Category: Photography

Poem for an Image

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#9: Care Package

A friend of mine popped up to my job on Thursday to lay a care package at my feet. In it, a lovely card, fuzzy socks (my favorite item of comfort clothing!), a most suitable coffee mug, chocolate (made with oat milk), the indomitable writer and spoken word phenomenon, Lisa Marie Lovett’s (SeasonedDialogue on all platforms) book, a pleasantly fragranced candle, and a beautiful plant. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Care Package by Tremaine L. Loadholt

I hadn’t realized how poignant Jernee’s
death was until the people I love
started gifting me things that
make my heart smile.

Out of the blue, pieces of this
world made their acquaintance with me.
A book, a candle, a mug, some fuzzy socks,
decorative window ornaments, and so
much more.

How did that little four-legged creature
jump into the hearts of others
just as she sashayed effortlessly into mine?

To have someone pop up at the gig
casually ask for you, and then
unload a hug so deep it
touches your soul while handing
you a wicker basket full of what
now connects you even more to them
is love personified.

I didn’t have the words. I almost
didn’t have the legs to stand on
because the gesture had been a
sweet blow to my heart.

I wrapped her in my arms, thanked her
profusely, and assured her that
these gifts will never go unnoticed.
They are the divine circling us back
into each other’s line of sight.

Talking points of a loss heavier than
any I have ever experienced; a feature
film open for all to see.
There are only a few seats left
at the table of love… come one, come all
while there’s still time.

This friend is a former co-worker of mine. While I simply shifted back to a department where I previously worked, we are still employed by the same organization. I am now back to being patient-facing, and I no longer work from home. She still does. We correspond with each other regularly via Teams and text message; however, to see her smiling face this past Thursday, and to know just how special I have to be to her for her to tap into all the things that bring me peace and joy, lets me know that our friendship is forever.

Below is a YouTube Short of one of my favorite Spoken Word Poets, Lisa Marie Lovette, aka Seasoned Dialogue. The fact that she copped her book for me left/leaves me speechless.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

Autumn’s wings & the love given to a bonsai tree

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Two poems shared on Substack notes

I really do try to be out here rocking my own style. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

Autumn’s wings

the chill in the air
is what I live for; the
wind that picks up
moves in the right
direction for me to
glide on it
gracefully.

I walk on Autumn’s
wings, at peace
with the calm that
comes with it.

the love given to a bonsai tree

have you ever pondered the life of a bonsai tree?
contained and pruned regularly to stay alive.
the love it must take to have
someone tend to what you need
at the exact moment you need it
is nothing short of humane.
your livelihood is built around the
caring heart of a human being who
spares time to pour into you
what they may not pour into others.

isn’t that remarkable?
how many of us would thrive in a small container,
shaped and structured to fit our home—safe,
secure, and sturdy throughout many years ahead?

my money’s on not many.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

Creative Things

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A free verse audio poem

My laptop, the book I’m currently reading (Watering Words by Bridgette Kay), and the remotes to my living room TV. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Creative Things by Tremaine L. Loadholt

It’s hard to explain, I create when
I need to–when the weight of life
sneaks up on me and wrecks my brain.
There’s nothing like moving words
from one section of your heart to another…
nothing like massaging your scalp to
push out stories that have been trapped
inside for weeks; a literary birthing of art.

Background noise, not a deterrent…
I block whatever doesn’t fill me.
I ignore the unimportant.

A writer’s words will see the light
even if darkness has a grip on
their sleeve–they’ll find a way.

My neighbor is taken with me — smitten.
It’s cute.
I’m sure it could have been even cuter
if I hadn’t warped her brain by revealing
my age. I know what it feels like to
crush on someone out of your league…
out of your rank.
20 years my junior, I’ll pass. I can’t
see myself tuning into someone I
could have given birth to.

I never thought I’d see the day
when I’d say, “I am sure I’m way
older than you. How old do you think
I am? My guess, you’re in your 20s,
right?” And right, I was. The look
of shock that swept across her face
was madness to my spirit.

Should I grow more gray hair?
Am I aging backward?

The creator in me wants to poem
the night away, but the thinker
in me allows the words to marinate–to gel.
I have to find a way to build blocks
with the stories I wish to tell… to
wrap them around the stairway to
heaven.

