#counselling
1. THE WITHERING
the tree stood—
arms outstretched,
leaves loud in the wind,
but hollow at the belly,
a cathedral of unanswered prayer.
i searched it once,
twice,
a third time with hungered eyes.
nothing.
not a fig.
not a promise.
not even a hint.
and i,
taught to measure grace
by the pound,
felt the curse rise
like a coal in my throat.
should i not speak fire?
should i not say
what the book said?
but the tree—
it only shivered
in the hush
before the rain,
its roots gnawing
at the dark’s arithmetic.
2. RESOLUTION
so
the fig
is plucked.
the fig
is eaten.
i won’t
outchrist
christ,
who cursed
a fig tree
for its figlessness.
i will wait—
not like a saint,
but like the soil:
gritted,
greedy,
working its slow alchemy.
i will dig
beneath the bark’s scripture,
unclench the earth’s fist.
the fire in my mouth
will cool to embers,
banked for colder nights.
3. BEYOND THE CURSE
so—
the fig is ripe
and taken,
the fig is eaten.
but i
will not
curse the quiet branch,
nor chide the soil
for its stutter.
i will not
outcurse
the clock,
its metallic tongue
counting barren hours.
i will prune the brittle twigs,
hands soft as rain
but deliberate as dawn.
i will listen
to the sap’s gossip,
the root’s rebuttal
to my inherited fire.
4. IN THE TIME OF FIGS
in the time of figs,
some trees will bow
under the weight of bees.
others ache
in the drought’s lecture—
roots parsing
the grammar of survival.
the fig is ripe—
it is taken,
it is eaten.
but i
will not
curse the quiet branch,
nor scorn the stem
for its slowness.
i will wait—
through leaf-fall,
through the dry bark’s psalms,
through the long hush
of unbecoming.
i will wait
for the swelling,
for the fig
that comes
when it is time,
or does not.
5. FIRST FRUIT
and then—
as if remembering
how to give,
the tree offered
a single fig.
no trumpet,
no thunder,
no decree etched in gold.
just one fruit,
warm with stolen light,
nestled in green.
i did not pluck it.
i placed my hand beneath,
and it dropped
like a comma
into my palm—
a pause, not a period.
and i wept—
salt pooling where the curse
once burned my throat—
for the soil’s stubborn breath,
for the tree’s mute argument
against my inherited fire.
6. SECOND WITHERING
and when the next fig fell—
not to my palm,
but to the ants’ feast—
i bit my tongue
to keep the old curse
from crawling back.
(even grace
has its winters.)
i knelt,
pressed my ear
to the split bark,
and heard the roots
laughing underground—
a sound like figs fermenting,
like futures
not yet named.
7. EFFLORESCENCE
now, i measure time
in blushed skins,
in the slow sugar
of patience.
i have learned
to read the tree
backwards:
fruit first,
then flower,
then the ghost
of a bud
teaching me
to unlearn
the arithmetic
of scarcity.
the curse is still there—
but it hums
like a hive now,
its venom spun
to honey.
© Lanre Adebayo
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 10:07 PM UTC
Because all you need is
Practise
To help anybody.
See
Any
Good counsellor in action and really,
It's the same
Comforting words; same
Reassuring actions to beat the same
Game.
It's the routine stand-
Up-place-
Hand-
On-face-
Or- shoulder
To push the same boulder.
Validate the emotions. Talk
Them through walk
ing away
From whatever ruined their
Day.
Put in all your love and care;
Hold their hand; stroke their hair;
Tell them it'll all be fine;
Get them not to lose their mind;
Help them leave the past behind.
It's not a bad thing--
Isn't it reassuring
To have a one-fits-all
Solution? Fall
In and out
Of love; cry about
Exam results; your ex
Found their next
Too quickly;
Unhappy
Is all you can be--
Just go to anyone fit
And perhaps you'd come out
Even a tiny bit
Happier about life
Than you were
When you first arrived.
