Poems on Heels is a space where poetry is a voice for change, to address pressing issues by taking inspiration from every moment.
Through poetry I am able to share emotions and ideas that I cannot capture in other forms of writing. It allows me to explore difficult topics that will cause you to pause and reflect. Each poem on this blog is has either a hidden message or a clear one. Don’t be puzzled. Enjoy!
There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
Maya Angelou
It was one of those stores
That smelled a repulsive smell
It felt opposite of what their banner tried to sell
‘Winner’s Cold Store’
That place looked like
It had lost every battle against inflation
But who cared?
I couldn’t help but notice on my way out of there
The little girl on the table
Hiding the peaking stains of blood
Between her legs
While her spokesman behind the counter
Almost shooed me away from the store
What am I saying?
Maybe I missaw.
Winniefred F. Gbemuotor
Their bodies float on the surface of deep waters
And at night we hear them call
They read to us manifestos
Of how nice it is in the water
Many of us go in
To become oracles of their enchantment
Carrying on our heads their barely breathing bodies
While we beg for leftovers of air
Passed down from their rotting carcasses
The gods have drowned
And so has our will to live
Chained to the destinies of those who can’t help us
Winniefred F. Gbemuotor
Living on borrowed megabytes of happiness
Addicted to showing the world how happy we are
Making our inner child agonise and wither
Begging for attention
While we enjoy luxury and boast
That we are moving forward in life
Farther than other people
Until we get stuck
And the high can’t get us high anymore
And we fall deeper and more painfully each time
We’ve become heavy
With matted loads of smelly sores
We need to revisit and heal
We break down
And everyone gapes in shock
As if we are all not happy sad people
Winniefred F Gbemuotor
There is something about the legs of hungry girls
They are firm, sturdy like the iroko
They stand the test of time
The harshness of the streets
The race to get their food
The sweetness of words and promises
Like brooms to sweep them off their feet
There is something about the legs of hungry girls
They are soft like butter
Spread by the heat of a marathon of temptations
Their legs bleed habitually
In every direction
They are scarred
Different
Winniefred F. Gbemuotor
I had an affair with my sleeping wife.
When we first got married,
I would sometimes be woken up by dreamy chatter
At dead of night.
At first it was scary, other times offsetting
But I paid attention
And finally I got it:
She would sometimes
Offload the heaviest words,
And the happiest moments.
It wasn’t always clear, but I heard her
And I would have a good laugh
At how she scolded the children.
Her sleeping self was my partner in crime
A beauty in Eden, my cheat sheet.
She would sometimes reply my questions
Divulging her unsaid thoughts
And I understood them.
And I would smile and love her waking self
Like my sleeping wife wanted me to.
Winniefred F. Gbemuotor
I hear there is a place where shooting stars come from
Their cars are beautiful slings
They harvest every wish
I hear there is a place where shooting stars come from
The place is heavenly
As radiant as can be
I hear there is a place where shooting stars come from
The happy ones have made their wish
Others are gone with the stars and are now part of their assembly
I hear there is a place where shooting stars come from
I sit out every night waiting for their arrival
Let me be a star assigned to the people
Shining at the end of their tunnel
Showing them where shooting stars come from.
by Winniefred F. Gbemuotor
Two shots, and I was down.
I used to think the water would be clear
And I would be able to see the other side
This on the other hand, was thick and dark as night
I couldn’t think of moving out at the time
I felt like a bomb of emotions was about to set me free
My sister used to tell me
We will make daddy’s business great
He will be proud of us
Even if he can’t see us
So the years came
We did make him proud
I got into trouble
Brought a lot of rumble
My reign was over
So sister took over
Turned my right hand against me
Gave him a gun
by Winniefred F. Gbemuotor
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