No chronology, but here are facets:
Loving father and grandfather.
Moderately intelligent, extremely stupid, former systems analyst and former heroin addict.
I play squash, bridge, tennis and chess.
Depression and cluster headache.
I live overlooking the sea and beautiful Devon country.
Practical skills in cooking and with software but in nothing else.
Atheist ... more »
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Don Pearson Poems
(For Annabel Jones) I have walked with beauty, seen it set in stones, Run my hands across it, thrilled to hear its tones,
Tigers - For Children
(For Julia Howe and to our grandchildren) I am a tiger, roaring, and you run, screaming, to hide
Good morning, Sir. Come in and take a seat And how can I be doing you today?
I remember a past of confident movements Of rhythmic sounds and a time that escaped And young girls and bright lights and excited voices And …
I have caught tears in my mouth, washed in the dust of the dead,
My dream had beauty. Black pooled light on rainswept streets, blood on the walls
It is said that, on this shore, Lies the ideal pebble.
Truth - Haiku
Blessed are the poor in spirit: for they shall be beloved by their exploiters. Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit nothing and yet be satisfied. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be renowned after they have been killed. Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs
(For everyone involved in Poetry Teignmouth) They wait in ambush, poems by writers
Pohutukawa - Haiku
(for Suzanna) Christmas blossom fades: A newborn daughter cries out
Privatisation Shortage of staff Emergency repairs Signal failures
Island - Haiku
(for Elvina) Abandoned stone heads Survey wasted treeless land –
Flying ant day dawns: The glut is unheralded,
Comments about Don Pearson
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(For Annabel Jones)
I have walked with beauty, seen it set in stones,
Run my hands across it, thrilled to hear its tones,
Tickled it from rivers, swum with it at sea,
Joined with it in passion, watched it run from me.
I've seen beauty on the plains, running in the grass,
Soaring in the mountains, brought close through a glass,
Glimpsed it in the forest, awful, striped and fell,
Caught its flashing azure flight in a lakeside dell.
Now the Teign is swathed in mist, merging with the sea,
There a fern is growing on a mossy tree.
To the West, the...