Seeming is But a Garment

“My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear – a care-woven garment that protects me from thy questioning…”Kahlil Gibran

Dressed in a pinned smile and enough
Appropriate laughter, I will sit at the meet
Of champions encircling the dinner table
And hope the lamb is succulent enough
To steer the conversation away
From what we have become.

Thirteen years ago, we were strangers
In search of ourselves, builders pulling
Together the foundations of our currency,
At the tail end of teenage bliss. Early
Lectures and intermittent exams
Were the height of our qualms,
We thought we knew stress like
The lines in our palms.

Who knew the storms were coming
Arm in arm to push us out of our
Houses and see who stands.
The jobless years, the tears
And fears, the marriages
That almost were, the friends

Who actually never were, the journeys
That brought us here, to a newly bought
House, where we celebrate progression
From the sum of our pasts. They speak
Of the twenty-years; a wilderness
Of searching and angst, wondering
And wandering into a future they
Planned and I nod like I - am - there

Like my present was planned, they
Speak of the future like an extension
To a loft, as though we all stand on stairs
At the height of top, I think
of a future that escapes
The slums and I bury my thoughts


With a wreath of smiles. How
Do I begin to explain the start
Of angst that the thirties dragged
In with pomp? Should I say it is a storm
That broke down my houses
That my dreams are a pack of wingless
Birds that stay on my back
That a sadness looms over me

Larger than the sun, that it’s rays
Are in compartments behind my breast
That sometimes all the locks break
At once and I feel my sanity
Slip - away, my body becomes
A heavy weight and it has happened

So many times, that I have learnt
There is power in a good song, like
Screaming out loud, it is well
with my soul at the edge of a cliff
can keep me my feet firmly on the ground
I could tell them so much but instead I
Laugh and smile. I don’t want to break, but

My Friends, I am not what I seem. Seeming
Is but a garment I wear – a care- woven
Garment that protects me from questioning
And saves others from the sear
Of a sincere answer.


©Tolulola Agbelusi

Whispers of Spring

Spring is slow but coming
Every morning outside my
Window, a naked stem
Dresses itself with a brand
New bud. It almost looks
Like nothing but it’s there
Just like I know
Redemption is near.


©2013 Tolulola Agbelusi

Thank you to everyone who followed me on the 30/30 journey. I missed about 6 days which was an achievement because I was mad busy in April. I have now retired the 30/30 page so I can do more work on the poems.

Have a lovely May.

A Future of Your Making

One day, someone may visit
Dressed up as assistance.
They may speak of your
Potential as though their
Discovery is your beginning,
Map out your future and praise
Who you will be, squeeze your
Hand and lead you to places
You‘ve never been. Take

In the sights, watch how
The sky’s blue so easily
Blackens, how a sunny spring
Sky can suddenly throw snow
At unsuspecting pavements
How life busies itself with
Changing and staying the same

Be the same. Reclaim your hands
Carry as much of their light
As you need, maintain a thread
of your story through the changes
Embrace their ideas if you need
To but remember; you’re your own
Discovery so draw your own map, lest
Assistance takes over and you never
Find the way back to yourself.


©2013Tolulola Agbelusi

So I'm challenging myself to write 30 poems in 30 days.
See how I get on on the "30 Poems for 30 Days" page above.

My Becoming

Pinned to my mother’s side
Condemned to watch
When too young to cook
Cook when too old to watch
She watches me now


Moving to an anthem of gasps
That strangle the air
As my outstretched hands
Unleash tong like bare
Fingers, hugging the shoulders
Of a boiling pot to safety

With waving hands
And concrete words she
Rescues the air
From a pack of startled women
“My daughter can handle it”
She says.
Something in my mother’s tone

Unclipped my wings.
Was that pride she wore like skin?
The assurance of a teacher who
Laid down the tracks of my becoming
And watched the foundations rise
Beyond her humble classroom

