons
of markets flashing before your 
eyes as you monitor their moves,
you still have time to say, 
“Good morning!” and on 
some days, that means more 
than the breaths I take to 
continue this life.

I believe you have our best interests
at heart and even though we 
may cut up and find ourselves
on the happier sides of time throughout
the day, you honor your role 
making sure we are held to task.

it takes a mighty woman to
sit back and say, “I am not trained
in that area, but let me point
you to someone who is” and 
lean into her badge of vulnerability — 
of simply being human.

if you don’t know just who you are
to us, let me be the first to dub 
you wolf mother — pack gatherer extraordinaire,
we all fall in line because we want to
not because we’re demanded to, 
and there’s the difference between a leader
with willing followers versus one
who has to beg them.
thank you.

I am doing a series of poems for the ladies who form our workforce management team at work. They truly are a gift. This is the second of three. Thank you for reading and listening too. Peace and blessings

The Ladies of Workforce Management Poems #1

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NaPoWriMo #3: The Comedienne: For AD

An Audio Poem

The Comedienne: For AD

there are days when my mind
feels like it’s going to explode–
bare itself naked across my
two monitors from the words
spoken by impatient patients who
feel as though the world should
be wrapped in gold and presented
to them on platters, and you
swoop in with a funny phrase
or mutual feelings of
disbelief and disgust, and
I don’t feel as alone as I once did.

I know I’m not the only one
who believes–knows this.
it’s your way.
you’ve moved through our
department stealthily, ready to
jump in when a tidal wave
of calls bombards us–lands on
our chests, pressing upon
our weary lungs with an armor
of motivation glued to your
frame gifting it to each of us.

I’ve had belly aches from
minutes of laughter, cheeks
on fire from smiling so hard . . .
each instance showing up
at just the right moment.
I don’t know if you know the
impact you have, but hopefully
these words will do the trick.

you are our Comedienne; the woman
with a gift of gab, unafraid to
speak. her. mind. and with your
presence, we shine like emeralds
polished clean on a spring day,
poking our chests out–heads bigger
than before–ballooned to perfection.

you make us better as a unit–as
a scheduling team,
and I am grateful for every moment
we have to experience a
day with you chiming in
unexpectedly, cleaning up little
messes the people we service create.
thank you.

I will be doing a series of poems for the ladies who form our workforce management team at work. They truly are a gift. This is the first of three. Thank you for reading and listening too. Peace and blessings.

Winter’s Planning on Sticking Around

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An Audio Rapid Rhyme

Photo by Kirsten Kimasch via ReShot
Winter’s Planning on Sticking Around

Winter whispers in my ear
cold & flu season is definitely here.
We have not been spared–no dismissals,
no chance at making ourselves useful.
Cuddled under covers with our loves,
fishing through movies in fingerless gloves.
No “White Christmas”, but payback has landed,
thankful to God I’m sheltered–not stranded.

I’m taking time to count my blessings,
praying intently, sharing my confessions.
The days ahead are getting longer,
my broken heart is beating stronger.
Old Man Winter isn’t asking for much,
one day soon, I’ll embrace the touch
of anyone in my circle or crew
I’m waiting for that day, it’s true.

Isolation keeps me weary,
my brown eyes are often teary.
I can’t change the season,
and there’s really no reason
for me to rush time.
Here and now is sublime.



I Don’t Send Christmas Cards To You Anymore

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Photo by Jenny Smith via ReShot

An Audio Poem

I don’t send Christmas
cards to you anymore
and while that may not
be a thing to share with
others for many people,
it is something I think about.
eighteen years of celebrations
and laughing and love and gifts
and . . . and . . . every fucking thing
else and now . . . nothing.

I walked away from a vehicle
that was a financial burden
when the price was right
and I thought immediately after,
“This is something _______ would
do, not me.” but, there I was,
nodding to the rhythm of the
words coming out of the
sales associate’s mouth. 
I took my check and ran.

the dog buries herself in
my lap, nesting painfully–
my thighs have scratch marks
failing to heal.
I spoil her. 
she can have her way.
hers is a pain I don’t mind.

I set myself up, Shutterfly’d
customized holiday cards with
my smiling face plastered on
the front — the dog, wearied and
bothered on the back.
this is our way of
being present in a time
where place is no longer
tangible — I can’t touch it.
I can’t get to it.

I’ve spent these last two years
secretly weeping over a woman
who has yet to call me
to ask me to return.
how egoistic of me — how
traditionally insufficient. 
but I said it. I admit it.
shouldn’t this count for something?

winter is spinning around
the lonely souls — blanketing
us with past loves and reminding
the willowed bones of
their frailty. what would I
say if I heard your voice today?
how would I react?

who knows? who knows?
I just know it’s one more year
of no Christmas card to you
and no redemption for me
and that . . . still hurts
when it’s not supposed to — 
not anymore.

