Bottom of the blossom

Dustin E. Nispel  is american poet and artist

BOTTOM OF THE BLOSSOM 

We Look Lost in confusion,
 absent of proven solution we sit stacked on the back rack of illusion,
packed-
like the city,
full of cracks and pollution.
I wonder what’s under our surface
why we carry on like watching re-runs on purpose.
like a machine
so out dated
and worthless.
I want purpose
not for me but for us
not for greed or lust but for unity amongst 
the people-
and I know we are different pillars
but pillars none the less
as we hold up the same trust
and invest the same will,
 I want us to be real,
not just filling up space 
like a dead plant on the window sill we water just in case-
I want us to actually grow,
like we are connected and share the same space
that this place-
that this place is special.

Something's wrong, isn't it?
Like the maestro is playing the wrong song at the wrong decibel,
that the festival isn't actually festive but rather regrettable 
and the sensible thing to do is just change the festivity…
but we can't without unity…so you see why it's so important.
However the show divides us like orphans, so distorted
and discordant with each other that we are left sorting and courting
idols and objects titles and projects
like we keep reliving abortion and life interjects-
will you please reconnect!
You're more than idol subjects
 lobbying for paychecks and martyring your mindset
let's regress from human been 
to human being
and if all you have is a voice and a two step use it,
because believing is seeing and lately I've been seeing less
maybe it's our government or maybe it's the press-
but whatever has infected us was their best weapon yet.
I think Hendrix said it best when he said
“Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely,”
and I think what he meant was in reference to the trickle effect
and the ensuing question
HAVE WE DONE THIS CORRECTLY?
Truly checked what human being actually meant that lately 
we've been dying with regret as our cups have been less
than half empty on a table half set-
we forget…
or have forgotten that material leaves you regressed
jesting and rotten
that somewhere connection disconnected from socket-
like we left the keys inside and locked it…
Yes?
 Right.
So what if we set judgment aside pride 
right next to money and everything else that makes prime individuals
divisible and dismissible-
Like a storm in the distance we saw this coming whether you'd like to admit
it or not I'll tell you something…
We are stronger than this.
We need to elevate ourselves from the mist
and all the troubles troubling bliss-
to make it more than a listed wish,
befuddled and be-fumbling-
we are distantly far less humbled and humbling,
grumbling through the mist.

I can see the light in poetry and the prophets
in the potency of their composed sonnets,
 soul stretched thin but what has been has been
whether it's bliss or sin
feast or famine we are all tools of God,
however God is something we should examine.
because if God divides us like this 
I want no part of him as human is torn limb from limb
by war under him, 
and he has yet to step in like
NO CHILDREN!
and maybe that's the problem
maybe it's not above but within the quantum column
or in the bottom of the blossom when petals have fallen to the past like
postpartum.
I know we got this
but I must persistently insist
wherever your heart sits,
once it skips i hope it flicks your light switch from off
to on.
as life is fixed in darkness
just before the dawn
like a spark I hope it finally clicks
before this life is ultimately gone.

WHITE BOY

She said I had a black heart,
like I had been working undercover for the better part
of my natural life,
That despite the dermal absence of pigment
my tongue was a knife,
cutting racial ties from a distance
That I was an indignant figment of difference,
a refreshing vision of existence
in between the lines of limits.

I told her it was hard to look at myself in the mirror
everyday,
That my ancestors who paved the way
did so in a ballet of suffering and slavery,
ignorance as a blanket,
covering.
Unsavory, I said
struggling.
And every time they call me
by the sin of my skin,
I’m reminded
that I’m history’s ugly duckling
that I’m the stain of shame
on mankind’s upper cufflink
trying to rub the white out with the shade
of ink and the floods of salt water…
but I am not my fore father’s embodiment,
nor their will, condolence or opulence-
I am a soldier for consciousness
recruiting the competent to put an end to these
segregated monopolized monuments
that divide and conquer us.
Mold us against each other
like old lust on new relationships,
using injustice as a combustible breach of trust,
they thrust it between our brains
because when we are gullible we become
destructible.
Until one day we fall to ruins
and remains-
just another elitist deductible,
force fed that we are separate,
that your side is the right side of racism…
like what happened to the Human Race?

It makes me want to pull my black heart
over my white face
To hide the disgrace of my reflecting complexion.
Over encumbered, 
out stretched and outnumbered
we are sectioned by color
and income
when we’re all red under
all inter-connected as sisters and brothers
of our great mother
Gaia.
The planet we’ve been planted in,
but somewhere we forgot how to love her
somehow we forgot how to love one another.
Taking life for granite 
stone hearts hardened against each other.
Grown children
growing martyrs.

We are fighting bigotry,
poets on the front lines baby
we’re the infantry,
first to respond with our ball point artillery.
Welcome to the holy war-
this is the ministry of imagery,
the womb of diversity.

But in urban society
I’m an undesired variety,
presumed by the view
of my exoskeleton,
they assume that my internal element isn’t relevant,
that my soul is fumes
and my heart is gelatin,
Yeah I’m the skinny white elephant in the room
call me Horton
trust me I hear you.
A person’s a person,  no matter how small
no matter their hue, religious views
or how many times they fall.
And if you
AND IF YOU
choose to stand for truth
above all the snakes that slither
and crawl, 
if we as a people stop feeding them
they will wither, die
and dull.
We must become the eagle and rise above
the evil,
drop the guns
drop the hate
drop the needle.
The season’s over 
but we’re the sequel
A beacon of Eden where all people are equal!
This white boy’s words are lethal--
Atomic envoy poetically deployed as affirmative action
reactively acting yet peaceful,
I’m exacting,
Precisely operating
no better, no less
but equal, cooperating
as I am no longer tolerating 
anything less
than building a better,
brighter
future
For
All
Of
Mankind.

Written by Poet Dustin E. Nispel