When Earth Becomes An "It"

In honor of Earth Day, I wanted to share this very moving poem by the distingushed Native american author, poet, and educator Marilou Awiakta. This is a great reminder of how little respect we've been giving to "our mother." Show Momma Earth some loving today...and check out this cool campaign - One Million Acts of Green. it gives great tips on the small and large things that we can all do to make the earth a better place.

Enjoy!

When Earth Becomes An "It"
BY Marilou Awiakta

When the people call Earth "Mother,"
they take with love
and with love give back
so that all may live.

When the people call Earth "it,"
they use her
consume her strength.
Then the people die.

Already the sun is hot
out of season.
Our Mother's breast
is going dry.
She is taking all green
into her heart
and will not turn back
until we call her
by her name.

Butterfly Nut House

A poem honoring Peter James Conti. This one's by Lynn Procope...beautiful.

As a lead in to this poem, she wrote this on her blog - "This is also for Danny, my love, who lets me cry every time I try to tell him about Peter and who'd never flirted with a man (let alone a gorgeous black Italian gay man who occasionally talked to the voices over his shoulder) until he met Pete but did it cause I said he had to love all my Petes if he wanted me to love him. I appreciate that kind of love. Because of these people, it's all around me. It's not easy, it grows up the wrong way but gets its ass in gear and learns a new thing every day. For all of you even if you never know it. ack! so sappy!"

Butterfly Nut House – in memory of PJC
By Lynne Procope – 1.17.06

We buried you, in a cold snap, during
a transit strike, nothing moving except
under the power or our own energies.

We whispered, a cancer, what made it?
and there grew a fear of our rash rough throats,
everything a threat. We shifted uneasy,

shoulder to shoulder, almost as in love
as we all were in the old days but for
this thrall of absolute ice, we owned

no explanations except perhaps sucrose,
and red wines too sweet for grownups. Peter.
how did we arrive here, without you?

Tonight I write at our old holy place.
The bartender does not know you’re dead,
He gives me free beer; cold benediction.

He begins the list, asks after our circle.
This one still hungry, another married,
the youngest carries tumors; mistaken babies,

the loudest gone to where he can praise
an easier god and you; each time I’m asked,
I forget which words mean that you’re dead;

underweight, 90 lbs when they cracked
the ice bound earth. I have not spoken aloud
since your first call to say, Cancer. Perhaps

your bare back exposed as a scandal and
all your lovely hungry boys. The last thing
I said was, How do I apologize

for letting in the monster that is eating you?
Was it your father’s ministry, his holy,
the cracked closet door, your mother’s deep cough,

or the voices that leached onto your ear?
When you stopped listening, did they migrate
south, inhabit your spine? You abdicated

madness. Was that it? You, younger, crazy
more naked, you louder, willing to sing
off key, off beat, all the wrong words.
More

Who Was Peter of the Earth?

Peter James Conti was a poet, a painter, a changling. He loved calamari and The Simpsons. He is the best friend I have ever had. I cannot recall when or where we met. It is as if he had always been a part of my life. He was the Mulder to my Scully. Homer to my Marge. He was my heart. I do not know who I will be in this world without him. But I know that my days are full of more love and light and laughter because of his incredible spirit. - Felice Belle
From Words on Asphalt

After reading this excerpt from Felice's tribute above and listening to Marty McConnell's touching poem "Alignment", I was inspired to find out more about this beautiful man whose untimely death in winter 2005 was so beautifully mourned by many in the NYC poetry scene.

Read another triubte here

I was also inspired to write a bit myself. Enjoy!

To Peter
By Susan Baba

Peter of the Earth, I never knew you
But my heart feels like it did
You see, I know you only through verse
Free words careening into beautiful
Through the living memorial your friends have build to you
in poems
Precious homage
Blessed praise
In lyric
Through metaphor
I hear their voices cracking with every line
They feel your absence like empty at their doorstep
Yet they honor you with laughter
With every line,
Praising your voice

Your joy
Your free, free way of calling every moment special
You poet turned angel, you
They have honored you well

The Calling

For all of you out there, dealing with a bit of existential angst...Wondering who you are and where you belong...words from Peter of the Earth.

The Calling
By Peter of the Earth

Searching for the missing piece that is me
I want to know what it’s like to be out from under my own thumb
To run to places I dream about when I’m sleeping
When I’m awake
To wake
Up

I’d be floating on a sea
I’d be free
Like the breeze on my back
Be slick
Tight
Right
I’d swim like Dolphins till my skin stretches and wrinkles
Feels like pins and needles
Piercing my fins till it hurts
But I don’t want to stop cause I like it
Get all caught up in it
Like the sun
Washing me through my window at noon
Warming me in my bed when I’m not working
Like the music from my alarm clock that gives me no choice but to rise and dance
Lift the air up from under my feet and fly
To see out of my third eye and speak
Words kept secret and silent for generations
By grandmothers who told you not to unleash them except for when you need
Or when you get the spirit or
Some spirit gets you
More

Quote of the WEEK

"I want to be remembered, before I’m forgotten."
-Peter of the Earth