Originally published in The Junction via Medium.

The Gift of Life

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Thyrie (pronounced “Theory”) Torie Devon Floyd, born on September 07, 2021. My youngest nephew (currently). Doesn’t he already look like he’s trying to figure out this crazy world of ours? Photo used with my brother, TJ’s permission.

For Thyrie: An Audio Poem

The Gift of Life

I keep saying I’m missing out on so much — 
I’ve lost every aspect of growth in 
front of me — I feel like I’m chasing 
after it — losing my speed. 
I’m trying . . . I swear, I am. 
My family is increasing in numbers — 
the beauty of life sheds her gifts
upon us, I am speechless.

My brothers keep me informed.
My phone is home to hundreds of
pictures of nieces and nephews 
from the beginning of their time
here on this earth. I can watch
their growth as much as I want.
I can rewind — playback — fast forward,
and stop time digitally, but in real life . . .
Nothing can be halted.

I don’t have 
that kind of power.

From the day he roared into this world,
I could tell Thyrie would be a thinker — 
an observer. I saw it in his eyes.
His soul has been here before, it isn’t
its first time. I dream of the day
I will hold him close to me, 
kiss his forehead, and sing him lullabies.

I am four hundred sixty-one miles 
away from the call of his cries,
the kindness of his giggles, and the
wonderment smoothed behind his ears.
I am so far away but so close to
him — connected by blood — linked by
history. How did I get to be an
auntie of six? How?!

There is a nation rising up in
Thyrie’s heart — he’s got a grip
on this world already. I think he 
knows what it needs — what we lack.
“There’s no pressure,” I whisper
to myself, but I can feel the intensity
of his stare. He will be infinite change — 
on loan to us for years to come.
Are we prepared?

I have lived long enough to see my
siblings form their own families;
whether big or small, and I still tear up
reminiscing about their childhood. 
When you can change a brother’s 
diaper or give a sister her bottle or 
help another brother learn how to swim,
while the youngest one watches on — 
waits for his turn, or you cook, clean, 
bathe, and rear up ones lagging behind
you in years — you gain wisdom.

In the eyes of this wondrous creation,
I see new beginnings and a world
I’m not so afraid to attack anymore.
I will call the day to me when I
will bask in his coos — be altered by his
smell. He has so much to teach me
and I am here to learn.

I am here to learn.

Originally published in The Junction via Medium.

*I wish I had more words to appropriately convey the joy I have in watching my family grow. I believe Thyrie will be another reason for me to load up my things and travel home and past home to just be with my people. Looking at him, it’s hard for me not to want to race as quickly as I can to him.

Thank you for reading and listening too.

Da Ai (Greatest Love)

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A narrative audio poem

Photo by Michael Lane via Redshot
Da Ai (Greatest Love) Audio

it is Saturday morning
before the birdsong ends,
my neighbor tests his drone.
he prepares its landing
just before Jernee and I
cross his path.
he giggles excitedly at his
accomplishment.

I say to him, “Like a little
kid on Christmas Day.”
he responds, “Almost.”
the joy shivering through
his skin is contagious.
I giggle too.
I watch him swoop his
body through the air — throwing
it at the sun, following the seeker.

this moment of happiness
is logged into my
memory bank. I’m
blessed by its occurrence.
he crosses over from his
side of the complex to
mine, plants his feet onto
Autumn’d grass, and sets his
toy free into the air again.

his smile remains.
I pick up my stride
getting close to our building
I feel the pressing of air
charging for my veins.
this is my favorite season — 
it pulls my body out of
mourning and we welcome
the dead and the dying
knowing new life is ahead.

the sun opens its eyes,
clearing the crust of the
previous night, and light
kisses my face. I motion
my eyes to my neighbor and
he’s shooting his head in small
spurts to the right, guiding
his robotic friend to safety.

Jernee is a strutter.
she attacks our walks with
the vigor of a playful puppy instead
of a senior and I am somewhat
jealous of this gift.
I pace myself, battling a
shoddy ankle from a shower fall
five years ago.
the pain still lingers, but
I fight it head-on.

the greatest love for me
at this very moment is
walking ahead of me,
tags and metal identifiers clinking
together — little random bells
making their own music.
a signal that we have arrived
home and can now 
find sweet rest.

*Author’s Note: I am currently reading, Greatest Love by Dr. & Master Zhi Gang Sha with Master Maya Mackie and Master Francisco Quintero. It’s a great piece of literature in which to lose myself after a few stressful days of work.

Originally published in The Junction via Medium.