Lynn W. Petty

Gold Star - 5,245 Points (3/29/28 / Newport Beach, California)

Lynn W. Petty Poems

121. So Long Ago 1/9/2016
122. What Is A Poet? 1/9/2016
123. The Tea Cup Mystery 1/9/2016
124. The Song Of Nature 1/10/2016
125. The Grand Scheme Of Things 1/10/2016
126. The Evolution Of Belief 1/13/2016
127. Embraced By Conscious Force 1/14/2016
128. A Strong Weaving 1/14/2016
129. Within My Heart 1/15/2016
130. To Ponder 1/15/2016
131. You Ask? 1/15/2016
132. His Crossing 1/16/2016
133. A-2-Leonidas King Of Sparta 1/16/2016
134. Rows Of Dodder Gray 1/17/2016
135. Ballad Of Bodie 1/17/2016
136. Madonna On The Amtrak 1/18/2016
137. An Old Bookstore 1/19/2016
138. The Magic Of Our Swing 1/20/2016
139. The Shadows Of Thought 1/20/2016
140. Sara's Garden 1/20/2016
141. A Writer's Block 1/20/2016
142. To The Patriarch Of Our Family, James J. Reina, My Father-In-Law 1/20/2016
143. How Beautiful Is Woman Full With Child 1/20/2016
144. A Glint Of Gold 1/21/2016
145. Appalled 1/21/2016
146. To Learn, To Know, To Heal, To Grow 1/22/2016
147. What's That You Say? 12/18/2015
148. The Bridal Chamber Of Thought 12/18/2015
149. Creation 12/19/2015
150. A Question Of My Own Mortality 1/22/2016

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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

Creation

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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