Dec 6, 2024
Dec 6, 2024 at 8:11 AM UTC
The year has passed, and I’m okay.
Let’s keep on, keeping on.
I look back on a year gone by, as I’ve learned about myself,
why this ‘n’ that happened - introjected values and such.
Success isn’t the world,
You can’t be nice all the time,
it’s not good to hide feelings away…
Oh man, I’m glad as well,
I’ve always had that empathy (for others).
Things have changed quite a lot for me, and I’m dead proud
of that fact. I’ve started self-reflection and stopped lyin’ (to
myself, and everyone else), despite this, sometimes I still feel
like cryin’, because of who I used to be.
That’s okay, because now I’ve got that empathy (for myself),
I’ve learned to ME with more respect,
More of that Unconditional Positive Regard.
It’s a work in progress for sure,
But I mean, it’s a start?
The year has passed, and I’m okay.
Let’s keep on, keeping on.
Jun 27, 2020
Jun 27, 2020 at 10:35 AM UTC
****** violence isn’t a mistake, but it’s dealt with by an accident claims organisation.
ACC, you might think you’re right, but I disagree.
He did not trip and fall, that’s not an explanation.
****** abuse, for a while there, stole my ****** exploration.
I would go to a counsellor’s office and nervously drink herbal tea,
waiting to be seen, by ACC, an accident claims organisation.
They ask me my story, it’s quite the fixation.
It hurts for me to talk, you’re meant to help me.
A new stab in old wounds, is a poor medication.
They tell me they have to - ask about the ***********
they need to poke and **** me with questions of PTSD.
I need a mental injury, cos y’know, ACC is an accident claims organisation.
I tell them it hurts, it’s invasive. My frustration.
They tell me they’re sorry but it’s “necessary”.
I’m in pain and for what? A poor explanation.
ACC, we don’t deserve your mental mutilation,
You’re our only option, other counselling costs, we don’t have the money.
You’re meant to be a helpful organisation.
And hurting us to help us is a ****** explanation
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 5:52 AM UTC
Man, the mountain tamer.
Explains to the erupted how their cores can be corrupted. Disaster avoided he can rejoice, until he hears another voice. Afraid of how their emotional erosion may cause the Earth's explosion. Lost, not just their home, but themselves.
Man, the mountain tamer.
Sweetly shouts serenades to the mounds who seek aid. Blissfully bringing back the molten from back before they knew when. Lava they've learned to live through now erupting from within you. The heart's fatal eruption will be their world's destruction.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 8:24 PM UTC
I have a phone call tomorrow
To talk about my depression
They'll ask me questions
With clinical precision
While I'm just trying
Not to throw my phone
I'll do my best
But its terrifying
It'll be one less hour of silence
Sixty minutes closer to the void
I'm hoping, like **** they can
Fix me up
I want to start living again
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 6:16 PM UTC
Cut me open
Tear out my soul
I can't seem to find the use
Of anything anymore
Everything just hurts
She tells me to allow myself to feel emotions I already feel too much
She tells me to accept what I've long ago accepted
That doesn't mean it hasn't still come to play inside my head
And that does not mean I haven't accepted reality
I accept it and try to get it to **** off
It never really does though
And that's just me,
That's just me in my not so subsiding self-pity
You don't really have a clue how much I hurt
How much I feel
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC
Many have come to pry me open.
Many have come asking for the key.
Offering promises that the doubt would lessen,
flaunting their oaths as currency.
Plenty have assured that they're not like the others.
They promised that their words were forged in steel.
They had come with nothing else except to offer,
their ears and support just so to seal the deal.
"Forgive me", I'd say... I am still a tad apprehensive.
But I do feel the need to speak...
I do long for ears attentive,
Not the ones which are attached to mouths that easily leak.
I know that there are such ears...
Hard to find but they're definitely there.
They'd be ready to catch my tears,
more than willing to show concern and care...
Yours seem rather reliable... That much I see.
