Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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He not busy being born
Late May the grass by the pond’s grown tall where the frogs like to sing and screw and the song draws the dark down with the dew and we are all awash in it, spring! A medley of smells of… Read More ›
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The existential interstitial
Caught under the haze of morning the web of dreams I forgot who I was the name of the day where to step down In that liminal place feet hung dragged through air And the mind receded to give way… Read More ›
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What a sad, lonely day when I walk through the park
and a young man cuts the grass on the trail up ahead all he does is pause to loosen a clump of wet grass but he makes a point to smile and wave as I pass yet one day I… Read More ›
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The twos and threes
There is something about the twos and threes that gets mixed. One week ago is clear, two weeks is too, but now that I get to three I’m not sure, was it two weeks ago you left, or more? As… Read More ›
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17th and Spring
Like so much folly and confetti the cherry blossoms are back and scattered in the grass, for it is May and spring and I am a young man living in a rental, just 26. There is a courtyard no one… Read More ›
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This ocean size
I went back to Forks, the small logging town on the Washington coast, back to the gas station with the sandwich shop and the formica booth out front beneath the mossy overhang, the old sign with 1960s font that says… Read More ›
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Second person singular
You knew it would come to this, one day the kids leave the nest. You are left with yourself and your things, the memory of who you were as a couple and who you will be now that they’re gone…. Read More ›
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Last visit to Prague
It was strange to be in Prague again wandering like a tourist down that cobblestone street past the church, the old clocks, the streetcar tracks. Strange to be with a friend I hadn’t seen for so long but stranger still… Read More ›
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The reckoning
When you find death or death finds you what is it like? Your cat on the floor, I remember that. The first time you felt something taken from you you treasured and knew from the time of its birth. Because… Read More ›
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Song for replenishment
Let us be near the water and not want for anything else In the morning when the sun lights the tops of the tall trees and they burn like a candle to the bottom Let us be near the water… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 