Tag: Poetry

Poem for an Image

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#2: Deer Alert (Deer Season)

A loner, but just down the block would be an entire family. However, they all ran off as soon as I got close enough for the perfect shot of them. I am sure this one was standing at attention, keeping its eyes on me as I got closer to them. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

Deer Season

Dear Deer Season, we normally
don’t meet on these terms, but
I’ve seen many does and not
that many bucks, and I am
wondering, will there be
any mating this year?

I know you’d much rather keep
it all a secret and surprise me
on my walks with new additions,
struggling to keep up with
the bevy, but I need to know
which corners to avoid
because Daddy Deer isn’t as
friendly.

I haven’t planned on using
running mode with these
knees, but if I need to
kick up my gears, I’ll
gladly do so if a male is
spotted and is in search of
heat that I can’t produce.

“Death by Deer” isn’t a
phrase I envisioned on
my tombstone.

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 my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

pulse

trE

a stranger cupped my
hand in hers at the curb
of the crosswalk, and looked
at me pleadingly.

I am funny about touch if
I don’t know you, and sometimes
even when I do, but I knew
something was wrong
when I saw her eyes dancing
like they were running away
from terror.

I tilted my head and leaned
into her personal space and
smelled fear.
caution warned me not
to turn around, so I didn’t,
but I could hear him
breathing.

a cop–woman, stood by
her cruiser a block away,
and sitting shotgun was her
partner. I looked at her, raising
my tethered hand, and then
looked at the silent woman,
and the cop knew.

the man started running
as soon as their eyes locked.
the silent woman sat in
the backseat, and closed
the cruiser’s door.

I walked two blocks home,
dangling my hand at my
side, twiddling my fingers,
feeling the lonesome lack of
the woman’s grip.

I prayed for her safety as
my pulse quickened.

This was my dream from last night. I hope it isn’t a premonition or a vision into what will happen.

Poem for an Image

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#1: Jernee Timid, Princess Extraordinnaire

Jernee Timid: This was taken on a “good” day, August 15, 2025. Her right eye is in and out of healing. Something’s causing it to fill with blood, and then it’ll dissolve and won’t appear again for days. $920.72 spent on August 03, 2025, has NOT resolved the issue.

Jernee’s living her best life
during her last days–Princess Puppy
striking a pose–braving a
lucid moment…
she’s my heart’s beats
outside of 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 my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

catastrophic love & have we come far enough?

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Two poems shared on Substack notes

catastrophic love

his blithesome
demeanor captured
me.

I lost all of my
selves swimming
in the depths of his
eyes.

I was disruption;
a distraction…
we bombed before
we could elevate.

catastrophic love.

have we come far enough?

although I am the
eldest child, if this
were the 1500s or
I was of royal blood,
my arrival to first
would mean
nothing because the
next born has the
package; male
primogeniture cut me
to the quick.

imagine being the
first, most
dependable, always
responsible, and a
doer without being
prompted, yet your
earned position in
life depends on
what’s between your
legs.

that’s not a life I
would have enjoyed
living, but when I
assess modern
times and the fight
women constantly
battle, the system
is still rigged to
embrace the least
educated, the most
aggressive, and the
overly-praised, so…

how far have we
come, really?

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 my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

Mandy Patinkin Has a Powerful Message|Hope Still Lives

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And it nearly crushed my heart, but I’m glad he said it; I’m just saddened that he had to.

Mandy Patinkin’s Urgent Message to Jews Worldwide

Patinkin grew up in an upper-middle-class family, descended from Jewish immigrants from Russia and Poland, and was raised in Conservative Judaism, attending religious school daily from the age of seven to 13 or 14 and singing in synagogue choirs, as well as attending the Camp Sura in Michigan.

Fine Art America/Images

hope still lives, or at least, I think it does

many of us don’t
really have a heyday
to refer to–shouldn’t
we all–isn’t that
some sort of
requirement to doing
life the way it should
be done?!

I could be
overthinking this as
I typically do with
all things, but in my
head, it makes sense
for this to make
sense.

I know I can’t be the
only one.
I hope I’m not the
only one.

but it wouldn’t be
the first time, and
that, somehow, is
oddly relieving.

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 my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

the carelessness of the few & a griseous morning

trE

Two poems written on Substack notes

the carelessness of the few

if millions of breathing beings
proscribed evildoers and those greedy
enough to shake down the poor and
oppressed, we wouldn’t be dancing
in a pit of flames, trying our best to
outrun the burn.

but here we are…
walking on lit coal, struggling to stay
sane, and clapping away fire that aligns
itself with our truths.
we had the tools to succeed politically,
however, many were afraid to see how
well they worked.

and now, we’re all
drowning in this
inescapable Hell.

a griseous morning

morning isn’t sashaying over to
me as it’s done the
past few days.

it appears sullen,
griseous, and
downtrodden.

I don’t have the
words to heal the ache it feels, but
I offer a few anyway.

it wanders around my home,
anxious to see which one of us
will break first.

I’ve got news for it…
it won’t be 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 my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.