Category: Music

Music Is a Healer

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YouTube

Nicholas… I’ve known and loved him for twenty-seven years.

I adore that my friends know how to cheer me up. I am sure he could sense how down I’ve been of late, and twenty minutes ago, he sent me the above video.

The way my heart perked up and how I started dancing around my apartment should be a C R I M E!

I hope you have friends who know exactly what you need to hear and see when you feel like you can’t hear or see anything.

I sincerely do.

there are still happy memories

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a reminiscence poem (NaPoWriMo #29)

a funny saying
he’d use for me
as a nickname struck
him in the gut on Tuesday
after lunch…
he decided to share
it with me…

“Sugarfoot! LOL!
Remember that?!”

how could I ever
forget it? I haven’t been
anyone’s Sugarfoot since
him.

it feels wrong to
admit it, though.
we can’t erase who we were—who
we are…

we just have to move
on as we have been doing
knowing we made each
other happy, but we
just couldn’t keep
making each other happy.

at least, we’ll always have
the memories.

SIR, Dreaming of Me. YouTube

Scattered Words: Hardcover $26.00 USD|Scattered Words: eBook $11.00 USD|Scattered Words: Amazon

The Day Before 46

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The many versions of Tre: Toddler Tre, Several-hours-old Tre, 45-year-old Tre, 7-year-old Tre, 36-year-old Tre, and 18-year-old Tre. Photo Collage Created by Tremaine L. Loadholt

Tomorrow, if the
Lord sees fit, I’ll
meet 46.

She better come
with more wisdom,
less time spent
worrying about the
unsaveable, and
more opportunities
of pure joy.

Before the year is
out, I’d love to be
laid up under a body
or atop one that
knows tenderness
can heal.

Just one year, I pray
to “Soft Girl” it, and
see what those
waves have to offer.
I’m tired of
constantly treading
waters.

Where is the damn
shore?

Musical Selection:
Completed, COLORS, Durand Bernarr

*Originally published on Substack Notes.

The Sirens’ Call

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An Audio Poem (NaPoWriMo #9)

Sirens’ Song, ©1979, Romare Bearden. National Gallery of Art (Free-to-Use)
The Sirens’ Call by Tremaine L. Loadholt

Danger crept up through the waters,
hauling men with full bellies.

The Sirens stood at their stations—steadfast
for the cause—menace and malice failed to thrive.

If a song had to be sung to ward off
the gaudy and impenetrable, they sang it.

Their chests puffed out in agony from the
pain of constant battle—war with men is draining.

Weary women wear hard-earned habits—flaunting
them as gifts—the full ship smelled their feral scent.

A taste of heaven is what their bodies yearned for—hypnosis
is what they received instead.

A dangling man was wrapped around a pole,
severed from sternum to torso—lifeless on sight.

The Sirens—gathered at their hips, tightly woven into
comfort—sang a song, calling all Gods to their feet.

And as sure as fire on a windy night,
Gods arrived.

One by one, the men sank into the ground
beneath them—dust in the wind, blowing over the ocean’s head.

Every Siren bowed… in reverence, content to linger in
communion with supreme beings who honor their word.

And now, when men want to sully the waters, a
call from years ago sails through the eye—“You have no home here,”

It screams. It shouts. It belts out at the top of its lungs
with every siren’s voice hidden in the naked sea.

Musical Selection:
Ari Lennox, Hocus Pocus. YouTube