Author Archives

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

• We are in the south of France now

  By Bill Pearse on January 12, 2020 • ( 12 )

  It is this time, I think to myself on the couch, that I will want to keep with me forever.

• Taking stock

  By Bill Pearse on January 11, 2020 • ( 12 )

  

  The problem started with the awareness that the days were blurring together with little to set them apart.

• Slim fields of winter

  By Bill Pearse on January 8, 2020 • ( 8 )

  

  And I just have to think, to consider the amount of loss I’ll feel when everyone is out of the house and it’s just me, positioning things exactly as they should be. 

• Once a parent

  By Bill Pearse on January 5, 2020 • ( 13 )

  

  Lily makes a gun shape out of her hand and puts it to her mouth, pulls the trigger. This, on a Sunday in response to me reminding her that she needs to get ready for confirmation class, if she wants… Read More ›

• Boy Scouts, coming for the dead

  By Bill Pearse on January 4, 2020 • ( 6 )

  

  Outside the neighbor’s rhododendron was flapping, the tall trees swaying. We were between fronts. What they call a sun break out here. I remembered the Boy Scouts were coming for the dead Christmas trees but you had to have them… Read More ›

• There and not

  By Bill Pearse on January 2, 2020 • ( 17 )

  

  The same collection of poems, taking it slowly, reading it since fall, not wanting it to end. And if only I could get a pinch of Carver in my work, that was the stuff! Even a shake could transform me…. Read More ›

• Moderate rain starting in 15 minutes

  By Bill Pearse on December 31, 2019 • ( 5 )

  

  All night I bathed myself in the rolling sounds of ambient music, an infinite loop, bobbing up and down And woke to the sound of one of the kids calling to Alexa, to turn theirs off And downstairs to the… Read More ›

• The red thread

  By Bill Pearse on December 27, 2019 • ( 3 )

  

  All the store fronts had their hours posted but it didn’t matter because I couldn’t for the life of me remember what day it was. The names shrank away when I focused on the letters and returned no results. And… Read More ›

• That last Christmas in Cork

  By Bill Pearse on December 25, 2019 • ( 2 )

  Reposting the story of the Christmas we spent in West Cork, 2016. 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… Read More ›

• Broken clouds

  By Bill Pearse on December 23, 2019 • ( 8 )

  

  What little light from this, these broken clouds.