William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose.
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Staff Picks
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Recent Posts
- Arabesque No. 2 in G major April 19, 2018
- Music for airports April 14, 2018
- Iceland spar April 13, 2018
- Killing the Tree of Heaven April 10, 2018
- Sonata in C major, “rites of spring” April 3, 2018
People’s Poet
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Lost in the clouds
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THIS WAS UNCALLED FOR
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Tag Archives: crows
Crow call for April
The chicken brined and so did I, in a solution of salt, memories and music. That Easter in France with Rob and Paul roasting the lamb — then the one 30 years ago I had to work at the drug … Continue reading
Posted in Memoir, prose, writing
Tagged crows, nature imagery, pacific northwest, short form, stream-of-consciousness, William Pearse writer
15 Comments
Who made the constellations
The days fanned out, an ocean of stars came into view And Crow was there too, a star in each eye gave him sight — the same glow on his wings gave him flight, and though it took a million or more … Continue reading
Posted in poetry
Tagged American Indian art, constellations, crows, memoir writing, nature, poem, poetry, stars
8 Comments
The eagles are kites without strings
When I drop the dead crow in the compost bin it folds like a puppet with no hand. It feels auspicious, dead birds, and I’m glad I’m not getting on a plane today, laying low. We enter the roundabout swiftly, … Continue reading
Posted in death
Tagged bildung, crows, dead bird symbols, dead birds, introspection, inwardness, loneliness, meaning of existence, Memoir, writing
15 Comments
From the throat, a crow’s hand
We are several hours away in the hills, the desert steppe, a friend’s cabin, down a dead end road that leads to a lake, a quarry, so quiet you can hear the gravel on the shoulder when we pull over … Continue reading
Posted in poetry
Tagged ambient music, art, crows, eastern washington, field recordings, found art, Loren Chasse, Music, photography, poem, poetry, prose, sculpture, the nature of art, writing
14 Comments
The weight of space in the eyes
Crow wings beat hard to keep themselves up They hop, squawk, strut Never once complain. We call them death: Their eyes the color of space Cold, dark, the wisdom of the infinite confined to a frame. Maybe there’s no warmth … Continue reading
Posted in death, poetry
Tagged american indian symbols, art, coping with death, crows, DPchallenge, Jason Molina, nature, poem, poetry, postaday, summer, writing
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