Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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Rebirth of a shirt
When the undershirt’s worn out, it’s conformed to its owner and lost all likeness of itself then may it be put in the can and forgotten, to know it’s run its course and can return. Let me not grow nostalgic… Read More ›
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They packed the gaps with sand and mud
Old, half-timbered houses with uneven beams buckling and bent into one another like two drunks steadying themselves. Everything on its side, lead pipe handrails caught in their footings, ivy-choked trees. Pale morning birdsong, footpaths leading down the valley ending in… Read More ›
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Salthill Serenade, Galway
Wet snow tangled in the hair of the grass outside of London, topping the cars like confetti. Going back to a Sunday a month ago in Galway, a neighborhood ten minutes outside of town called Salthill, that day we started… Read More ›
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That last Christmas in Cork
We debated what to do with the uneaten ham. It was impractical to stuff it in the car with all our things, tacky to leave it behind for the owners, wasteful to throw it out, and so I climbed the… Read More ›
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Through the gap in Shakespeare’s garden
Christmas in West Cork: Cork, a town on the southern coast of Ireland, “West Cork” the territory to the left of it loosely defined by small towns with names like Skibbereen, which we visit just so we can say we… Read More ›
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Last postcard from Pinklightsabre for ’15
Happy holidays from Bill, Dawn, Lily and Charlotte…I will be out of the office from 16 December 15, returning some time in January. Until then, if this is an emergency please turn off your computer, go outside, and look deep… Read More ›
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A moment with a bad piece of art in Galway
Monday, a down day. The waves crashing against the rocks in the painting don’t move me because a.) I doubt they were real rocks the painter really saw, and b.) doubted he/she had the knack to really paint. It’s like… Read More ›
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‘You got a decent enough do in the Brazen Head for a bob’
Running from our flat to the oldest bar in Ireland in the rain because you have to do that at least once in life, and it’s so close I make it there without losing my breath and find the same… Read More ›
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Painting titled ‘Easter 1916,’ featuring Patrick Pearse
Staying up late listening to Toto, eating carrots and reading old blog posts, the unease that comes from seeing where you were compared to where you are now, and how little things change over time. Charlotte’s most prized stuffed animal… Read More ›
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‘Dreams are like water, colourless and dangerous’
It’s The Wednesday of our Lives, halfway through a nine-month tour of Europe, three months in the UK. We remind Lily dreams aren’t real, sometimes they’re just a manifestation of our fears and hopes — but dreams you want to make… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 