Tag Archives: Poetry

Poem: Each Night I Go to Bed

by Editor | 3 Comments

by Lethe Bashar
The poet is the editor of Escape into Life, arts/culture web-zine and fine art auction. He is also working with an illustrator from Argentina on a graphic novel. Besides that he keeps up an essay-blog, The Blog of Innocence, that covers topics in the arts, social technology, and a general philosophy of life.

This poem was originally posted on Twitter as an experimental project in spontaneous poetry via Twitter with @paulokoba

Each Night I Go to Bed

each night I go to bed
a little bit later
I wake up in the morning
forgetting the past

days add up like coins in my pocket
I’m rich with hours
another little bit has passed

I find another hobby
swear to myself I’ll get healthy
another little bit has passed

I think about the news
write about my views
another little bit has passed

when will this world come to an end?
it seems so eternal right now

Poem: The Moth Approached Me Like a Blinking Eye

by Editor

by Lethe Bashar
The poet is the editor of Escape into Life, arts/culture web-zine and fine art auction. He is also working with an illustrator from Argentina on a graphic novel. Besides that he keeps up an essay-blog, The Blog of Innocence, that covers topics in the arts, social technology, and a general philosophy of life.

The Moth Approached Me Like a Blinking Eye

The moth approached me like a blinking eye,
I was having a cigarette in the garage.
The birds squeaked in the far off darkness,
a menacing sound disrupting the night.

I pressed the moth to give me her reasons
for staying up as late as she did–
She continued to blink, and I awaited her answer,
but nothing came.

The birds heckled the darkness and the darkness
heckled back–the chaos persisted but
remained subdued and the neighbors
stayed in bed.

The children, in their warm beds,
were dreaming of magical places,
and I bemoaned my condition
while having my cigarette in the garage.

I thought of summer, which was expected
to come, maybe tomorrow or never,
I figured I’d be sleeping when it did.
I thought of the hours I’d missed.

The moth returned after awhile,
she blinked her wings again and again,
She seemed to know I had a mild fever,
she seemed to know my memories too.

Let me go, I said. Be off. I want to sleep.

New Film: Lunch With Bardot

by Cimaxion



My latest little film. It’s actually a cinegram. The subject is trains. Time. Memory. The present doesn’t exist. You can’t find it with measurement. You can’t even define it. The future is not there yet. You cannot see it. The only thing that really exists is the past. I say that because we can all see the past – some more clearly than others. But we can most certainly see it.

A cinegram is a short motion picture that uses images and text that are packed with meaning and suggestion. It’s my new word for things I once referred to as film poems.

Here’s the poem from inside the movie:

Lunch With Bardot

Trains run on time
With passengers asleep
Temporarily forgotten
Between observation points
Colliding lines
Of fictional transport

Audio Poem: Ode to a Nightingale

by Editor

491px-john_keats_by_william_hilton

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For the last day of National Poetry Month 2009, here’s a reading of Ode to a Nightingale, by English poet John Keats.  It was written in 1819 after the poet had been listening to a nightingale in the yard of a friend one morning.

Here is the text of the poem:

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness, –
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

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