Available in paperback on Amazon


Writing is turning my pain into art.


Writing has been therapy and coping mechanism to deal with things that threatened to drown me. I still surprise myself at how far I’ve come and how much healing, grace and joy that I’ve received.

I wrote the first book ‘Out of The Silent Breath,’ in doubt of my capability to do it.  This second poetry book ‘Unbridled,’  is written not just for me, but for love and those who keep me sane.

Unbridled is written for souls hurting, for healing and becoming.

It is served to be well-thumbed and mulled over.

Written in free verse each poignant poetry vibrates with a life of its own.

Bold and uncensored verses that talk about societal issues of rape, domestic violence, sadness, infidelity, racial discrimination, sex, depression, loss, pain, femininity, grief, suicide, womanhood, relationships, love, resilience, courage, anger, mental health, paedophilia, child abuse, break up, conflict, loneliness, ageing, life, lust, optimism, Poverty, Race, Death, Justice, Beauty, Endurance, Faith, Dreams and Empowerment.

The author’s words epitomise the poetic impulse to capture concentrated images from experience and observing life’s moments; impassioned, ecstatic, sad, fiery, sensual; they are naked intimate expressions saying as much as they can say in few words.

To purchase, check this link.



Short Stories

Enslaved – Friday Fiction in Five Sentences.

She lay still on the mat, her body curled in a fetal position as she listened to his grunts and snoring whilst he slept in replete satisfaction.

Reeba heard every minutiae sound that echoed in the night camp as she suffered through another sleepless night of so many terrifying nights; daylight could never come fast enough.

A deep chasm of hopelessness dug a bottomless pit inside her, alongside her perpetual hunger for food.

For how long? For how long would she have to live? Will she get out of this alive? Sometimes death seemed a preferable option.

She wondered what became of her family; did they survive the attack or were they captured and enslaved as well?

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Below is my first just published Poetry Book “Out of the silent breath” which is available on Amazon and Smashwords.

When you buy my book, you support me in an invaluable manner.


Wonderful, evocative poetry by a talented writer. Left me hungry for more. Jacqueline can write! Linda Bethea

Out of the silent breath

If you enjoy my works and would like to do so, you can fuel my creativity with a slice of cake or coffee😉

Life · Poetry/Poems · Social Issues · The Daily Post · writing ideas

The Face Of Evil..

In response to The Daily Post prompt Wicked Witch

Write about evil: how you understand it (or don’t), what you think it means, or a way it’s manifested, either in the world at large or in your life.

Love most important

Evil lies at every door!
Sneaky and eager to slip in,
When the door is left unlocked,
Evil slips in unwatched!

In each of us exists a Jekyll and Hyde,
Always a tussle between Good and Bad,
Who wins is left for you to say,
Because, indeed, evil lies at the door!

She doesn’t look like the wicked witch from East-wick,
Neither does she resemble the witch from Far East,
But resides in all those, with malevolent eyes,
Indeed, evil lies at the door!

She needs not have a hooked, pimply nose,
Nor cast spells over,
Pots of mumbo-jumbo,
A minutes delay, the spell is done,
Indeed, evil slips in through the door!

S/he comes well packaged in lovely gift wraps,
S/he comes sensuous, sleek with soft touch,
Glossy and sweet, like everything nice,
A little taste and then its doom,
Indeed, evil lies at the door!

S/he needs no crooked black hat,
Nor a black cat that spits with squinted eyes,
She needs no broom,
To get her vroom,
Yes indeed, evil lies at the door!

At the door of an unrepentant heart,
With no sense of remorse!
At the door of wicked pleasure,
From others pain and misery!
At the door of abuse, loneliness, violence and more,
Yes indeed, evil lies at the door!

Guard your hearts and minds!

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Societal Issues · The Daily Post

Yes, There Are Boundaries…

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Too Soon?.”

Can anything be funny, or are some things off limits?

Title banner off-limits

A well developed sense of humor is something I think I possess.

I am a Christian but not a dour faced sanctimonious one!

I love good jokes any day and will even laugh at myself with ease.

There is no need sweating all the stuff (hard and small) because life is already hard enough and rather too short!

However, there are jokes that I will not be shining my teeth at ever at all!

I find such funnies to be insensitive and in very bad taste!

Things to do with Child Sexual Abuse, Domestic Violence, Terrorism of any sort, Rape, Murder are an absolute NO! NO! for me.

I am aware that some comedians thrive on such tripe and I do question at times if they are perpetrators of such acts themselves!

I am very doubtful that victims and survivors of certain obscene act would be laughing it off. Bad jokes

If that is the case, we won’t hear of women who often fall to pieces and commit suicide after acts of sexual molestation.

If it was so funny, we won’t have so many issues of troubled children who were abused till they lost their sense of self and are left battling with hangovers of such issues.

If it were hilarious, we wouldn’t have so many dysfunctional families due to domestic violence.

If it were rib-cracking, our jails will not be spilling over with perpetrators of nefarious crimes.

Indeed, there is a limit to a joke and a fine line should be drawn on such jokes that are in poor taste!

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Creative Writing

The butcher…


Caution: Not for the fainthearted.

