Pictured Poetry created by Tremaine L. Loadholt


I remember a time when
he thought I had
fire for a spirit
and an ocean for
eyes, and then one day
“out of the blue,”
I was fire crying an ocean
of tears, instead.

I think I changed.
I think he changed.

we could no longer bask
in the presence of who
we were.
all we wanted to do
was run away from
each other.

and that ain’t love.
that will never, ever
be love.

The Battle With an Ever-Changing Body and How I’m Winning the War

Kathy Garland has been so kind to host my article at Navigating the Change. In it, I speak a bit more about my experience with perimenopause.

I hope you take the time to read this one and let it settle in your bones for just a spell.

Peace and blessings.

the shift

Pictured Poetry created by Tremaine L. Loadholt

the shift

He said
He would do it,
and He did.

the new place is
set for our August
move-in date; nerves
can take a backseat to
daily living.

I followed my gut,
and my gut was Him.

it was already done.
and so, it is.

Everything is set up; my name is on the unit for which I was on the waiting list, and it is ours.

On Thursday, August 24, 2023, me and The Little Monster will be moving to a community I’ve really been wanting to move to.

I’m so happy a unit is available after being on the waiting list for about a month.

I’m overjoyed. I have no more words.

Tina (A repost)

A Haibun

Tina Turner, image from Smooth Radio

I have decided to give you your flowers while you’re still here. A wonder–a mystic amongst Gods and the ungodly. You have always been captivating. I never wanted to sing. I never wanted to dance. But I have always wanted to write, and you paved the way for me to have this voice–my voice in a world of chaotic flows and shiftless thoughts. You have conquered a sea of endless pain and lived to testify.

Millions of people sing your songs at the top of their lungs–breaths poured into the air that land at your feet. We still stand in awe of you; so incredibly in love with you, we speak your name . . . Tina.

Legends can be born
To be what legends should be
You are so much more

And now, one of my favorite Tina Turner songs.

Tina Turner, What’s Love Got To Do With It?

I wrote this poem and shared it here on November 26, 2022, when this amazing Queen was still breathing. She still lives. She always will. Rest in Power.

Previously Submitted

A few poems that didn’t make the cut

Photo by Imani Bahati on Unsplash

The Weird Games Children Play

The kids play Marco Polo
without a pool
Their little hands flail wildly
in the October sun
No one is IT
Everyone chases the sound
of voices unsure
of what they’re trying to find

The Delivery Guy Is Dyslexic

243 is 234 to a keen set of eyes
buried in the head of an
amazing human being yet
try as I might
I can’t be in two places
at one time

However, he doesn’t know this
My food sits in front
of a neighbor’s door waiting
for me to retrieve it
I send a message through the
app explaining the dilemma

The digital approval of
a refund chimes in
I really just want to eat
what I ordered
without the hassle
|but I’m also empathetic to
the plight of one’s struggle
I’ll order again tomorrow

The Dog Does Not Approve of the New Arrangement

I was feeling frisky the other night
so I decided to rearrange the
living room furniture
Afterward, I cleaned and
noticed the dog focused on this
new maze inside her home

She does not approve

I nod satisfied with what I’d
accomplished and my little
friend huffs in disgust
She sniffs the furniture for clues
of sameness — I explain
everything is still here

She tilts her head up to
look in my direction and I can’t
help but feel as though I’m
being graded on my performance

I did not pass her test

This Is Not Bravery

I don’t think it brave to
exist in skin the color
of spilled lies and wake up
to a face that never changes

I didn’t ask to bleed the same
blood yet I do
and authorities Other me before
I can utter a word

It is not bravery knowing I
can die for making a sharp
right turn without a signal
in a car registered in my name
with all the updated paperwork

One false move and I
could be hashtagged

The type of privilege that offers
safety is what I envision
for everyone but centuries of
racism begs to have its
face at the ball of life
No one’s dancing . . .
we’re all too afraid to move

All poems were written in October 2021.

Originally published in CRY Magazine via Medium.