They've come with intentions seemingly untainted and kind.
Don't suppose they'd take my words ever so lightly.
They won't lap up my secrets with treachery in mind.
Again I find myself here at the same spot.
About to hand over the duplicate key.
This familiar leap I hope you'd have me caught.
Please don't give away my secrets for free...
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 4:38 PM UTC
lonely nights
show us the darkest sight
of our strength and weakness
to our partner it could bring stress
if you're strong enough
then its fine
else for your partner time is tough
you may act like swine
your heart just give reasons
its our brain that do the calculations
its OK to have an insane heart
but an insane mind can lit spark
from the number of incident
we choose a single moment
where our heart beats loud
and to judge, our insane mind, we allow
the mind come up with harsh decision
but our heart has its own vision
it chooses the one suits
and to negotiate, this decision, it recruits
its us who know;
every moment and incident
don't let your feelings flow
they (partner) may not find it decent!
we must respect every living being
and not take them for granted;
just because they respect our feeling.
our act may get a negative image planted!
if you love the person
love their decision!
and if you can't
simply make space and move on!!
we don't have any right to hurt someone
coz everyone is special in their own.
and what if they hurt you?
its your decision if you want to continue
don't leave any stone unturned
don't let your feelings burn
but to force someone to love
is inhuman hereof!
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 2:15 AM UTC
Years later
Bathsheba's psychiatrist
Was analysing the tryst
Between King David
And her.
It was no tryst
Said she.
What a slur.
He was a ******
And an opportunist.
An amoeba would concur
Said the psychiatrist
That a shower screen
And being more demure
Would have been
Quite spiritually enterprising.
You cannot expect
Kind David to desist
From objectifying your femurs
And a cracking pair of amethysts.
Don't treat me
Like some calculating
Hormone Exchange Unit
You sexist misogynist.
You are not fit
To analyse me.
You say your name's Freud
But you're wholly devoid
Of any insight
Of what is amiss
Or my troubles might be.
Not one piece of grit
Have you put in my oyster.
You obsequious churl
I'm a girl you don't mess with.
I could have you hung.
But instead she dismissed him
and booked an appointment
With a certain professor
Who went by the name of
Carl Gustav Jung.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
STOP CREEPING
(Road signs in Australia thus remind us to keep to the speed limit)
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
William Shakespeare: MacBeth, Act 5 Scene 5.
Creeping, seeping, peeping, sleeping,
What’s the common factor through these ‘eep’ words deeming?
Shakespeare calls them dusty and aligns them up with death.
Our world calls it shadow but it chokes you out of breath.
Churches cannot see them so they flout invisible.
Jesus calls them idols yet they sound so plausible.
Christians follow teachers in a roundabout way.
Teachers crave disciples which determines what they say.
But these are all poor players on a poorly structured stage.
Their stage gives way. They tumble. They rise up in a rage.
“Life has not been fair,” they say, and “Where is God in that?”
Did they ask Him in the first place? Did they call God up to chat?
The churches have no answers. Now where do I go from here?
Go right back to the Bible, Friend. The truth is written there.
Check it yourself. It’s relevant to eras far and near.
Like natural laws it cannot change with fashion year to year.
So do not mix the fashion in philosophies of life
With Truth that stands forever among raging seas of strife.
Counselling in modern terms can get you sympathy,
But will it give you backbone for the next antipathy?
Feminism needed to support the weaker staff,
But now of our humanity it rejects one whole half!
And money is too much an issue when it must be said
That what is not of love is valueless to Christ our Head.
Of all the thousands who are found in church each seventh day,
How many can indeed discern the right and faithful way?
How many put their lives on hold for truth and nothing less?
How many first set out their plan and build their faith round this?
Is there not one who will apply to God for his blueprint
So s/he can play the part of power for treasure in Heaven’s mint?
The Spirit of Truth cannot be found where ideas pull such weight.
He’s somewhere else you don’t suspect. Chase Him, and don’t be late!
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC