Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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Longing for home
Like passing through the atmosphere and trying to see outside the plane, but it’s hard to make out anything below or know when we’re going to land.
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On Division Street
We didn’t move to the beach for that, we moved there to postpone growing up for one more summer.
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Outside Atlantis
So sadly defined by work, cut out like a bowl.
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I’ve been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand
We are living this life where everyone we encounter is just a version of ourselves, the same as in dreams. How long have we been imagining shapes in the clouds? Or telling stories?
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Stand by me
I went down into the quarry and my calves burned coming out.
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Touching from a distance
Well, this weekend I trimmed my toenails and put out the flag. We didn’t make any plans. I moved a knobby round of firewood up to the fire pit so we could use it as a side table. And broke… Read More ›
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Rainy day, dream away
In that dream they came down and the kids ran for them, a spinning set of swings in the air with hats falling from the sky and a big field with the sound of children running to catch them, one… Read More ›
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Blues to Elvin
Mondays are best for jazz.
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Blacking out the friction
Of course I remembered the name Dick Boac, he worked at Martin Guitars as an “archivist,” a Falstaff type. But I couldn’t remember anything more about him because he was John’s friend, and John died more than 10 years ago… Read More ›
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Where one relaxes on the axis of the wheel of life
An odd day I didn’t get out until the end of it. Got up early and went to bed early. Both times with the birds coming on. That building arc in the morning you can’t not-hear once it starts, but… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 