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About B Gourley

Bernie Gourley is a writer living in Bangalore, India. His poetry collection, Poems of the Introverted Yogi is now available on Amazon. He teaches yoga, with a specialization in pranayama, and holds a RYT500 certification. For most of his adult life, he practiced martial arts, including: Kobudo, Muay Thai, Kalaripayattu, and Taiji. He is a world traveler, having visited more than 40 countries around the globe.

POEM: In an Ancient Village

Seven years down the road
with dirty feet and no abode
I’d wander to and fro
along the narrow streets
of an ancient village



And when the monster came for me
I did not even claim to see
his vile disfigurement
in the dim winter light
in that ancient village



For years I tried to sail away
having failed to keep the beast at bay
but my ship  always
circled back ’round
to that ancient village



Then they’d throw me in some grimy pit
with scarcely room to for me to sit
and I’d whisper curses
under my breath
about that ancient village.



Then the monster would call on me
and all the townspeople would flee
as I wreaked havoc
on the town square
of that ancient village

POEM: Do They Really Sleep?

Are these sleepy  little villages and hamlets really tucked into bed by eleven?

When my train rolls by and there is nothing on display to my bleary eye

except vacant roads, dark shadows, and the dim glow of night-lights.

Cars are still; people are absent; time is frozen but for the wind-blown hedges.

But do these villages go to sleep, or do they just turn off the lights

and do those things which should not be subjected to the light?

DAILY PHOTO: Mossy Green Spring

Taken March 16, 2013 at Arabia Mtn, GA

Taken March 16, 2013 at Arabia Mountain, GA

A St. Paddy’s Day Note

My website will be sporting green through St. Patrick’s Day.

That is all.

The Irish have invaded every country in the world, this one being Thailand.

The Irish have invaded every country in the world, this one being Thailand.

POEM: Perception of Self

That cat thinks she’s quite a mouser

but, truth be told, she’s just a houser.

At stalking and lurking she’s a master.

But catching? Well… they get past her.

 

POEM: The Street Sleeps

Litter skitters down the street,
stopping beseechingly at my feet.
No one likes the morning chill.
So this raucous street is now still.
Still but for the will to wake.
Shhh! Let it sleep for goodness sake.

POEM: This Indescribable Feeling

I lack the words to dignify this feeling.

Imagine a coarse hemp rope knotted around one’s heart
It’s cinched tighter and tighter, tugged at both ends
The rope creaks under this burden, but it does not snap
It creaks like an old wooden sailing vessel, riding the swells

DAILY PHOTO: Daylight Bat-signal in Tallinn, Estonia

I'm Batman!

I’m Batman!

POEM: Deceit Days

What an apple!
–spoiled and rotten
The weave of lies
is soon forgotten.
Cast and reel,
no hook is set.
Which lie is true?
He soon forgets.

He says,
Just let me be, and I won’t lie.
But ask me now and it’s fib or die.

The lying life is tenuous.
Backpeddling? Strenuous

POEM: Overcast Day

Clouds tugged themselves over the city like a thick quilt
adding to the gritty gray inner-city nightmare.
I rode through this monochrome madness
without seeing a person on the sidewalks.
I felt their eyes peer down through ash-covered windows,
like a hand running over the tips of tiny hairs on my back
A high-pitched tone sounded in my ears
filling the void of chirpless birds and dumbstruck relicts

It can’t be long now.