I think there’s a race passing me by,
watching me side-step and
break my ankles just to be
rid of people who are distractions.
I want more creative things, like
the stickers on my laptop, the titillating
words of a fellow author, and the
sacred sunset that’s never on time.

More creative things…
I crave them, and until I am fed,
hunger will ravage me.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

Sometimes, I Just Need Poetry

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An audio lamentation for Jernee and this battered world of ours

Jernee Timid’s paw prints, courtesy of our vet’s office. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Sometimes, I Just Need Poetry by Tremaine L. Loadholt

my baby’s prints came today…
her paws…
I’d been waiting for them
since the 12th of September.
a lovely sympathy card
accompanied the red pieces
of art, neatly tucked behind them.
every member of our vet’s office
signed it.
their words and names crowding
the corners.
I smile. I cry. I remember the
best part of my life
no longer exists.

I stand at the edge of
my kitchen, shifting on
the balls of my feet. I am
shaking. I tilt my head to
look at each print, and the
smell of Jernee wafts across
the room and lingers in the
hallway. she’s still alive
in me; she hasn’t let go.
or, maybe I’m still holding on?

Zumi pats at the glass of its
terrarium, bargaining for my
attention, and I rush over to
see what the fuss is about.
food? check. water? check.
I think it just wants to hear my
voice, so I call its name in
a sing-songy way to appease it.
Zu-mi, Zu-mi, Zuuuumiiii.
what a silly tortoise you are.
it looks up at me and then
walks with urgency to its
hidey-hole.
we all need comfort.
tortoises are not exempt.

our home is quieter than it’s
ever been. the tapping of
paws are no longer morning
gifts or late-night signals of
an impatient senior dog who
“had me at, hello.”
I don’t know what I’m doing
with this life of mine now,
I’m just mulling on—making do.

I say that all I need is work—to
keep busy, but I think I am
telling myself this because I
am afraid of what will happen
to me if I sit down and focus
on every passing thought of
a love that was the greatest
love I’ve ever known.
where will I land if I
give my heart permission to
break and stay broken?

is there a name for people
who are no longer whole
without the pets they spent
nearly two decades becoming
one with? I don’t like having to
answer the same questions
every other day: “How are you?”
How are you holding up?”
“What are you doing with
yourself now?”

I wish there was a perfect way to
say, “I am cracking and folding
into myself because somehow
I no longer feel safe alone
with my brain, heavy heart,
and dying soul. somehow, I
no longer feel safe in this
body. something is not right.
something is not right.

it’s more than losing Jernee,
it’s all the ick of the world
that is seeping into our
skin, making our veins its home.
we’re trapped.
so, sometimes, I just need poetry
when everything is wrong
around me, and there’s no
guarantee it’ll change.

I need poetry to help me
remember who… and why
I am.

Originally published in Poking the Bear’s Belly on Substack.

Poem for an Image

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#8: Playing Catch-up

Birthday Gifts for Caison and Jaidynn (my baby cousins). Jaidy’s birthday was on August 11th, and Caison’s birthday is October 7th. Jaidy’s gifts are called “Just Because” gifts in her card, but I could not afford to get her anything for her birthday this year because Jernee was so sick and in and out of the Emergency Vet, and my poor pockets had been SCREAMING bloody murder. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

caring for my dying love made
my pockets thinner than
before–I missed Jaidy’s birthday.

it’s a blow to my pride to
not be able to shower my girl
with gifts on the day she was gifted to us.

making up for it at the same
time Caison’s 8th approaches
will push my heart to higher heights.

she knows where I stand.
she remembers every offering of
love she has ever received from me.

now that there isn’t a mouth
begging for money I can’t get
from trees, the babies shine brighter.

I’m playing catch-up, and I
am not ashamed to admit why I
couldn’t give what I wanted to.

I am not ashamed because life
happened upon me in a way
I never thought it would.

Death costs an arm and a leg,
and after you’ve run out of those limbs,
there aren’t many more to give.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

Poem for an Image

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#7: Zumi’s Growth

Zumi Tye, my Red-Footed Tortoise, at 18 months old. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

my sweet, unsexed tortoise,
grows quicker than the
sun can set.

meals are three times
per day now.
at this rate, it’ll be
draping over the sides
of its terrarium in less
than two years.

Zumi interacts with me;
it licks the glass and moves
its head from side to side
at the sound of my voice.

I think it knows me.
I think it loves me.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.