Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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On Tuesdays they come for the recycling
Then the clouds came down so low they flattened the trees and the rain thickened, the drains backed up, the only color from the dead leaves hanging on like rust, the rest of it graphite gray: and the grocery store… Read More ›
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On the way to Waterford
We dropped mom off at the airport in Cork, she flew back to Germany, and the rest of us carried on to Waterford, on the southern coast of Ireland. If the country is like the face of a clock, we… Read More ›
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St. Stephen’s Day, west Cork, ’15
All the UPS drivers have gone home to their families with their shorts and their socks, and the gravel road out front is quiet tonight with no crunching of wheels or deliveries: the grocery store is closed but they’re getting… Read More ›
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Perhaps the expectation of perfect
Marie failed to meet my expectations. It wasn’t well planned or articulated but I announced it was time we split up. It was Christmas Eve and the guys were back from college, and I was probably depressed and not worth… Read More ›
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Wet metal drum
The sound of the rain came back last night, choking the corner gutter. The feeling when life pulls away in some irreversible moment, a large ship moving out from the dock and everyone running down to the end of it… Read More ›
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Guest post by poet Rick Subber
Today I’m pleased to feature a poem by Rick Subber, a writing mentor of mine, dear friend, and fellow blogger. I hope you’ll check out Rick’s blog for smart, light-hearted but deep insights and enjoy his piece here “Nova.” Nova… Read More ›
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Dystopic recovery home for the aged and injured, 2040
After the fall, he woke in the hospital surrounded by screens and computers with robot assistants monitoring them. There was a tablet connected to a retractable arm like the kind they had on planes and he wondered dimly if he… Read More ›
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Abusing cough syrup with New Age music and household pets
We didn’t own any thermometers in the house, didn’t want to. I went to the store for a sponge so I could use one in the bath to warm up, and then I answered some emails and got into bed,… Read More ›
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Sterling Hotel snapshot, 1992
I sat at the end of the bar with the bartender Robbie watching It’s A Wonderful Life, his favorite movie. It was snowing outside and the bar was basically closed. He wasn’t supposed to, but Robbie only charged me for… Read More ›
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Escher paradox diagram (on cold medication)
Monday at the Brewhouse, in Issaquah. “Mondays don’t matter,” that’s what mom said when we lived in Germany. We’d walk up to the butcher for the weiß wursts late morning, a soft pretzel and a beer, go back home, take… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 