#NaPoWriMo #19

power three: Photo Credit Tremaine L. Loadholt

digging in the crates

went album hunting
on my 42nd, filled
with excitement to
dive into hundreds of
crates with artists’ smiles
or avant garde masterpieces
marking up the covers.

I hunted for The Isley Brothers,
Hall & Oates, and Moonchild,
but found the Commodores and
Leonard Cohen, instead.
my time was not wasted
as I increased my collection
by three more good
finds for under thirty dollars.

I paid my fee, shared my
store credit with the college-aged
woman standing behind the
plexiglassed station, and loaded
up my new babies in
my motivated arms.

I fell in love with music
all over again when the needle
licked the first record of
choice. I spent hours
replaying the feelings and
emotions building a tower
in my heart.

I’ll go again next weekend.

Boldly, She Creeps. She Creeps.

Musical Selection: Snoh Aalegra|Fool for You

A Free Verse Poem

Photo by Ashleigh via Pexels

and I am beholden to her,
bathed in a glossy light
of her intentions.
could she just be flirtatious — 
plotting on playing, picking
sides, and pursuing nothing?

I am cautious in her presence,
boldly, she creeps. she creeps.
and when she does, I stand aside
and mimic a child looking for
her lost toy.
I must find it.
it needs me.

I can’t figure her out.
I keep telling myself, “Tread
lightly. Watch yourself.
Be careful.” there could be
danger ahead.
I want this danger. I don’t want
this danger.
this danger is linked to her — 
I want her.

But I want to be safe too.

I hear an older church mother
in the back of my mind shouting,
“Pick your poison, baby. Can’t
have your cake and eat it
And I understand her words of
concern. I know the memory
of her will play on — she knew
what she was talking about.

Age and wisdom and experience.

I ask the dog, “Why me? Why
has she chosen me to
beat around the bush with
when I need consistency and
clarity and comfort?
women know what they’re
doing with their ways. they do.
keepers of lust and desire,

I will not pressure her.

I will remain in a lane
of my own making — happy
to gallivant effortlessly in
a world of her design.
I see what she cannot.
I hear what she cannot.

I do not want to damage
the goods she flaunts in
my direction.
boldly, she creeps. she creeps.
and when she does, I stand aside
and mimic a child looking for
her lost toy.
I must find it.
it needs me.

And I need her.

©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt, Originally published in soliloque via Medium.


A World of Terror

Musical Selection: Sarah McLachlan|I Will Remember You

A Revised Haibun (for Chrissy)

I tell myself, I am glad you did not live to see this world as it unravels right before our eyes. Destruction is at every turn; children bombed, mothers, sons, families scrambling to leave home . . . the home they have always known. We would have talked about this — voiced our disdain for the evil of this world, yet we would have mentioned our gratefulness too. There is this gaping hole in my heart I have been struggling to fill, and the only thing I can do is write — write about you; about your smile, about your love, about the way you never bit your tongue.

All I can do is just write, and pray this hole fills itself with something — someone — anything else soon.

a piece of my heart
is buried in this cold world
my cousin is gone

©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt, Originally published via Simily, revised version published in The Junction via Medium.


for Chrissy

proper deviant
unique in every way
a flock of fools
could be changed by you

you had been before
your time–a gift to be
given back at just
the right moment

timely perfection

Who knows how long I will write these poems that come to me when my cousin’s voice enters my mind. I am compiling them and will have a chapbook of at least fifteen to gift to my family. We lost an angel but heaven has gained another.

A musical reflection of what I feel when I think of my beautiful cousin. She loved Nina Simone.