Bill Pearse

Recent Posts - page 55

• Terror twilight

  By Bill Pearse on July 10, 2020 • ( 10 )

  

  The bobcat in our yard must have disrupted the balance because everyone was talking about it from the crows to the neighbor dogs to the lesser birds and bats. They were all peeping and cheeping and the crows, with that… Read More ›

• Face ID

  By Bill Pearse on July 9, 2020

  

  The reflection throws back a version of myself that’s real but see-through The gray light of day. The pattern of squares across my window pane. The sound of a record from another time projecting me backwards and setting me down… Read More ›

• The meaning of existence can’t be supplied by religion or ideology

  By Bill Pearse on July 7, 2020 • ( 22 )

  

  Last night’s wood fire still broods, it hangs in the air. I am made older by it, my inability to relate. And the desire to retreat inwards, down a path with no exit and no room to turn around.

• Song for the downward slant

  By Bill Pearse on June 30, 2020 • ( 4 )

  

  The moon plumps up, bugs thicken. We watch the swallows by the lake flitter like bats in the morning. How blue the sky, clouds provide texture. You can look up there and pretend it’s a moving picture or maybe the… Read More ›

• Shadow plots

  By Bill Pearse on June 28, 2020 • ( 13 )

  I rubbed the heels of my hands in my eyes and tilted my head back. Out here it is just the sound of birds, the neighbors never really out. The sound of a slow-moving jet, a passing car rippling out…. Read More ›

• Low relief

  By Bill Pearse on June 24, 2020 • ( 11 )

  

  Clear, starry nights with no moon, no pollution, and no time I need to get up. The Hawaiian shirt John gave me that’s missing a button right where my gut sticks out, but I wear it anyway. And that one… Read More ›

• Mondays don’t matter

  By Bill Pearse on June 22, 2020 • ( 13 )

  

  It is the best day ever! A Monday, full-on sun, and I’m not working yet. I smoked a five-pound pork shoulder on the bone and weeded, planted flowers, just poured a beer and it’s only 3.

• After all the jacks are in their boxes

  By Bill Pearse on June 21, 2020 • ( 10 )

  

  I’ve been off for two weeks now. God, I love being off! A chance to unwind and relax, to live without the stress and distraction of work. Greens and purples in the garden to greet the new season. The dog… Read More ›

• All these ironies we never asked for

  By Bill Pearse on June 20, 2020

  

  The night settled in and we filled the valley with our campfire smoke. It plumed out blue making the hillsides misty like we were somewhere far away in the bush, just me and Neil Young, his guitar and harp.

• Bull of the Woods

  By Bill Pearse on June 15, 2020 • ( 8 )

  

  All there is today is to take a walk or fix dinner, to take my car and have it fixed. This is a Monday without attachment, a Monday that doesn’t stick to you. And for that it could be any… Read More ›

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