Author Archives

Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.

• Rain prose, the election

  By Bill Pearse on October 21, 2016 • ( 24 )

  

  Today the weather just turned. There was no beauty in the rain, no music in its falling, just a cold, dark rain. It was like that moment in the debate she said about his time in Mexico “he choked,” and… Read More ›

• The 87

  By Bill Pearse on October 21, 2016 • ( 2 )

  

  It’s almost time to go. The body snaps back like the rubber on a slingshot, hangs there limp for what’s next. The clock has a tick too. The cat understands no schedule. The rain has been going all night, it… Read More ›

• I lost myself in the craters of the moon in Scotland last November

  By Bill Pearse on October 20, 2016 • ( 10 )

  We were always with the moon cycle it seemed. When we landed in Germany at the end of July it was a blue moon, when we left Amsterdam by ferry to Newcastle it was full again, and on our last… Read More ›

• This is all we have, right now

  By Bill Pearse on October 19, 2016 • ( 10 )

  

  Sometimes it’s hard to believe you’re gone, the way you half-smiled the same as me — the last time we talked on the phone I remember, your stories about the time you were in London too. Maybe every moment is… Read More ›

• Some imagine oblivion

  By Bill Pearse on October 19, 2016 • ( 17 )

  

  Bruised, angry clouds blown from the snouts of beasts with wings, horns and flames, poet plumes made the sky look alive today.

• The first thing we’ll do is round up all the reporters

  By Bill Pearse on October 15, 2016 • ( 26 )

  If there’s an analogy to be made between the winding down of the US presidential election and a sunset, the analogy breaks down when you consider the fact that most people enjoy sunsets. I debated between a winter sunset, the… Read More ›

• Before we lost power I scheduled this

  By Bill Pearse on October 14, 2016 • ( 24 )

  

  I couldn’t help getting drunk before the storm, I fell into a dream where I never did land and saw my body flicker out, and forgot. I went out for the dark and the rain because why wouldn’t you, it… Read More ›

• How it felt before the storm

  By Bill Pearse on October 13, 2016 • ( 32 )

  Though the storm had started I took Ginger for a walk. It was raining harder than you can imagine, and the frogs were going nuts — like a scene from the bible announcing something auspicious, or maybe they just wanted… Read More ›

• A conference of the senses, the cedars

  By Bill Pearse on October 12, 2016 • ( 17 )

  

  They blew the cedar branches out of the storm drains and Charlotte said it reminded her of Christmas, the smell. We were on the road last December driving from Galway down the southwest of Ireland, stopping in Cork to meet my… Read More ›

• Autumn response

  By Bill Pearse on October 11, 2016 • ( 30 )

  

  Now the earth breathes in and we with it too, we lie down. In the spring the earth breathes out, the blooms and the blades, the stamens and spores land where they will. But now is the time of repose and response, of reflection: to fall… Read More ›