Daybreak Words

Let the Man be

older than thee

wiser by half

of Days gone by.

But while he wakes

And talks straight

Listen for Wisdom

That you might be

As Brave as he,

To rise so early

And work til late.

Changing the hands of a clock

does not save Tim

-Note

We have to agree to be regulated by regulating Time,

a democratic process.

@Bettye W. Harwell 2023

Dog News

My Writing

4/10/2023

Dog– I need to explain. This store invited me and other dogs for socializing time. We get snacks and can look at what we want.

So what?

Dog–I am just standing by the snack table, not pushing or anything. And this lady comes up and asks to pat me. I am a big dog waiting for snacks But OK.

That’s it?

Dog–No. After the pat while I am unmuzzled. Not required inside the store so we can eat and be free. Any way she gives me the same snacks I had my eye on. So I am feeling this is special. I thank the lady for the pat which I can do without but for picking the best snacks for me. I wanted to kiss her. She was special.

So you did kiss her?

Dog–Laid my lips on her cheek. Not even my best. I usually go for the mouth. I am tall but misjudged her height. Still I was in love mode.

And then?

Dog– All hell broke out. I am like What? A simple peck on the cheek.

Well, had you asked her if…

Dog–Exactly. She did not say NO so I went forward. Not I am under arrest, no treats, banned to the guest bedroom with the door closed. What’s up with that?

Ending on a Good Note

Song

The baby pulls up.

Tiny fingers hit the keys

and hears the tone

of her mother’s voice.

STOP THAT RACKET!

That is when the music stopped.

No musician today.

The Lesson is

to play on this field

raised wrists

stretched fingers

until the blood

with the music

rush out.

Silenced.

Did you hear the

hum of traffic

drum beat of hearts

chirping of birds

at dawn?

Or miss the Swans’ beauty?

Bulb or Seed

Both are taught

To produce a likeness

A living thing,

The seed

Orphaned from its source

And siblings

Spread far

And wide

Searching earth to reconnect

Only each address is temporary

And its last.

No longer a seed.

But a bulb

Carries its address

And all its parts within.

Needing only water and Sun

To rejuvenate and rest

Until opportunity

To bloom is near

Woman

A seed is not necessary

For a bulb to bloom

More like the Woman/mother

Keeps its counsel

On time and place

Which keeps its family close.

Then heals

Its ownself

Long before

Life Is drained out.

Word

I do not hear the music

Nor the marching of feet

One lesson, please,

To amuse myself

Just to play one song

On my piano

At home.

She agrees to no wrist position

Just one song. Mmmmmm\

To amuse, no scales

She took the money but could not

Teach my way.

Soon no money, no song

I still hear my mother’s voice

Get up and do something worthwhile

And so I paint and write

One I studied to find my voice

The other from dreams

I let follow my pen.

@Bettye W. Harwell 2021

Ending on a Good note

Proper Attire

The young man

With the alilerated name

As described in court

Looked angry.

Well Hell yes, to you who

Hunted him down

Like a mad dog

Not knowing the very white teeth

Against juhis beautiful dark skin

Looked the same smiling

Or in fear.

You never heard his voice

To understand his thoughts.

Dear God, prepare your Angels

To open those gates.

If I cannot run fast enough.

They came to do me harm.

The killer said

He kept running.

And he was fast.

He ran past

A moving truck.

When he ran past me

I got my gun. Said CALL 911!

I thought he would come for me.

Rich white boys play at Game Center.

While poor Whites protect theiir manhood

And the South

With homemade guns

To shoot Indians and Niggers.

When the guy and I

played Ring Around the Truck

One wrong turn

We were face to face,

He transferred his fear

To me.

So I shot him.

Closing Down

It was a woman left to carry water for

Scared male lawyers

Who fear Black boys and men,

And their loss of income.

So she spoke the closing

Teaching proper clothing for court

Closely shaved to show the

Ever whitest skin,

Clothed in store bought suits.

