I see the Peach Blossoms of Spring,
And think of old Li Bai’s answer.
In wordless replies, the world sings;
In unpeopled worlds, there’s a dancer.
The referenced poem by Li Bai [李白] is entitled Question and Answer in the Mountains [山中问答] and is crudely translated as:
I'm asked why I live in mountains.
I laugh while giving no reply.
Peach Blossoms flow from sight & mind;
Beyond men, another Earth & Sky.
Or, in Chinese:
问余何意栖碧山，
笑而不答心自闲。
桃花流水窅然去，
别有天地非人间。
Shadow-striped --
Juxtaposing day with night,
And wrong with right,
And never with always --
Down the long striped
Hallway...
Until it ends in darkness.
![Photograph of a statue of a young vagabond taken at Fo Guang Shan [佛光山,] near Kaohsiung, Taiwan.](https://berniegourley.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/03/img_0378.jpg)
Each Soul contains its Vagabond
- Who yearns to travel light & free -
But they load too much baggage on,
Then tether him to a big tree.
![Photograph taken in Hualien, Taiwan at the Hualien Temple and Dongjing Temple (花蓮寺東淨寺) [Buddhist.]](https://berniegourley.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/03/img_1218.jpg)
They call me Nameless,
Well-known as fameless.
My plans are aimless.
My faults are blameless.
My chess is gameless.
My disgrace, shameless?
But my glasses are framed.
My passions are inflamed.
My wild horses are tamed,
And my arrows are aimed.
All due credit is claimed,
And nothing else remains.
A Beetle that was built like a tank
Crawled over a blazing riverbank
Now as any sane one would think
It should head straight for the drink
To cool off its little ole toes.
But as astute readers will know,
It hasn't really got any toes,
So, it can walk hot sands real slow.
We kayak where lives Hippopotamus,
And hope it isn't submerged, a-bottom us.
With kayak a quite crunchy hard shell --
Us: savory filling that screams and yells, --
We'll be a three-bite river taco to hell.
A dancing dragon winds
through streets of Chinatown.
Head pivots, nods, and turns
as it looks all around.
I hope its golden eye
will not catch sight of me
because its big, curved fangs
do not look so friendly.
You may say its paper,
and those teeth can't do harm,
but there's life in its moves
that's cause of my alarm.
There's something about an old wood door --
ornate (but on some humdrum street)
that makes one wonder if it's more
than its neighbors -- something offbeat:
Perhaps, a portal into Hell,
a Speakeasy of unknown vice,
a smelly cheese smuggling cartel,
a school for wizards, imprecise.
A squirrel sat straight upon a dirt mound.
It could survey the woods for miles around.
Holding an acorn like a microphone,
The rodent seemed to be deep in the Zone.
Perhaps comedy stylings or folk songs?
But it just chewed its nut loud and long.
"The race is to steady turtles!" --
Even if the race has hurdles?
Even with its great longevity
it'll never have lift or levity
to finish before life runs out.
Hold off with race applications.
Is racer your ideal vocation?
I don't mean to be Sower of doubt,
but think speed isn't what you're about,
and that you'd make a fine doorstop.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 