Listen to a version of this column on the Poetry in Eden podcast, episode #41, available on Spotify or Apple podcasts.
I hope you are enjoying the flow of posts outside our usual bi-weekly cadence. As the kids say, the inspiration is inspirationing.
My poems are simple to understand, but they come from a deep place.
I am a social commentator, and I write to alter your perspective, your mind, your life in some minuscule or large way. I know this to be true because it also happens to me when I read my own work (meta right?!). I am on this journey with you.
Sharing what I’ve uncovered about the human search for meaning and purpose through philosophy and poetry also means our lives intertwine as I share, as I channel, as I alchemize wisdom and teachings often as old as time.
On page 78 of Poetry in Eden, you find a poem titled, Dry River. The final four stanzas read,
But, at the very root
I cannot compute
What we have done to
The lands we say we love.
When did the waters turn brown?
When did the rivers run dry?
When did the crops turn foul?
When did the children not cry?
What have you done, my beloved,
To the luscious land I gave?
What have you done my beloved?
Do you not understand everything we could have made?
Go down to the river and
begin to shed your tears.
Stay there weeping patiently
So the streams can be refilled after all these years.
This poem is about the effects of climate change and our brazen negligence with this place, Earth, we call home.
In my first official book review, a reviewer from Publisher’s Weekly picked up on this immediately. They wrote:
“This spiritually charged debut collection provokes and illuminates humanity's ceaseless search for meaning with a fierce commitment to healing ancestral wounds.
Through four elemental sections—Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water—Iyamu grounds her vision for social change, believing that transformation must germinate from within. .
Her reverence for nature—"God chose me to birth this tree!"—becomes a powerful allegory for movement. .
Iyamu’s verse adopts a rhythmic, trance-like cadence that amplifies the voices of those she seeks to champion: the marginalized, the oppressed, and even the voiceless flora and fauna whose fates remain mere collateral damage. .
Poetry in Eden confronts, with passion and empathy, the destructive energy humans impose on the world: "But at the very root / I cannot compute / What we have done to / The lands we say we love."
Takeaway: Tender, empowering poetry of identity, peace, and collective healing”
This is just an excerpt of the full text, but wow, I was in tears when I read it. My mission rings clear in my debut book and it rings clear in my poems. I feel grateful and humbled by that. I feel excited as my author career has just begun, and I have a lot to say whether in short form poems or in long form novels.
These days, I feel compelled to write poetry.
Today, I feel compelled to acknowledge the brazen negligence and abuse of our land. With many things, the first step is awareness and the second step is action. I hope you feel this poem and maybe even take action.
The land is not ours We were loaned it
To nourish ourselves
And to replenish it.
But instead, we took every mineral
Until it turned yellow and dry.
We took away its balance beam
And scorched it, replacing with poison supplies.
We said, "We will make money off of you.”
We said, "We own you."
We said, "I can ignore you."
But we can’t! Because this is our planet.
And when the weather gets too extreme
And the floods too devastating to handle,
What is our plan then? Hm?
Where do we stand then? Hm?
This is the insanity, selfishness, and hubris of man. Mother Earth, I am sorry on behalf of
All the money and power hungry people dreaming of
Fancy follies and doilies and Ferraris.
Poisoning our body and the air with selfish hobbies.
Dreaming of the moon and mars as if that is not
The most f*cking bizarre plan for the future of man.
We have no reverence because we have no remembrance
Of the original peoples and their intuitive ability to heal.
I feel them when I put my bare feet in the grass and laugh.
I hug them when I hug the tree and its branches caress.
I breathe the air and touch my sun-warmed skin and grin.
But I know, the temperature and the sea-levels are rising.
I know our children are in for something alarming.
I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.
The land is not ours
We were loaned it.
Share this post