Parker Owens

Looking forward to unwrapping presents.

Awesome story! Thank you saint Nicky!

I get to be first! Your appeal in this poem to reach out and give of ourselves touches me deeply. You are absolutely correct: it is in such acts that Christmas miracles, such as they are, are made. I will be trying to make such acts a reality this week. Thank you.

So they couldn't just keep David in the gaol forever, could they? I shudder to think where they will put him next. Perhaps the surrealist prison? If nothing else, someone will have to read Carroll to him all day. What a marvelous, marvelous take on the prompt. A smashing, wicked little story. Bravo.

How could I not like this? It is a marvelous metaphor, which you illustrate with the practiced ease of a man who does exactly what you preach in your poem. You write and write and write, and it shows in the grace and fun with which you approach this. If you exercise as well as you write, you will stay off that gurney for a long, long time.

As usual, your acute sense of reading hit upon a really important part of TP's story. That he should feel dirty about his past at all seems significant. Apart from anything else, his emotional and compassion nerves must be regenerating. I am glad you liked this chapter. I know it has been slow going, but change is rarely lightning fast in real lives. Many thanks for your comments and for reading so far into the story.

Si, amigo mio. You have it right, as usual! Many thanks.

Thank you for sharing this lovely story about a bear named Cosi. And of course you should still have him! You use the word talisman, and it is absolutely right here - we all have them. Your description of Christmas Eve is a real gem here. Danke sehr.

Oh, but you are good. Many thanks for reading these, and for responding to them. I've never thought to share these with my students - and perhaps you are right that I hold that part of myself back. After all, we wouldn't want my students to suspect Mr. Owens of actually having a heart, now would we?

I am glad you enjoyed these. Oxidization was especially fun to write. Many thanks for your comments and for trying to make sense of these little verses.

Marc must have either found a way into the files or knows someone who could do it... ...desperation on Marc's part is possible, but so is compassion, at least if prompted by Lee. But either way, it did get TP out of the house...many thanks for reading the story!

A swirl of hectic activity, a horde of incoming scientists, plenty of bellowed instructions to volunteers and crew, and the Feigenbaum made its way down a winding channel between muddy banks that alternated between open expanses of grasses and scrubby palms, live oaks and evergreens. Slowly, slowly, they sailed out into a calm evening sea. For the better part of three weeks, a dozen scientists, along with the volunteer interns and crew would share tight quarters in the pursuit of knowledge. The

Glad you liked them. I know they get kind of obscure, but think of all the poor lonely scientific terms that never get used in poetry! Thanks for your thoughts and for reading!

Yes, the Nerd Poet struck again. There's just so much material out there, I may never need the Science Channel. And frankly, they'd probably laugh me off the face of the planet...but the glass of wine, now there's a grand idea. I am glad you were entertained, though. Must keep practicing...wouldn't want to oxidize slowly...

Thanks, Adi. Now I have another poem to write, don't I?

A little bit of anthropomorphism can do wonders for the imagination. You are really kind to say such nice things...I am blushing hard enough to melt snow. Thank you.

Cell Division Mitosis is when cells divide, or multiply, I must confide I get confused just which they mean, biologists who can't decide. Is there some chemical or gene, or chromosomes that drank caffeine, which split an unsuspecting cell in twain, where there was one serene? Now if mitosis works too well, the numbers of your cells would swell; your toeses would balloon in size, till apoptosis they befell; That is when cells meet their demise, unless they mate or fraternize, becoming one

You have written so effectively here. I can feel the constrictions and the inescapable trap closing in. The third stanza was very powerful for me; the circular keep is an image and metaphor with so many connections and connotations. That the poet found hope and escape gave me great relief.

And the light shining in the darkness calls to us again. Many thanks!

Whew. Too exciting! But Reznick is gone and gone, and their advantage is preserved. But what a lucky and unforeseen victory taken from the jaws of a terrible death. This should give everyone pause about going hunting, and it should send Kellar back to thinking hard about hunting as a pack. So much learned, and so much gambled in this chapter. Needed my heart medication partway through...

I liked each of these; perhaps the middle one best. But all three tales of light in the darkness are beautiful, and I am grateful for them.

Danke, sehr! I am so happy you pointed out so many interesting English/German connections...they are fun to read, especially in your poetic form!

What a wonderful find and what a splendid thing to have done with it! Pressing and preserving flowers seems to be somewhat out of fashion these days, and what a pity. I still possess a lampshade made with such flowers; guests never fail to remark on it.

Like your menu! Am trying the sprouts recipe right away....

'I can't imagine the pain you feel'...and in this you begin a descent into the hurt of the observer and the observed. But after all the endings, you remind us how important the living is and always will be. This is a poem to live by, even as we cry out. The second forces me to pay attention. Right now, I want to turn away from the pain and the anguish - but your words deny me that avenue of cowardice. The anger in your poem compels me to face it all, and everyone who hurts, who grieves, who cries out - and to embrace them. What else can I do? Both your poems point to this: I can only offer love and support, or at least whatever I can manage through the ache in my heart. For if there is no father, then there must only be us left to hold, to comfort and to heal. I despair. It's too much for me alone - or for any one of us, singly. Maybe your poems insisted I remember that.