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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.

Winter’s Long Shadow [Haiku]

in the mountains,
winter always looms nearby:
green hills, or not.

DAILY PHOTO: Sculptures of Cafesjian Center for the Arts

by Fernando Botero
by Yue Minjun
“Big Blue Kiwi”

Dystopian Desolation [Lyric Poem]

A road lined with burnt out junkers,
And garbage fires 'round which hunker
Cold souls sitting in drizzling rain --
That rain, that rain, their eternal bane.

Blue skies are a distant memory --
Except for in every reverie
That denies claustrophobic skies
The main villain role - e'er reprised.

Where's our long-lost hero, the sun?
Have stout clouds got him on the run?
Or maybe our hero 's bleeding out;
Its feeble showing leaves room for doubt.

Sonnet 138 by William Shakespeare [w/ Audio]

When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutored youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
Oh, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told.
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flattered be.

Gloom [Haiku]

clouds advance in waves:
mighty army on the march
set on spreading gloom.

Breeze-Free Beat [Tanka]

the eternal flame
lunges this way and that;
then -- for an instant --
it stands symmetrically:
only one breeze-free beat.

DAILY PHOTO: Balakhani Cemetery Hill

“Snow-flakes” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [w/ Audio]

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.

Spider Hibiscus [Haiku]

spider hibiscus
dangles over the pond;
like an ornate lure.

DAILY PHOTO: Sevanavank Monastery