Bats have no bankers and they do not drink and cannot be arrested and pay no tax and, in general, bats have it made.
quote by John Berryman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Bats of Darkness
As I see the sun
my heart floats like a balloon
I'd hate to admit it
but i'm acting like an idiot
We all know that light will die
as darkness creeps up upon the muddy soil under our feet
As the sun goes down
bats are not sleeping
As dusk weaves itself over our sky
darkness awakes with our bats
Most people think the sun will come back
after we wake the next day, not a fact
Darkness will stay as long as we shall live
and we turn into bats
The winged creatures of the night woke up
from the jolly spirit of the day
Bats shall live forever,
will feast on fruit
The sun is gone and the flowers run away
for without the sun they all die
Do you fear us?
poem by Stephen Black
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Bats
Bats, the lord of the night
Gives anyone a fright
It is a night spy
But really why?
Majestic mammals, I admire
The animal that links with a vampire
A aura of darkness surrounds it
Why do people believe this even a bit?
It has an inner beauty
Which is beyond morality
It is a creation of the grand
Why don't you understand?
An illusion throws people in a quantity
Into the realms between dreams and reality
It is part of the maltreated party
Can't you hear its plea?
Bats, bats, lord of the night
Gives anyone a fright
It is a night spy
But really why?
poem by Shanthosh Suganthan
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Night Bats Play Catch
click I snap
click my fingers
bats fly past
my face a few feet
away bats like
love the audience
scaring them not
teasing them not
minds apart not
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Only Doing My Small Part to Please
'But...
Why do we have to stop playing the game? '
No one said a thing about you stopping!
'But for our night games,
We can not see without the lights.
People here can not sit without the bleechers.
We need the balls and the bats!
Also the bases.
Have you forgotten that? '
I haven't forgotten anything.
In fact...
When you suggested,
I was nothing but what a dog does.
And it was on the bottom of your shoe...
That you could not get rid of?
I thought I'd do you all a favor,
And go home!
'But why are all of those people,
Taking all of our equipment away? '
Well...
I paid for the bleechers.
And...
Made a deal with the electric company,
To supply the lights.
The balls and bats I got from donations.
And all the people you see leaving...
I sent invitations.
And I made it clear to all of them,
If I should stink that bad...
What is the point of them sticking around,
To see a game played...
When you have announced,
You would rather not have me here!
'Oh?
So it's like that? '
I guess.
I'm only doing my 'small' part to please!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bats drink on the wing, like swallows, by sipping the surface, as they play over pools and streams.
quote by Gilbert White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bats Shadow Fly Feed
treetop height
in dark of night
fruit ripe to bite
bats shadow fly by annual feed
balcony two stories up my whistle lead
back night souls flit spirit mead
in these ink hours soul breathe
in these night whispers soul seethe
in these fruit feasts bats weave
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Bat
At evening, sitting on this terrace,
When the sun from the west, beyond Pisa, beyond the mountains of Carrara
Departs, and the world is taken by surprise ...
When the tired flower of Florence is in gloom beneath the glowing
Brown hills surrounding ...
When under the arches of the Ponte Vecchio
A green light enters against stream, flush from the west,
Against the current of obscure Arno ...
Look up, and you see things flying
Between the day and the night;
Swallows with spools of dark thread sewing the shadows together.
A circle swoop, and a quick parabola under the bridge arches
Where light pushes through;
A sudden turning upon itself of a thing in the air.
A dip to the water.
And you think:
'The swallows are flying so late!'
Swallows?
Dark air-life looping
Yet missing the pure loop ...
A twitch, a twitter, an elastic shudder in flight
And serrated wings against the sky,
Like a glove, a black glove thrown up at the light,
And falling back.
Never swallows!
Bats!
The swallows are gone.
At a wavering instant the swallows gave way to bats
By the Ponte Vecchio ...
Changing guard.
Bats, and an uneasy creeping in one's scalp
As the bats swoop overhead!
Flying madly.
Pipistrello!
Black piper on an infinitesimal pipe.
Little lumps that fly in air and have voices indefinite, wildly vindictive;
Wings like bits of umbrella.
Bats!
Creatures that hang themselves up like an old rag, to sleep;
And disgustingly upside down.
Hanging upside down like rows of disgusting old rags
And grinning in their sleep.
Bats!
Not for me!
