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Best Poems Written by Ayomide Oyindamola

Below are the all-time best Ayomide Oyindamola poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Ayomide Oyindamola Poem

Foolish Dreams

I have the most foolish Dreams
In my dreams, I wake to sunlight pouring in streams.
In my dreams, I am unburdened by fear, failure or disease.
In my dreams, the sky is blue and the air is clean.
In my dreams, I only see individuals never a multitude
In my dreams, I bridge the gap between companionship and solitude
In my dreams, I walk with my head held high
There is no self doubt nor reason to hide tears I have cried
In my dreams, the nights are longer 
There are no boogie men so I have peaceful slumbers
In my dreams, I have friends and feel no heartache
In my dreams, I never let go I give all it takes
In my dreams, I'm not afraid to laugh or feel
In my dreams, I'm surrounded by peace, it is truly surreal
In my dreams, I am all that I am and that is enough
In my dreams, I know what it is to love and be loved
Every night I go to sleep and dream of things I won't ever admit I seek
And every morn I rise to a wet pillow and tearstained cheeks
Truly I have the most foolish Dreams
My mind is endlessly breaking my heart making me wish for the wrong things

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The Man In The Hole

Once there was a man who stumbled into a ditch,
He fell hard and let out a painful pitch.
You see, this hole was terribly deep,
He couldn’t climb out—the walls were too steep.

So he waited on sun and moon for aid,
Till down fell a boy, with a shout, dismayed.
They talked awhile and made a plan:
“You’ll stand on my shoulders,” said the man.

“When you get out, remember a rope—
Toss it back down and give me hope.”
The lad climbed free and walked away,
Forgot the man like yesterday.

Still in the hole, the man remained—
Alone, in silence, lost and pained.
Then in fell a soldier, weary and sore,
And the man welcomed him once more.

They waited till he could stand again,
Then settled on the same old plan.
The man called out as he crossed the slope,
“Don’t forget—throw down a rope.”

The soldier climbed out and never looked back.
The man sat still in shadows black.
Days turned to weeks, then months alone,
Till in fell a girl with a startled moan.

The man, still hoping, offered a hand,
And once again they made a plan.
But when she rose and reached the light,
She too forgot, was gone from sight.

This happened more times than he could say—
Again and again, they walked away.
And slowly, over the passing years,
Even his prayers began to shift from tears.

He no longer begged for rope or escape,
But scraps of food or drops for his ache.
Just little things to keep him fed,
To quiet the hunger and rest his head.

Then in the seventh year, as fate would play,
A boy fell in, chasing a rabbit astray.
They talked, they planned—the old routine.
The man, now frail, worn and lean.

“When I get out, should I throw down a rope?”
The man blinked twice, stirred by hope.
He smiled and whispered, “No need, my son—
I’m fine right here. My journey’s done.”

It wasn’t that he wished to stay,
But if the boy had looked, he'd say— 
He’d have seen the roots, the soil, the gloom:
The man’s feet had grown into the room.

Details | Ayomide Oyindamola Poem

Tchotchke

Spring cleaning comes and I seek to expunge from every counter and corner
All clutter and dried rose that serves no purpose
Knickknacks and little trinkets all go in the basket.
To be given to those who have lesser or resold or simple lost forever

There it sits on the mantle, an object grotesquely elephantine
Rounded edges so it fits into no corners
Claiming center stage, grossly out of place
Into the basket it goes leaving only a rim of dust in its absence 

Spring cleaning is over, expunged from every counter and corner-
-all clutter or dried rose that serves no purpose
Knickknacks and little trinkets all go in the basket 
The basket goes to the salvation army down the street

I sit and relax after a long day 
Coffee in my hand, eyes fixed on the clean mantle
There it sits on the mantle, the object grotesquely elephantine
rounded edges so it fits in no corners

Claiming its place in the center
Of no value but it still remains
Like the one who gave it
My tchotchke

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Equi-distant

Happiness and sadness are equi-distant from each other
It's the speed that makes all the difference
From point to point
A distance travelled in our minds but takes hold of the body
Like a pendulum swinging from end to end
Our souls dim and perspectives flicker
A proud eagle becomes solitary
A vast vibrant field becomes lonely
Words are given innuendoes belonging to another
Hearts take shelter. feelings take cover
The distance puts the difference between solitude and loneliness
The difference between a recluse and confinement
Which is up Joy or Sorrow?
Are we overwhelmed by the drop or climb?
Do we wish to forever fall or fly?
Happiness and Sadness are equi-distant from each other
It's the speed that makes all the difference
Do we flee from sadness because we know how joy feels?
Or do we run to happiness because we know how sorrow feels?

Details | Ayomide Oyindamola Poem

Dearest Reader

Dearest reader, I have many secrets
But I wont tell you now, I'll wait till you're older
Heavens know I have many regrets
But I wont tell you now, please wait till I'm bolder

There are many things about me you dont know yet
But I wont tell you niw as you rhetorically cry on my shoulder
There is a version of myself you havent met yet
But I wont show you now, for she's angry, much darker...colder

I dont know if I'll tell you when your tears have dried 
Or when you no longer cry
I'll tell you my secrets but maybe when you're wiser
Though it might take a little longer
For I dont want to be a bother

Till then you can cry on my shoulder
While I pretend to be stronger