His eyes and low slung purring Audi followed her. Trailing her loose-limbed steps from the bus stop, down to the dusky lit quiet street of the clandestine underground night club “The Cock and Bull”. It was a known for its open secrets of hosting nefarious activities, yet it drew the inquisitive and adventurous ones like bees to a honey dew pot. A place where no questions were asked and no answers received. A place to let your thoughts roam wild and possibly get lucky.

Watching the outline of her slight lissome built and her eclectic dressing in the dimmed haze of the night light, simply piqued his interest some more. Her profile showed attractive features (he liked them attractive) and he was on the prowl.

The past few weeks of keeping his nose clean and carrying on his normal life, had worn his patience thin and he needed the ensuing excitement that the night would offer.

Parking a block away, he quickly followed her retreating shadow into the rowdy club, and as usual no questions were asked, no answers offered.

The club which ran till the wee hours of the morning, was habitually smoke filled, darkly lit with only flashing colored light beams and very loud heavy metal music blaring from its powerful systems. Couples dotted the dance floor whilst some were ensconced in corners, getting to know each other.

“Hello beautiful”, he drawled in his smoky, melt my bones voice. He knew the effect that he had on women. They always took to him easily and he capitalized heavily on his charms. His height and well toned body never failed to draw their eyes. From his flinty grey eyes, clean shaven look that showed a well chiseled face and his short crew cut, it had all merged to radiate burnished good looks.

“Hello” she replied as she spun sideways on the high bar stool and gave him a quick once over. Her clingy short skirt had ridden up her thighs and her high boots which encased trim legs were crossed over each other.

He got an eyeful of slim and flawless thighs. As a matter of fact, she looked gorgeous from a closer view. She had a pixie face and smooth crop of shoulder length reddish blond hair, large outlined smokey eyes with thick long lashes and full bee-stung lips that shimmered from her lip gloss.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Suit yourself” she shrugged in response.

He quickly took the swivel stool beside her, perching sideways so that he can observe her some more, from a closer range.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he offered.

“If you please”, she responded.

Not too chatty, he silently observed. That suited him very well. He was not in the mood for a long chat either. He really had no desire for a “let’s get to know each other tonight kind of thing”.

His last encounter with the chatty Librarian who had practically talked his ears off before he silenced her, simply put him off talkative women.

He always homed in on the one’s that he perceived were lonely and needed someone to talk to. He was the epitome of an attentive gentleman, from the mousy teacher, to the sassy dancer, the divorced lonely curator, the stripper and so on. He had lost count of how many exactly, but between all the cities he had been in, he had left quite a good number of missing body trails.

Watching her delicate pale throat work as she downed a couple of shots of brandy, he was practically drooling and the sizzle of anticipated excitement caused his hairs to stand on ends.

He kept reaching into his denim pocket, to touch the sharp army knife ensconced in there from time to time. Each time he flexed his fingers around its smooth curved nut casing, he felt a jolt of confidence and adrenaline surge through his veins.

Her reasons for being at Cock & Bull were not divulged. She was acerbic in her responses, but for whatever reason, she obviously sought to drown her reasoning in an alcoholic binge and he obliged.

As she grew more relaxed and switched to Margarita’s, with each gulp of the pricey Margarita that raced down her throat, he grew bolder in his closeness until she was practically encased between his muscled thighs.

The drinks were done and the invitation back to his apartment was accepted. It was a quick silent drive in his plush, smoke and masculine scented ride. She sat in the warm, hugging confine of the leather car seat, and enjoyed the strumming beats of ”Eye of the Tiger”, whilst he kept running his fingers lightly over her exposed thigh.

They got back to his swanky apartment, and his whet appetite  couldn’t wait to get busy, but he did not want to rush through the process. He always savored the reeling in of his victim, watching her pupils dilate in fear, the scent of blood trickling down that vulnerable neck from the first cut, the feisty struggle and the inevitable end of necrophilia.

Sometimes, he was not sure which suited him better, to asphyxiate, or the clean slice of the throat. Nonetheless, he got immense satisfaction from the startled look of surprise each of them wore in death.

His sick mind had reached it’s height of excitement and he pounced on her like a caged Tiger, menacing and ready to desecrate her body.

Her mind kicked into action. Her legs lifted, jackknifing from the knee in a hitch kick. Her arms ranged out to the sides and contracted to cuddle her body. In a flash, she pulled out a knife that was tucked into her boots and thrust, with all her might, slicing from navel up. He was stupefied in shock. Her father had taught her well.

She had been born a circus gypsy, with a knife throwing father, and a mother that she hardly knew. From as little as six years, she had struggled on her own, moving from town to town on roadshows with her dad and the circus team that practically raised her and taught her all the tricks they knew. Her deceptive small stature always led some misguided men to underestimate her strength which had been built from years of balancing on wires and jumping hoops.

Unfortunately, years back, she had been too young, too naive, too trusting and too vulnerable to stop the abuse she had suffered in the hands of some slick buffoons who felt it was fun to ambush and have their way with a teenage ‘white trash’ as they had called her. But never again, she vowed, never again.

She stepped over his crumpled body as he lay gasping and clutching his spilled guts, and made off with his valuable belongings, fat wallet and purring Audi listening to the Eye of the Tiger.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Who stalked who? You might care to ask.