Watching her face
I am 5 again
Tracing the road to 30
Viewing the sites
Differently

5,
Stilted by 4 wooden legs
Pounding laughter from cookie dough
Moulding her face into smiles

10,
Mentally minuting
The water before the rice
The boil before the rise
The wisdom in her eyes
The guests before the husband before myself

15,
Sweeping tears away,
Finding obligation scratched
Onto kitchen floors, reducing
Parental commentary into
Sauce, pounding sibling rivalry
Into yam, understanding nothing

20,
Carving independence
The flower of her words
Finally blossom in a soil of
Experience. In foreign lands
But kitchens always
Call in my mother’s voice.

30,
My kitchen now
Memories buried in every pot
I hold my mother’s eyes
And smile, letting myself
              Fly
On the wings of her pride



©Tolulola Agbelusi

WE ARE (For the Year 11 Girls at Haggeerston School)

This poem is generated from the words and feelings expressed by a group of girls who attended my workshop on 25th January.

Our mothers told us we were beautiful, smart,
brave, passionate; a gift to the world. We wore
her smiles bright. Chasing the dreams she had for
us on chariots of her pride. On the first day of school,
she kissed her words into our cheeks so we would
never forget. But the wind blew them away until we
found worth only in other’s opinions, in boy’s arms
In fabricated personalities, in dumbing down.
Another wind is blowing; a piece of paper
littered with words that will determine our

futures. We smell hints of our mother’s words
and piece together our stories like armour
for battle; discarding the insecurities the world
gave to us. We are not the sum of opinions.
We are beauty in shoulders people bow into,
offering sacrifices of tears as burdens float away.
We are hands that carry and care for a world that
cries for the tenderness of our perfect imperfections.
We are brains manufacturing talent, tomorrow’s leaders.
Wombs unashamed of failings that help us conceive our

true selves. We are bees stinging laughter into bitter
Situations. Forts of secrets that seam your
worlds together. We are anger that sparks
revolutions out of stagnation. Truth that
requires no explanation. We are perfect
futures in construction, slaying negativity in a once
forgotten chariot. We are our mother’s daughters
slowly becoming Women our daughters will be proud
of. We are girls on the brink of womanhood
claiming our rights to succeed.


©ToluAgbelusi 2013

Life is Lived Forwards but Learned Backwards

Life is an adventure and I plan to live it
Speech is a gift and I plan to use it
So that tomorrow doesn’t tell stories of what should have would have could have been
If only I had lived outside my box
If only I had said and done
If only’s I don’t want at all

So with my voice
I’ll lead you down corridors unknown
Where you can learn things untold
From questions asked
And times I laughed
From dreams I’d share if you’d care to ask
From cares I embrace
And fears I’d like to erase

I’d show you a me unimaginary
But only if you’ll let me.

©Tolulola Agbelusi

Conversation with my 40 year old self

This month being December and all I thought I'd look forward 10 years and write a message to myself.

So tell me

Are you smiling now?
Taller from mountains of hope
That fuelled your growth

Are you happy now?
Toned from hurdling over obstacles
That incessantly stalked your path

Are you laughing now?
Brushing cheeks with the elusive ‘one day’
Finally visiting screaming good morning the storm is over

Do you have it now?
Success at the end of a very long lonely tunnel
That promised no end

Did he come?
Dimpled, big smile,
Tall and talking sense

Are you married now?
Mother, Lawyer, Poet
Crazy Superwoman that you always were

Has hindsight flown in happy?
Tickled past pains into non –existence
Does she still have you giggling now?

I wonder

Did you tell them?
Unleash tales of hurricanes that tossed your brown skin beige
And left you broken till God collected and mended the pieces

Did they wonder?
Whether your sanity absconded
Leaving you with wild tales that were far from real

Did you show them?
Reveal battle scars and make them realise
Your sanity strength was fired in long hardship

Are you smiling?
Are you laughing?
Did we make it?

Tell me.