*Updated January 09, 2021
Iam an open book with a tired spine — is what I typically say nowadays. No, but really . . . If you ever truly want to know something about me, simply ask. If I feel comfortable enough to disclose it, I will. If I don’t…
It is my birthday. I am five. Mommy throws a big party for me. No one comes. I eat my cake in one of the corners of our living room — tears fall. I don’t care, anymore. I don’t care. Mommy says she’ll always love me — she’ll always be…
I understand you caught up with my girl . . . Iesha. She’s the shit, right?! I love her so much. Listen . . . Iesha is the main reason I have this gig at this place, you know. And she’s also the main reason I want to continue to…
such a strange little bug
it crawled along the street
where did it come from
this is what I wondered
who’s it trying to meet
A Flamenca poem is usually:
©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt
Throughout the night, thunder
rumbled and brought a mighty
wrath of wind and rain.
I tossed and turned, wind
barked in the air — mistaken
for a train or tornado, I fought
sleep.
The next morning — rain paused
itself to make room for snow
and for five hours, Old Man Winter
raged…
bent but not yet broken
from a short winter storm
lazy limb needs help
can it withstand others
or will this be the norm
Part I
Part II
A Flamenca poem is usually:
5 lines
lines 1, 2, 4, and 5 have 6 syllables
line 3 has 5 syllables
lines 2 and 5 assonate
©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt
*Readers, the following story details murder and death graphically, abuse and neglect of children, and a family’s indescribable pain.
We don’t talk about Daniela. We don’t reminisce — don’t share our memories — don’t even flip through the plastic pages of…
A friend of mine sent a text message on New Year’s Eve stating Betty White had died. Suddenly, it felt as though a galaxy found its way into my body and exploded. I was not prepared for something as heavy as Betty’s death to sit on my chest and pierce…
My wild-haired love sits comfortably in our space. I stare at her — globes for eyes, a song for a heart . . . she gifts me life. I haven’t had to search for a love stronger than hers in thirteen years — a milestone.
No one can compete. …
this rusted flower pot
many stories untold
captivates the mind
to whom did it belong
to whom was it once sold
©2021 Tremaine L. Loadholt
Part I:
A Flamenca poem is usually:
I am more than breath & bones. I am nectar in waiting. “You write like a jagged, beautiful dream.” ©Martha Manning •https://acorneredgurl.com