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Late at night
Late at night I hear the trees creek
in the woods and bats swooping down
in the valley, I watch slowly till it
comes to dawn every moment savouring
the beauty of the night turning slowly
drifting until dawn start and the birds
start there song whilst the night goes
to bed and the bats sweep into their warm homes.
poem by Nelly Wilder
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Above a enemy camp
A mirage fighter jet flies past
like a angel going in advance
on the crusade.
There’s an enemy camp
going up in flames
and clouds of smoke
hanging ominous
over the place
while our aeroplane
flies to the right height.
With the sun
showing its head
over the horizon,
I fall like a bat
breaking through the airspace
and right around me
the sky is full
of other bats
that decent angry on the target
with fangs exposed downwards.
[Reference: Bats here refers to “parabats” as South African airborne soldiers were known.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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How I Wish I Was A Child
I took my children out one night,
They shouted out, what's that,
I said that thing that just flew by,
Well that is called a Bat.
A Bat they said's for baseball,
They think I'm telling lies,
They said it's used to hit a ball,
It's not a thing that flies.
I tried to say it's similar,
To an Aeroplane or a Bird,
They love to soar across the sky,
But they're saying that's absurd.
I then tried to explain myself,
To make them understand,
That I would never lie to them,
There was nothing underhand.
I said it came out late at night,
To hunt for tiny Bugs,
It didn't need to use its eyes,
They said, do you think we're Mugs.
I told them Bats used sonar,
Like Dolphins in the sea,
They send a sound when it bounces back,
That's where their food will be.
They said Dad you're talking nonsense,
Bats are made of wood,
We don't believe a word you say,
But we truly wish we could.
You tell us tall tales all the time,
With the truth you're very sparse,
We know they're made up in your head,
Your stories are all a farce.
I then tried to convince them,
That what I was saying was true,
But I'm fighting a losing battle,
What more can I do.
There really is no hope for me,
I've tried everything I know,
But my children just won't listen,
I think I'd better go.
If only I were young again,
Then I wouldn't feel so riled,
I would know what they were thinking,
‘' How I Wish I Was A Child''
Each to their own..
Across the fields at eventide.
I can hear a choir singing
faintly. As the birds are winging
back to their nests. Now peace abides.
The pipistrelles begin to glide
Across the sky on leathern wings.
From secret places where they hide.
Until the shadows gathering.
Persuade the bats to come outside
The time has come for foraging.
Until they're fully satisfied
with insects taken on the wing.
The soft twilit tranquillity.
Presents an opportunity.
Which men and bats see differently.
I think not unsurprisingly.
Saturday,14 July 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Im Going Bananas
Hola! ese bato loco!
Im going bananas,
And I feel like my poor little mind is being devoured by piranhas,
For Im going bananas.
Im non compos mentes,
And I feel like a tooth being drilled, a nerve being killed by a dentist,
For Im non compos mentes.
Who knows?
Could be the tropic heat
Or something that I eat,
That makes me gonzo.
I do carry on so, for Im going bananas,
Someone book me a room in the hot haciendo with all my mananas
For Im going bananas.
Im going meshuga
All day long theres a man in my brain incessently playing booga wooga,
But Im going meshuga.
Theres bats in my belfry.
Wont you make sure this straightjackets tight,
Otherwise I might get myself free.
Yes, theres bats in my belfry.
Who knows?
Could be the wine I drink
Or its the way I think,
That makes me gonzo.
Oh, doctor alonzo says Im going bananas,
Someone get me a bed in the casa de loco for all my mananas,
For Im going bananas.
Yes, Im going bananas.
Si, Im going bananas.
song performed by by Madonna
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Secret Sonar Romances
bats are back
their fruit trees in fruit
night feast flight
flit flit flutter flight
fruit passion consumed
in tree dance flight
season past season
come dance our night
under shades of moon
I click my fingers
a few bats flit flight
fly up circle come
fly past my face
a few feet away
flit flight greetings
they like the audience
sonar image my face
thought whisper greet
ink veil night magic
moon crescent night magic
arch phases paint magic
dark building backdrops
stand tall solid frame trees
in background night prayers
silhouette shadow salutes
sky heaven altar glorious
heart stirs in night shades
friend bats flutter flight
disappearing back into trees
feast feed ripe flower fruits
friend bats I know
your ways of disappearing
friend bats I know
your night vision trails
your night vision paths
your night cycle dances
flowers fade into rebirth
organic petal forget me nots
out of sight out of mind
love is bat night flight born
bats my rest break companions
we share night flight visions
this realm of darkness
our mind flight mansions
our secret sonar romances
Dedicated to Miroslava Odalovic who shared a few of my nights with conversation between ritual night writing songs of creativity.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Cat and Bat's Revenge
The day the cat
and the bat
ate the rat
'Now peace b'coz we don't need to fight
for the rat'
said the cat.
