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 ›
Poetry
Boy Scouts, coming for the dead
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 ›
Moderate rain starting in 15 minutes
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 ›
Thanks giving
And then for a time it is just the sound of the dog licking an empty bowl I’ve turned out all the lights so the coming dawn can fill every room and why do we say, “I’m filled with loss”… Read More ›
My old man pose
I ate last night’s dinner for breakfast, wild mushrooms in bone broth. I sat by myself in the nook chewing, contemplating the day. It passed without report. In the middle of the night the moon made the fog look like… Read More ›
Poem for the days
They don’t matter, most of the days. Don’t matter because we squander them the same as water down the drain thinking there will always be more. The ones we remember are for good or bad reasons but the truth is,… Read More ›
Poem to celebrate an open PO
On the last day before I went back to work I lay on the sofa with my shirt off and the morning sun coming in, playing a record, burning incense, reading poetry. All I had left was to clean the… Read More ›
Fifty-fifty clown
The crow’s wings are magician hands that flap and disappear through the swirl of animal souls and the gray marine layer of morning. The lake is gray too, ribbed by a breeze or by paddle boats, the same each day… Read More ›
The turning back spot before coming down
When the poem is done I let it take effect on me like a pill slid down my throat, waiting. And when at last you get to the top, when you’ve reached that place to stop and turn back, how… Read More ›
Excavation of self, through rotten banana peels and skin
At last the smell that was really me came to bare, to fully express itself, as a piece of rotten fruit or uneaten meat, table scraps left to bloom in some dark, neglected space. A smell, an essence, of toxins… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 