Lynn W. Petty Poems

I'm often asked, 'What caused you to collect
Slave artifacts, and take them on the road,
Displaying them in cases, raw and real? '
My answer is a simple one, 'To heal.'
...

No monarch she, though regal does she lie.
The pillows tucked beneath her silvered hair.
Her wrinkled face indicative of life
Well lived, who met the challenge of the years.
...

With pen poised over the blank white sheet,
Waiting to receive writings, inspirational or automatic,
Through some sphere of psychic channeling,
My mind remains still.
...

Taking my seat, I noticed across from me a young
Mother with her child.
The soft-shawl like waves of her long brown hair
Delicately framed her face as it swept over her ears,
...

There is an old bookstore, on the other side of town.
The owner, a man of gentle disposition and kindly mold,
Changed an empty, cold, commercial store into a warm
And friendly shop. With faith, hope and trust, he stirred
...

I bought an old Victorian swing, with latticework atop,
All made with lath, and painted white.
The facing benches are connected with a foot platform,
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Her children were segregating her belongings
Into two heaps, 'Litter' and 'Cash.'
She had died two days before, and they were tearing
At the carrion of her being.
...

I read her book of poetry, more pamphlet than a book,
But, what I found was more profound
Than Tasso's tome of verse.
Her works, a cultivated islet, bordered on all sides
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There is a friendship in my books,
Each a confidant that fits the vagaries
Of my mood.
Alone, sitting in my study, surrounded
...

Immersed in a color-wheel of ever-changing,
Undulating light from the setting sun,
I sit silent and motionless upon a footstool hill
At the feet of the great rock-ribbed granite Sierras.
...