'OK.' said the bat who hanging upside down on the wall
his shadow looking grand and tall
but the rats of the other world were scared
b'coz one of them read
the agreement
now the fastest mouse made a plan
to cut the wires of the fan
so it fell on the cat,
but the bat
took the rat and ate all his fat
the rats were frightened
so they sent another robotic rat
to outwit the bat and cat
now the plan was ready
and it was also fine
but unluckily came the bad pine
of the tree
which always helped the cat and the bat flee
from the rats net
which would always fail b'coz of the bat's friend the pine tree
who would help them see
the wicked plans of the rats
and tell them to all the bats
oh poor rats
getting all eaten up by cats(and bats)
then came the wisest rat sniper the 'sniper'
he went and cut the tree
and didn’t let the cat
and the bat flee
he threw a pan
on the fan
which hit the cat
and the bat
on thier heads
so now they are saved
from the cat
and bat
but now what?
here comes a rat
who's on the side of the cat
and the bat
the wisest mouse got him in the team again and put him to deep
sleep
so the cat and the bat
ate the 'EVIL' rat.
poem by by unknown author
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Echoes Ride The Night
Owls hoot, and bats fly blind,
As darkness fills these lands.
Spookiness, a weird kind
Sets trembling in the hands.
The moon peeps through bleak cloud,
To light earth’s dark domains.
Whistles shriek, screeching loud,
From distant racing trains.
The echoes ride the night,
Troubling our anxious souls.
Then as the skies turn bright,
One’s sanity patrols.
Why is it we feel fear,
When all is inky black.
We’re scared when things aren’t clear,
And nervous of attack.
Bats and owls have no dread,
When daylight fills the miles.
They go to sleep instead,
Inside their domiciles.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Smell Of Petroleum
The shaman came a calling
He was howling at the moon
He offered me a vision
On the end of a silver spoon
He said hed give me dreams
That all were in his powers
If only I would follow him
The universe was ours
Walked a thin white line to the coffin club
Downstairs from the devils den
Had a large double jesus
Chased down with a shot of zen
The last thing I remember
Was lying in the tank
And when I came around again
Everything was blank
Floating high above the world
Out on the astral plane
Im bouncing like a pinball
Hes busy being born again
I met God on primrose hill
Thats where he came to me
He stepped out of his saucer
I got down on my knees
From his lips came just one word
He left me all aglow
I sat down and had a smoke
And watched the flowers grow
The bats are in the belfry
And the bubbles in the bong
The secret of the universe
Is hidden in this song
The shaman left a crawling
As the dawn broke the gloom
Talking in some other tongue
And laughing like a loon
The early morning sunlight
Splashed colours on the wall
And I dont know if it ever
Really happened at all
The bats are in the belfry
And the bubbles in the bong
The molecules inside my head
Are chiming like a gong
The bats are in the belfry
And the bubbles in the bong
The secret of the universe
Is hidden in this song
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Freedom Of The Cloud
the powerful has no visible arms
but it will always make you feel that you are nothing without it
and if you do not take side, what are you?
a leaf fallen.
a used tissue paper with all the dirt wet with the rain
lost in the mud.
they will say you are a loser because you have never taken side with power
whatever that be
whoever shall it oppress
and it should not have been you if only you have chosen to obey the rules
and just be with them
and play
your mental constitution rebels for it has always been
independent as the wind
that goes in and out of a window
and hovers for no
one.
what do you want to prove? that you are better than the rest?
that you are not corruptible?
these are the questions that hang on the ceiling of your
innocent mind
like bats
they do not have cages
like bats they only live on their free nights
because the days
are prisoners
because the common light
is a yoke
you are alone now and so to live you must sing your songs of
independence to your ears
be light like a cloud and have no mountain as master
hang there for a while and then drift endlessly
is this not freedom?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The political Jack fruit tree and the hypocrite Bats
The tree laden with ripen fruits
And the Bats hang on the solid branches.
The poor folk sing the usual song;
'If it's given free then why should we hesitate to accept even the influenza.'
[ General election is coming closer in Sri Lanka, nowadays you could see on the stages how they sing nicely.Cricketers, Actors and Actresses etc., dream of their future minister posts while the Boss plays the violin.]
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Nobody bats 500. We all make mistakes.
quote by Desi Arnaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words can be like baseball bats when used maliciously.
quote by Sidney Madwed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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