Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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Broken antenna
My phone says good morning to me, beside today’s temperature there sits a happy golden sun throwing beams like an Egyptian glyph. Past my phone, outside the window, the sun plays on the tall trees where invisible birds peep and… Read More ›
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Paperboy
I had never met or seen the people who lived in the houses I delivered to, but here was this girl I’d had a crush on and now I knew where she lived.
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From Julius to Augustus
July gives way to August, and as it goes we are all giving way in this roundabout of life where you’re supposed to yield to the right but most don’t know what that means or pretend they don’t, as it… Read More ›
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Where everyone would love to drown
I was barely 15 and didn’t have luxuriant tastes. I bought James Bond paperbacks and Dungeons & Dragons figurines. I wasn’t into drinking or drugs and didn’t have a girlfriend so I bought IZOD shirts and corduroy shorts and then all my money was gone.
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Cast a shadow in my direction
There is so much to notice, starting with the shape of the land in this place beneath the big tree roots that’s roly-poly, not something you’d notice if you’re my size but definitely as an ant or a snake. Next… Read More ›
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Take a look at my life, I’m a lot like you
I’ve been practicing what it feels like to be an old man for years now. An old man with all the good parts, none of the bad. The pace that is measured, unrushed. Days that spill out like a cracked… Read More ›
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As the yard began to brown
Green is the color of life, and for today I am wrapped in a quilt of it on grass and fern and hanging tree boughs. Brown comes next, it is already on the edges of the sword fern, the cedars,… Read More ›
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Beach sequence
There is just time. And they say it doesn’t even exist but we don’t have another word for it so we just call it time. How much we have while we sit here and wait. On a beach this morning,… Read More ›
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Get rid of unwanted back hair
We forget how good we have it, we read books about the apocalypse for entertainment. We get a taste of that and the first thing we do is run for the toilet paper. We’re like domesticated dogs, we wouldn’t last long in the wild.
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The way it ends
it’s hard to fathom all the words in the English language that must end with the letter m, or why anyone would think to put that in a poem. Thanks everyone for playing along on my 30-day posting streak!
Bill Pearse 