The writer, Sydney J. Shipp. Used with permission.

Although soliloque is a space for my thoughts, I have always been in favor of a community and strengthening it. The “soliloque spotlight” will highlight writers, artists, and all-around creatives who have inspired me in some way, and also have voices more powerful than some of the heavy-hitters we see…

Nala Steele in my guestroom which became her room when visiting. December 18, 2006, to September 22, 2021. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

A lamentation

I suppose I should move past the teary-eyed moments
but they find their way in at the most inappropriate times
and I remember that emotions have their own
way of working themselves into life.
I should welcome them, I think? …

A musical poem

Photo by Matheus Henrin via Pexels

The phone rang and her voice
shimmied into my ear.
Every bone in my body
begged her to come,
Lay It Down On Me.

I wasn’t shy in my request.
A recent breakup made me the
rebound — implored her to
Guess Who Loves You More
and she didn’t hesitate.

Musical Selection: Erykah Badu|Gone Baby Don’t Be Long

An Audio Rapid Rhyme

Photo by Yuri Manei via Pexels

He calls her up, one more time
for a memorable event
Blessing her with extras like
they do Jake cuz she’s got great rates
Put the money where it hides
tips her more than she desires

She doesn’t even count it anymore
lets it pile up like before
She’ll have enough…

It shows up unannounced and doesn’t know when to leave

Photo by Leo Kwan via Unsplash

It is not like me to forget to respond to a text message from one of my brothers. We’re close. We usually speak multiple times per week. On this day, we had been communicating during one of my breaks, and I mentioned heading back to work. His response, “Okay, sis…

Part VII: Soulful Legs Dance Studio has a new member.

Photo by Ratih Siubelan via Redshot

The night before my audition, I break the nail on my big toe pretty badly. It bleeds heavily on my bedroom carpet. I stand amazed at it. I don’t even feel the pain. I had been dancing for a few hours nonstop and must’ve broken it while turning. Mama notices…

Vector art by Slide Factory via Redshot


She plucks the strings of her violin. Her son sits with his toddler legs swinging just below the comforter. He claps his hands — excited for a concert especially for him. The room is high-ceilinged with stucco-based walls. …

Masked and staring into the great beyond? Photo touched up with Comica. ©2021 Tremaine L. Loadholt

A free verse poem

there are no ways of explaining
I want the bigots of the world
to feel something other than stacks
of money lining their pockets or
fantasies of distasteful uprisings
at their command

I want them to feel . . .

I have lived for forty-one years in
skin that makes authoritative…

A narrative audio poem

Photo by Michael Lane via Redshot

it is Saturday morning
before the birdsong ends,
my neighbor tests his drone.
he prepares its landing
just before Jernee and I
cross his path.
he giggles excitedly at his

I say to him, “Like a little
kid on Christmas Day.”
he responds, “Almost.”
the joy shivering through
his skin is contagious.

Hearts of Burden, created with Canva.

Musical Selection: Bishop Briggs|River


She examines the tips of her fingers — her nails . . . she’d let them grow too long once again. Tonight, she’ll clip them. That’s what she’ll have on her schedule for a Friday night. Among watching whatever series her perusing eyes land on, courtesy of Netflix, and washing…

Tre L. Loadholt

I am more than breath & bones. I am nectar in waiting. “You write like a jagged, beautiful dream.” ©Martha Manning •

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