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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.

PROMPT: Finders Keepers

What’s the coolest thing you’ve ever found (and kept?)

I once found a $100 bill by the curb on a rundown street that was about half abandoned buildings. I assumed it had been dropped by a drug dealer because not a lot of other people in that neighborhood had $100 bills in quantities such that they could cascade out of their pockets without notice. And there weren’t a lot of people hanging out in that particular area that weren’t up to something. But I didn’t keep it so much as spend it. I’m not much of a stuff collector, and I early learned that cool rocks and shells and such belong where they are and I take pictures, not souvenirs.

My father was a farmer. He, on rare occasion over decades of farming, turned up something interesting in the act of turning the soil (e.g. a mastodon tooth and some decomposing metal antiques.)

Fall Tenacity [Haiku]

dry and yellow,
 fall leaves hang on like a thick
  head of gray hair.

Ariel’s Song by William Shakespeare [from The Tempest]

Full fathom five thy father lies,
   Of his bones are coral made;
 Those are pearls that were his eyes:
   Nothing of him that doth fade,
 But doth suffer a sea-change
   Into something rich and strange:
 Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell.
          Ding-dong!
     Hark! Now I hear them,
          Ding-dong, bell!

NOTE: From The Tempest Act 1: Scene 2

Autumn Light [Haiku]

the sun is low,
but then it never gets high
this time of year.

DAILY PHOTO: Temple & Palm Trees, Bangalore

Monkey Courage [Haiku]

ten seconds after
 a dead limb broke under it:
  poised to leap again.

Cold Sparrows by Yang Wanli [w/ Audio]

Hundreds of cold sparrows dive into the empty courtyard,
   cluster on plum branches and speak of sun after rain at dusk.
 They choose to gather en masse and kill me with noise.
 Suddenly startled, they disperse. Then, soundlessness.

NOTE: This translation from: Barnstone, Tony & Chou Ping. 2005. The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry. New York: Random House. p.422.

Vaulted Dome [Haiku]

rain trees
form a vaulted dome
over city bustle.

DAILY PHOTO: Bangalore Street Art

PROMPT: Podcasts

What podcasts are you listening to?

I don’t really, though I do catch YouTube rebroadcasts of Joe Rogan, Lex Fridman, and some standup comics.