They might have been the legal team

But for the facts.

The words spill out.

He was not properly clothed

For running through our streets

Dripping black.

A simple t-shirt and shorts with

Long, dirty toenails.

So said the coroner’s death report?

Or were you personally

Kneeling beside the corse?

He did not

Know his place

When spoken to by a bearded White man.

He acted strange.

He kept running.

Shoot the fucking Nigger.

No invitation came to him

Noting proper clothing

Was required of Black men

Being hunted down and killed.

The jury was out and today returned guilty decisions for each of the three men involved. No

Instructions on bringing Mr. Arbury true justice.

@Bettye W. Harwell. 2021

July17, 1954

July17, 1954

July17, 1954

‘

Seeing with my eyes closed is not new for me. I think,compose, , solve, visit in this other place. I was not expecting a visitor. As he sat between me and the window, I saw him clearly. The shade which stays down as it faces onto the front porch. However behind my son the shade was up.

He was looking down at his hands and I could tell he was writing. Poetry, I thought because of his concentration. He had shared his poetry with me and wanted to publish a book. Books..

I could see he was much heavier, in a green jacket. Casual, comfortable, all weather. He looked the same in the rimless glasses which allowed his handsomeness to be seen, marveled at.

And then he was crying. Weeping. Breathing deeply, silently.

I asked but got no reply. He composed himself and I said quietly, I know.

Last year my peace plant, which hardly blooms ever, had a gorgeous long stemmed beauty which lasted from his birthday for three months. I did not want it to end, it seemed to want to stay. And did until I thanked it and pressed it into a book. Lovingly.

Peace Confused
My peace plant, which bloomed Christmas morning, had been just a pretty plant for years. It had one main way of communicating. Whenever it wanted water, the leaves collapsed. All of the plant looked pitiful until a few drops of water perked it up.

It was horizontal in overall shape. Until that single Christmas flower. Then all of the leaves moved to support the growing stem.

And it grew. You could almost see it moving up, with the largest leaves staying a safe distance while pushing themselves upward.

The shape of the plant became vertical. It now is four feet above its pot.

Sadly, the lone bloom, after reaching the frame on the wall, dried up March 1. By then a young bloom was winding its way up through leaves still clustered to protect the faded flower.

Loyalty can be a fleeting thing. It can be fickle. But it also can cling to its first love far too long. And so my plant seemed worn out with its months long protection duties. It had become a passion, a calling.

So once its attention turned to a new bloom, the plant literally divided into two camps. On the left, stiff and indifferent, it held its position before turning toward the nearby lamp. You can see a bit of movement back to its horizontal stature. It is turning its back on the growing stem.

On the right side of the plant leaves are in total confusion. The gap between the two sides has widened. Only three or four small leaves are positioned to support the intruder. Bottom leaves are facing the sunny window across the room. Others are going limp .

The leadership, whether personal loyalty or ruling instinct which guided this plant since Christmas, has disappeared. The supporting stem is on its own. It is a bit limp. The flower tilts to the right but is uncertain what position to take.

This was not a pleasant transfer of loyalty. I wonder what the future will be. Will any new blooms appear or will the right side prevail? Will it return to a nearly dormant plant only needing a drop of water to keep it going? Loyalty has a place but sometime it can be confusing.

Mr. Potatohead
I used to know Mr. Potatohead before he married. He was well liked by others but we hardly ran into him. Instead we went about eating potatoes at every dinner. I do not recall any outcries for the potato as I heard for the turkey. No out cries either for the watermelon nor tomato.

Mrs. Potatohead made her TV debut last night on the Readout. I must say I was shocked by her appearance. Not the vibrant spud I would imagine. We discourage rating physical appearance but really…

This may have been a more difficult choice for Mr. Potatohead than giving up his title.

I hope it is all right with him that I wont be inviting them for dinner.