Author Archives: B Gourley

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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.

BOOKS: “Captain America: Winter Soldier, Vol. 1” by Ed Brubaker

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Captain America: Winter Soldier, Vol. 1Captain America: Winter Soldier, Vol. 1 by Ed Brubaker
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Amazon.in Page

This is a tale of cloak and dagger intrigue, modern-day intrigue rooted in post-Cold War intrigue rooted in Cold War intrigue rooted in Second World War intrigue. It’s intrigue all the way down, and the book uses flashbacks to gradually fill in the reader on the necessary background.

I liked that Brubaker shows us a Captain America that’s a bit beaten down and jaded. Not beaten down in the physical sense, but in the sense of not being able to maintain his preternatural positivity and virtue in the face of all he’s seen and been through. It makes for a more interesting and textured Captain America.

In issue one of this seven issue collection, the Red Skull is found dead, and the bulk of the remainder of the book is a detective story of political intrigue. [Except the final issue which wraps up a secondary plot point from an earlier issue by telling us the tale of Jack Monroe. Which shows us a darker, grittier side of super-soldiery.]

I enjoyed reading this volume. It was a compelling story arc with plenty of action but also a bit of mystery. If you’re a Marvel comics reader, it’s must-read.

View all my reviews

“The Hayloft” by Robert Louis Stevenson [w/ Audio]

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Through all the pleasant meadow-side
   The grass grew shoulder-high,
 Till the shining scythes went far and wide
   And cut it down to dry.

These green and sweetly smelling crops
   They led in wagons home;
 And they piled them here in mountain tops
   For mountaineers to roam.

Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail,
   Mount Eagle and Mount High --
 The mice that in these mountains dwell,
   No happier are than I!

O what a joy to clamber there,
   O what a place for play,
 With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air,
   The happy hills of hay!

Mountain Forest [Haiku]

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a cave-like forest:
 then valley and sun align,
  and one ‘s outside-in.

DAILY PHOTO: Covered Bridge, Pai

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Fishing by Feel [Haiku]

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herons & egrets
 wade in pond algae, 
  blindly fishing.

After the Rain [Haiku]

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streets are glistening,
 and trees are dripping on the 
  riverside shrine's roof.

Rough & Tumble [Lyric Poem]

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Oh, no, no! Don’t you get your gun.
 It’s not that kind of wicked fun.
 It’s just that rough and tumble stuff
 Where one can say, “Enough ‘s enough!”
 And go your separate ways, knowing 
 That the fight is still ongoing,
 And it’ll never really be done
 ‘Cause it’d never truly begun.

DAILY PHOTO: Taiwanese Tiger Riders

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Kaohsiung, Zuoying Yuandi Temple
Fo Guang Shan
Anping, Tainan
Taipei; Four Animals Mountain

Row Me into Nowhere [Lyric Poem]

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Row me into nowhere --
   The middle of the sea --
 To drift without a care
   As waves roll under me.

Row me into nowhere,
   That vacant stretch of sea,
 To watch blue skies, so fair,
   For an eternity.

Row me into nowhere;
   I'll bob upon the waves.
 Let me make it my lair:
   Free of rascals and knaves.

Row me into nowhere
   When all the good are gone;
 I'll breathe that salty air
   Until my soul moves on.

“Sympathy” by Paul Laurence Dunbar [w/ Audio]

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I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
 When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
 When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
 And the river flows like a stream of glass;
 When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
 And the faint perfume from its chalice steals --
 I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing
 Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
 For he must fly back to his perch and cling
 When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
 And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
 And they pulse again with a keener sting --
 I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
 When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore, --
 When he beats his bars and he would be free;
 It is not a carol of joy or glee,
 But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
 But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings --
 I know why the caged bird sings!