October 28, 2018 (Sunday) The moody look of the freeway heading east toward the foothills with the rain coming on and the color draining out, now down to yellow. Fog and clouds over the dark mountain contours. Lily and her… Read More ›
Poetry
Song to the dark lands
When I look through the trees at the park near our house they are all pretty much the same as when we started coming here—like me, a bit older but still the same, mostly unnoticed. And the kids were so… Read More ›
The flavor is in the blood
Any cook will tell you, when you brown meat and rest it on the plate, blood will accumulate there and you always use that blood, or whatever juice comes out, when you put it in the pot. I sat in… Read More ›
Song for late summer’s sorrow
When the sun came out it hardly mattered with the wildfire smoke and clouds and cloying mood that comes from late summer days you’ve seen enough of: No, the sun was going under, swallowed and swollen, buried by messy, careless… Read More ›
Dream of forgetfulness in the wake of night
In the papery pre-light of dawn my wings like a honey bee’s begin to break down my body a weight I can’t let go, these words are the weights when they hang here, unsaid.
One commitment (for August)
In the morning before the sun is up, when the cloud deck makes the light go soft and pale, the grass is the color of straw dried-out and sharp, golden red. The lawn sprinklers wake spitting and cussing, and the… Read More ›
A jarful of days
In the corner of my yard in the mid-afternoon heat in my hammock with Pablo Neruda between my legs, my glasses off, bare-chested and unbathed, I think about death: my body a lump in a sack swinging here: all this,… Read More ›
The crow can’t sing, it clicks
Down the blooms fell, a different kind of fall. We did the spatchcock chicken again with the New Orleans rub and the leftover corn and asparagus. It was one of the best days I had at my new job, and… Read More ›
Blurred passage to poem
How the poem appeared an object in the mist I paddled toward and circled round And though it was odd and lustrous, with living things nesting and squirming inside, it was too tall and slick for me to climb. Better… Read More ›
Last night on 29th place, SE
We really lived in that house, if it was the wrapping we were the candy, the present, and inside there stirred our souls and the house bore witness and the calendar pages flipped, the seasons passed, our photos on the… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 