Lynn W. Petty Poems

The house was filled with kitchen cooking smells,
Of turkey basted to a golden brown;
Potatoes, sweet and mashed, with candied yams;
Debilitating smells, of baking bread;
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The father of a daughter, now a son;
Black hair, with ruddy color, see him there?
The nurse held up my child for me to see,
And then, reminded me that I was one
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I had lunch with a poet, just the other day.
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Amazing how we feel when on the road,
Returning from Aunt Laura's tin abode.
All buoyed up to face what‘er we might,
A new approach, philosophy, insight.
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To Jimmy Reina and Earl Meade,
Who introduced me to fishing.

A man must be alone with friends, his kind.
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South Pacific,1944

The skeletal fingers of dawn folded back the
cover of darkness revealing the machinery of war.
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Beneath this old oak tree, I pondered why
The primal gloom of pain on faces passed.
What is the answer to the question asked?
'It is within, ' came chilling words nearby.
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I passed them while they were picnicking
On a bench overlooking the sea,
These two lovers.
She was dressed in a yellow dress.
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In Memory of our Mother, Anne Reina

I remember her lying there, my Mother,
In her convalescent bed.
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I gasped at what I held in my two hands.
My son had handed me the leather whip,
A bullwhip, five feet long, a master used
To subjugate his slaves unto his will.
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