Roses for Qu
The seagulls keow remind me
that the beach is not far away.
Beautiful Dorset.
Some mornings, I sit and watch the long-tailed tit hop from tree to roof.
I enjoy its soft zepps.
So I wonder:
Where have your trees gone?
Why was your room hot?
I walk into my garden
to look for the rosebud I have watched for days; its petals have sprouted.
I feel a bit conflicted.
The roses compete with sawflies for survival. Sawflies ate the last petal that sprouted.
You promised to visit this weekend,
so I wrestle with the thought
of plucking this rose before the sawflies eat it.
If you do not visit this weekend,
my plucked rose will wither.
Sawflies are eating the leaves and petals.
The weekend comes.
My doorbell rings.
You walk in.
I lead you to my garden and show you flowers, and search for the excitement in your eyes.
Then, I ask:
‘Do you want this rose?’
Because You Are
My heart is in your heart
It has beaten for thousands of years
And it will beat for thousands more
My heart was passed down from my ancestors I will pass it to you, and you will pass it down your line My heart is in your heart
It beats for the ancestors long gone
The ones who walked on wet soil
planted corn, pounded yams, and wore masks They carved sculptures and danced at festivals They told stories of harvests and hunts
Joy and love
Peace and war
Family and separation
My heart is in your heart
Though you are distant
you are me
I am you
We will be
because you are
God Is in the Water
I searched for God in all the wrong places,
but God is in the water.
I searched for God in the pews,
but God is in the water.
God is in the way you wear your hair,
thick curls fastened into cornrows.
Your skin, like terracotta,
the same as the ancestors.
I searched for God in all the wrong places,
but God was on a ship in May 1803,
shackled at the feet,
tight-packed in the ship’s hold.
God was with you and all the ancestors on that ship.
I saw God in the water,
when you stepped into the water,
bubbles escaping through your nose and mouth.
You would rather be in the water with God,
than on the fields, picking cotton for
Spinning mills and checked clothes.
Tobi Aluko is a Nigerian artist and writer living and working in Poole, England. Tobi is inspired by the artistic expressions of the Romantic era. He creates paintings, fiction, poetry, and rhetoric in this expression, but reimagined for a modern audience. One of his short stories was featured in the Atherton Review. One of his poems was a Runner-up in the Bournemouth Writing Festival Forum Seasonal Poetry Competition. His paintings and Poetry were featured in Auger Collective Geo Gallery. Tobi believes ‘… art has the power to teach love, a profound need in today’s world. IG: @tobi.a_art, Twitter: @tobi_e_aluko