Parker Owens
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Everything posted by Parker Owens
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I missed seeing this chapter, so I am late. Luke and Jackson are no longer dancing, they are certain. However, that didn't stop Jackson from having a cute moment of embarrassment at the washing machine. That was especially lovely. Of course, the shower scene had to be interrupted, more's the pity. But the fears for Luke and Jackson initiated in the previous chapter are redoubled, no matter how much Grace tries to reassure Luke. If Luke has it out with Cindy, the results could be catastrophic. It would not be out of character for Cindy to send Luke away to some brainwashing camp, or closed-minded boarding school. And that would hurt both boys unforgivably. Where is Henry in all this, I wonder?
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Hugs and more hugs in return. The link is perfectly wonderful.
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Thank you, Val.
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The first poem has such interesting and powerful metaphors: looking at life from distant rooms, bring handled with delicate care, and the appeal to the teacher. Each stanza teaches me, tells me something I need to consider. All together, they are enormously strong; for I often feel the need of the lesson summarized in the last lines. As for the prose poem, it sears my very being. Inescapable are its accusations and its conclusions. My guilt is plain, my sentence just. You write with devastating effect.
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Unreachable Each day I fight an itch I cannot scratch, a neuro-bio-chemical effect, compelling me to think, perchance reflect on evils consequent, should I unlatch The dark, unused, mysterious looking hatch, that door to all the secrets I protect, those deep desires I never did elect, but once unloosed, I could not hope to catch. I hardly dare to reach that twitching spot, preferring still the torment without cease to all the hurt and tear
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Perhaps so - reflective, perhaps? And thanks for the tip about Love in Bath...new listening!
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First of all: hugs. Hugs multiplied, squared, and taken to the nth power. Next, let me congratulate you on how well you paint the hurt that goes on even after one chooses, even after the words "it's over," finish echoing in the brain. And the poem Dwelling - the first line concerning awaiting detachment...that spoke to me so very deeply. If you were detached, I doubt you could move me with your writing....
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Feeling very melancholy today, in need of an old friend. This is one...
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And you comment poetically, too! Thank you for reading these, and for your reaction to them. I'm glad you were moved.
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Just reading this once made me choke up. It's beautiful, and I know she would be so pleased with the man you are.
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It's a new idea, but it certainly lends itself to that musical metaphor. Glad you liked that experiment. As for trees, their late winter figures invited inspection and reflection. Thanks so much.,.
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Trees are fascinating to me. I see them in their essentials all winter.
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I hoped someone would enjoy the visual effect of these two juxtaposed poems in Prelude and Fugue. The Maker came to mind at the sound of a table saw...so glad you saw these and let them strike a chord.
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I am grateful you read these. They were hard to distill.
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Thank you for reading these. Such farewells and partings tear at the soul, sear the spirit.
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Glad you thought so. Thank you!
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If anything can be recalled from this visit, it is the love, recollected with every quiet breath, every beep of medical machinery, every twitch of a finger. Thank you for reading and responding to these.
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No, go, this us not an easy experience to distill into words. But maybe they help to ease the ache, and remind me of the love that remains. Thank you for your care and strength.
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These distilled several long days in a tiny dimly lit hospital room. They are like snapshots, perhaps. Thank you so much.
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Numbers one, two and four practically had me gasping, they hit hard enough. Numbers three and nine will stay with me, for a very long time. Five, six and eight I find stirring, spurring me to do something. The emptiness in number ten echoes in my head. You have written a set for the ages, tim.
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And now the Bard, beloved, sleeps while there his handsome champion keeps a watch in his devoted bliss; when Bard awakes, they'll more than kiss... Wonderful!
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You took the horns of Homer's bull, and wrote a tale both fun and full, a story for both young and old which you most marvelously told.
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Pale, translucent skin drawn across ancient cheekbones belies a live mind. Blue eyes, bright with tears recall a lifetime of love, laughter and blessing. Warm hands, still holding, brief, whispered words caressing, promise forever.
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What a great story that perfectly fit the theme. And you tell it with compact, elegant strokes.
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Thanks. I shall smile, then.
