What are your favorite websites?
I guess if time spent on them indicates “favoriteness,” that would be Google, YouTube, and WordPress— in who knows what order.
PROMPT: Favorite Websites
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Author Archives: B Gourley
Octopus [Free Verse]
Eight arms
seeking eight
different states
of being.
Winding sinuously
toward eight
different ends.
Wrapping opposing
limbs around
antipodal objectives,
it risks tearing
itself in twain…
but knows better.
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First to Fall [Haiku]
by the green river,
one tree prematurely
takes Fall colors.
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DAILY PHOTO: Budapest’s Tiny Sculptures
Fog by Carl Sandburg
The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
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PROMPT: Re-live
Is there an age or year of your life you would re-live?
If I could do so as the me I am now, I’d do any of them (post-High School,) but if I’d be the me I was at the time, then I don’t see the point. Either way, there would be changes that would ripple through the rest of my life, to varying degrees. I got through largely without unnecessary tragedy, I’d as likely screw it up as improve upon it.
If nothing downstream could be changed, that would be like watching a boring documentary that had none of the tedious parts cut out. Like watching the 17 days a wildlife photographer sat freezing his ass off uneventfully before he got footage of a snow leopard. I really don’t see the point of that.
Life is beautiful because one has no idea what it might bring.
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Fungi Art [Haiku]
Depreciation [Tanka]
in the morning, a fresh blanket of snow makes the world look new. by day's end, it's well-trodden: a car driven off the lot.
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DAILY PHOTO: Scenes from Michigan Avenue
PLAYTHINGS by Rabindranath Tagore [w/ Audio]
CHILD, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning. I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig. I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour. Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning with!" Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies. I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver. With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my strength over things I never can obtain. In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am playing a game.
