Tag: Poetry

it’s still grief

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a photo reel of Jernee as a puppy & a poem

Jernee Timid Loadholt: The puppy and younger years. Photo Reel Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

it’s still grief

no one prepares you
for the ache you’ll feel
each time digital
“memories” pop
into view… the love
lost will always be
found.

grieving a deceased
pet is often frowned
upon–not
recognized or
centered as a
genuine loss. and I
wonder, how can you
categorize death into
a hierarchy?

pain is pain is pain
is pain.

Have you gotten your copy of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction at Lulu in E-Book & Paperback versions, or Amazon in Paperback (only) yet?

I am on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing, as I discuss recent events related to my previous place of employment, including racism and discrimination, the growth I experienced after resigning from that company, and the foibles and overall experiences of life. I welcome your visit.

a means to an end & a body for sale (on clearance)

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Two poems shared on Substack notes

Fictional character Dr. Temperance “Bones” Brennan as a cartoon. Created with Google Gemini

a means to an end

Bones… a show I
can watch over and
over again–the
reruns are salve;
balm for my
crowded mind–a
distraction.

sometimes, on
heavy days, a
distraction is what
I need.

to witness complex
cases, albeit fatal
fiction, I disappear
in their plot twists
and fall victim to
their endings.

funny how the things
that gross me out
in my dreams
invigorate me while
I’m awake.

who’s murdering
who is more than
a pertinent question,
it’s a means to
an end.

AI-Generated Image: A Black woman with locs, wearing glasses, semi-doubled over in pain.

a body for sale (on clearance)

I’m at an age now
when a hard and
awkward sleep can
throw my back out
or a sneeze from the
depths of my soul
can summon
tinnitus.

the body is a weird
thing to observe.
how fragile we can
become when we
think we’re at our
strongest.

we can be swiftly
reminded of just how
easy it is to injure
oneself without
force or torture.
depreciating value…

like a brand new
vehicle the moment
you drive it off the
lot.

clearanced and
marked down,
wanted only
because we’re now
cost-effective and a
hot commodity.

everyone wants the
cheapest version of
you.

Have you gotten your copy of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction at Lulu in E-Book & Paperback versions, or Amazon in Paperback (only) yet?

I am on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing, as I discuss recent events related to my previous place of employment, including racism and discrimination, the growth I experienced after resigning from that company, and the foibles and overall experiences of life. I welcome your visit.

Scattered Words

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Poems for Jernee Timid Loadholt

The cover (front and back) for Scattered Words: Poems for Jernee Timid Loadholt. Photo Collage Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

4 sections. 24 poems. 9 original photos (digitally animated by Google Gemini). 40 pages. 1 dog who is no longer with us.

The tentative publishing date is January 12, 2026, four months after Jernee’s passing.

In Scattered Words: Poems for Jernee Timid Loadholt, the author wants you, the reader, to experience Jernee in totality, and understand why she has lost the greatest companion she has ever known.

If you have ever grieved the loss of a pet, many of these poems will not only resonate with you, they will set up holding spaces in your mind, crawl into your heart, and retreat only when they have been commanded to do so.

You will laugh, cry, nod in agreement, and reminisce about your furry family member(s) and how they have become your strength. Grief is not linear, and every creeping moment it decides to invade your heart, there is a poem in this book to greet it.

In Scattered Words…, Tremaine celebrated, lamented, grieved, loved, and released Jernee Timid Loadholt. Every day, she will probably do these things again—not necessarily in that order.

If you have never met a dog who had the uncanny ability to be more memorable than some of the people you know, with this book of poems, you will have your chance.

God gifted me peace in living form, and I will never forget her, not ever.

Have you gotten your copy of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction at Lulu in E-Book & Paperback versions, or Amazon in Paperback (only) yet?

I am on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about 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.

Angles and Distance

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A Collaborative Poem by Barry Dawson & Tremaine L. Loadholt, published in Collaborature

Image: Greg Schmigel

BJ Dawson:

They come dripping with honied songs.
You happily lap them up at first;
so cloyingly sticky with promise
the sting of their claws goes unnoticed.
And just like that, there’s nothing again,

Only now, nothing feels less than that.
Got you chasing things you never wanted
just to feel something one more time,
just to get another juicy taste,
just like they wanted all along.

Play at being prey enough times,
angles and patterns soon seem telegraphed.
Funny how when you see them coming
those sweet songs croon on empty calories,
leaving you, me, and this naked truth.

Unsheathed, this mummer’s mimic still has fangs,
so be mindful how you cast them off.
Though a well-dressed no is still a no
and boundaries trigger venomous bite,
angles and distance out-leverage their reach.

Let them bait their lines again and again.
Mimic being moved by their siren song
as saccharine curdles into sour nothings
as you walk away from their invite
to thank them for gorging on your wholeness.

