Author Archives

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

• A piece of Richard Brautigan (for Loren)

  By Bill Pearse on January 9, 2018 • ( 8 )

  

  The cat’s eyes have gone cloudy, or maybe it’s just my imagination. She spends most nights in the garage, which would explain the need for a thicker coat. And in the morning she pulls a pipe cleaner out of the… Read More ›

• Dark morning walk

  By Bill Pearse on January 9, 2018 • ( 2 )

  

  Now the dark you thought would abate just hangs on (or lightens, depending on your point of view) still it’s hard to change from what window you see the world, that view.

• Discreet Music | January 8, 2018

  By Bill Pearse on January 8, 2018 • ( 7 )

  

  Came home from work and washed my hands, poured the last of the white wine. The January bugs are back, gray and plain, looking in at me sideways. A flock of birds like playing cards shuffled, then rearranged. There must… Read More ›

• Discreet Music | January 7, 2018

  By Bill Pearse on January 7, 2018 • ( 23 )

  

  The dog’s hind leg shifts like a coal in the wood stove, stirs, then settles in. It’s Sunday and I vowed to cook, read, build a fire and that’s it. Spent half of it online reading consumer reviews of cars… Read More ›

• Discreet Music | January 5, 2018

  By Bill Pearse on January 5, 2018 • ( 20 )

  

  It’s been a busy week, which is strange for the first week of the year. But I’m ending a project we started in September, with about a dozen CEO’s from companies around the world meeting over a few days. C-level… Read More ›

• Painting lessons for pessimists

  By Bill Pearse on January 4, 2018 • ( 7 )

  The future is a sham of hope and fear- based paints that can’t advance beyond the crudeness of our own imagination.

• Everything You Love Can and Will Be Taken from You

  By Bill Pearse on January 3, 2018 • ( 0 )

  Sharing a new favorite poem today by an old favorite poet, Rosemerry Trommer. A Hundred Falling Veils Years after the ten-word lesson in impermanence, the truth of the words still comes to me—not always, of course. For instance, not today… Read More ›

• Morning prayer

  By Bill Pearse on January 2, 2018 • ( 5 )

  The grizzled look of a lawn covered in frost and all the tiny diamonds there, a Morse code for sight. Photo credit, Loren Chasse.

• Bone piece

  By Bill Pearse on January 1, 2018 • ( 14 )

  

  The memoir, the story of your life, is an object of questionable value. You hold it in your hands, shake, listen: what’s inside? Is there a lock? Does it open? What’s it for? You could take it to someone who… Read More ›

• Discreet Music | December 30, 2017

  By Bill Pearse on December 31, 2017 • ( 12 )

  Whole Foods grocery store (Redmond, Washington) I sat outside the Whole Foods eating lunch, reading, waiting for my car to get done at the Les Schwab next door. Donnie returned the Patti Smith book I gave him and I was… Read More ›