Lynn W. Petty

Gold Star - 5,168 Points (3/29/28 / Newport Beach, California)

Lynn W. Petty Poems

41. This Noble Child 1/29/2016
42. Unknown 1/29/2016
43. Childhood 2/2/2016
44. My Last Icon 2/3/2016
45. Our Thirtieth Year 2/3/2016
46. And, The Nurses Smile 2/5/2016
47. Age 2/5/2016
48. The Force Of His Words 2/5/2016
49. Frozen In Summertime 2/6/2016
50. I Know, I Know, I Know 2/7/2016
51. The Mount Is You 2/7/2016
52. What's A Father For? 2/7/2016
53. Grieve Not 2/11/2016
54. I Had A Vision 2/11/2016
55. Silence 2/11/2016
56. Our Fifty Years 2/14/2016
57. Our Purpose 2/15/2016
58. A Touch Of Heart 2/15/2016
59. The Sparrow 2/15/2016
60. A Gallent Fight 2/18/2016
61. A Graduation Against All Odds 2/18/2016
62. The Smile Of Earth 2/18/2016
63. Speaking Low 2/18/2016
64. A Front Fence Gate 2/19/2016
65. The Threads Of Love 2/19/2016
66. The Sounds Of Poetry 2/19/2016
67. Health 2/21/2016
68. The Thoughts Of 'then' 2/21/2016
69. So Angie Left For Home At Christmas Time 12/2/2016
70. The Bitter-Sweet Of Christmas 12/5/2016
71. A Song In A Plaintive Minor Key 1/7/2017
72. An Old Man's Prayer, Who Asks Why Not He. 1/7/2017
73. A Madonna In Pain 1/7/2017
74. Beyond The Haunt Of Memory 1/11/2017
75. Cancer's Enmity For Mankind 1/11/2017
76. A Bon Vivant 1/11/2017
77. I Bid Farewell To Night 1/13/2017
78. But For A Child's Smile 1/14/2017
79. When We Were Young 1/15/2017
80. Eight Long Years 1/15/2017

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Best Poem of Lynn W. Petty

A Question Of My Own Mortality

Time seemed interminable.
A curious and inexplicable apprehension came over me,
As I sat in an elderly care home waiting to visit a friend.
The atmosphere was heavy with quiet confusion.
People wandered about searching and shifting in a
Sort of stolid acquiescence. Their lives recalled as flashes in memory, projecting film images on their thick, gray screen of dementia.
Across from me sat an elderly gentleman whose gaze was a glassy
Expression of inattention. I could see the declinations of his skull
Beneath his facial features. A victim of the grievous ...

Read the full of A Question Of My Own Mortality


When all supply was in the hands of Cause,
Effect was molten primal chaos, held
Within a universal cauldron, rest
Was given to consider what the blend
Would yield. What distillation might there come
When left to steep upon the flame of time?

What essence to be poured or spooned, when time
Had separated dross and grime; when Cause

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