(In Response) Tremaine L. Loadholt:

You love being whole,
love feeling like you have
it all, and every woman you
meet must be craving
your attention.
A welcome yes may not
be the yes you yearn for,
but this doesn’t matter, you’ll
take what you want anyway.

And the sun and moon watch
as you devour hearts that
haven’t bloomed into their
ripe age. they plot on you–one
to brace you when it’s hot, the
other to push you when it’s cool.
You are so intent on breaking
every rule, you don’t realize
protecting you is their job.

The distance to sanity from where
you are is a two-day journey.
Wives and husbands, sisters and
brothers; every connected union
you find along your path–

To read the poem in its entirety, please find it in its published form at Collaborature. Thank you so much, Melissa Lemay, for hosting our work! Thank you, Barry, for continuing to collaborate with me. Our words have danced with each other for years, and I pray they continue to find each other in the future, too.

Writing It Gently, Babies

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A Book Review

Let Me Write This Gently, My Baby by Lisa Marie Lovett. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

Lately, I’ve been reading books that are seeping into my soul, spreading throughout my body, and settling into my marrow. There is nothing like reading a damn good book that strengthens you throughout the read, and begs you to sit with it for a while longer than you initially planned to. Let Me Write This Gently, My Baby by Lisa Marrie Lovett (Seasoned Dialogue on all platforms) does exactly that.

A spoken word poet, speaker, and influencer (amongst other things), Lisa lures the reader in with her gentle sayings that come wrapped in love, but with Mama’s sternness, and lets you know she means exactly what is being said to you. In every word shared within these pages, there is love, kindness, encouragement, testimonies, and a subtle bite to remind the reader that the author can get feisty if she has to. I appreciated everything this book has to offer, and I am blessed to have had a friend gift it to me a couple of months ago.

Below is the review of it that I shared on Amazon and Goodreads:

I Sat With This Book As If It Were My North Star

And that isn’t to say that it steered me along the right path every single time I opened it up, no I am saying this because the journey was a much-needed one. It came at the right time, and as a gift, too.

Sometimes, we need wisdom to glide to us in other forms, and when it is laced as poetry and literary art, for the written word creative, that is a blessing.

To connect with another human being’s words when you’re hungry for peace is soulspeak on an entirely different level.

Lisa Marie Lovett is in fact, “Seasoned Dialogue”, everything about this book screams teacher, poet, writer, experienced, a work in progress, blessed, and willing to learn. “Knowledge is infinite”, and within these pages, there is plenty of it shared with the reader.

I intend to read this book many more times, especially when life becomes far too heavy to carry or is cloaked in evil that I cannot fight alone.

Let Me Write This Gently, My Baby is a testimony that will continue to confess for many years to come.

If you’re a lover of poetry and looking for a book full of spoken word and poems that will nestle up next to you and spend a few nights in your head, this book is for you. The flow is smooth, succinct, flawless, and seamless, without a single hiccup. I appreciate the literary artistry on every page, and I am sure you will do the same.

Have you gotten your copy of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction at Lulu in E-Book & Paperback versions, or Amazon in Paperback (only) yet?

I am on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about 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.

At the Mention of Your Name

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An audio lamentation for Jernee Timid

A cartoonized version of Jernee Timid, derived from an original photo I took of her several years ago. Google Gemini is the AI tool I used to convert the image.
At the Mention of Your Name by Tremaine L. Loadholt

Just after work yesterday, I took
the body to a place we enjoyed
for months—our sister imaging center,
to visit with previous co-workers and
staff there.
My friend’s mother—eager to see my
smiling face, and offer a hug that
said to me, “You may not be mine,
but you are mine,” awakened my
heart’s pain.

The elders, as they often do, check
on us when we need it most.
The way she tilted her head and
asked, “How are you doing?” could
not have prepared me for what
would take place next.
I knew what she meant.
I knew how she meant it.
And when your name fell from her lips,
the tears fell from my eyes.

I apologized as I am wont to do when
my emotions take over, and she held
up her hand to me and shook her head No…
”I asked you. I want to know. Don’t you
dare apologize for feeling, Tre.”
And I heard the bass in her voice, attempted
to tighten up, but also loosen up, too.

It’s still unreal talking about you and
not coming home to you.
There are far too many reminders, and
so many people who knew you.
Everywhere I turn, sadness is waiting
to string me along.
I hate that this is now what clutters
my heart—that I have made space
for pain of this magnitude, and it shifts
only when it is good and ready.

At the mention of your name, I become
puddles that plough through the depths
of powerful grief—I wade accordingly, searching
for a shore that will envelop me
and keep me safe.
I can no longer run to you for a sense
of security.
You don’t crawl into my lap for warmth
or stand at the entrance of our bedroom,
waiting for me to exit.

You’re in so many places that make
up who I am, and erasing you was
never a plan—but keeping you in all
those spaces is running over me.
And if I can be completely honest
with you, I did not prepare for you
to live and die, and live again.

And for me to live and die, and
try to live again.

Musical Selection: Elton John—Your Song

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