Bill Pearse

Recent Posts - page 38

• Up the enchanted valley

  By Bill Pearse on July 3, 2022 • ( 21 )

  

  I sat there by the bees in the lupine with my knees muddy and the birds singing and the sound of some far-away traffic like a low tide going out. I chewed on an apple in a nonthinking way and… Read More ›

• Future letters to our former selves

  By Bill Pearse on July 1, 2022 • ( 14 )

  

  We came down to the end of June and I hung the flag for the Fourth. I had the summer off from work, and wouldn’t accept any new contracts until September. That gave us the flexibility to see Lily whenever… Read More ›

• The past imperfect

  By Bill Pearse on June 23, 2022 • ( 21 )

  

  Most nights Lily would leave the bedroom window open and I’d look up to it in the mornings when I let the dog out. I’d look up to her window and consider her inside, Christmas lights on the ceiling, glimpses… Read More ›

• Warrior 1

  By Bill Pearse on June 11, 2022 • ( 6 )

  

  It can be enough actually, this: Just the angle of the day and you doing your best To cup a few handfuls of what it was like No different than wildflowers pressed in a book. Like the one in Scotland… Read More ›

• Memento

  By Bill Pearse on June 6, 2022 • ( 6 )

  

  I saved the lift ticket from that trip to the Alps, saved it because it was written in German with the date stamped on top I don’t know why I saved it, perhaps I thought there’d be a time I… Read More ›

• Concourse A

  By Bill Pearse on June 5, 2022 • ( 12 )

  

  Let me curl up with this book, Let me fold in on myself, Let me carve out a sliver of comfort in the corner Of this goddamned airport Oh to the sounds of the airport waiting to be somewhere else… Read More ›

• On the drive to Soaring Eagle state park

  By Bill Pearse on June 3, 2022 • ( 11 )

  

  The same old men walk the streets at the same time each day Through the fog and birdsong, the runners in their new sweats And the world for what they see is mainly gray, for they look inwards They walk… Read More ›

• He not busy being born

  By Bill Pearse on May 25, 2022 • ( 7 )

  

  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 ›

• The existential interstitial

  By Bill Pearse on May 19, 2022 • ( 19 )

  

  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 ›

• What a sad, lonely day when I walk through the park

  By Bill Pearse on May 12, 2022 • ( 17 )

  

  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 ›

• ‹ Older Entries
• Newer Entries ›