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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Related quotes
Animals love Football
It's not just us humans who play football
animals love the beautiful game too
they love nothing more than a kickabout
in fact it's the all the rage in the zoo.
Camels like to hump the ball upfield
Swallows and Swifts love to fly down the wing
Sloths like to take their time on the ball
but kingfishers get booked a lot for diving.
Spiders are good at the offside trap
Cobra's are deadly in a striking role
Crocodiles snap up all the crosses
but Foxes love to play in the hole.
Monkeys like to swing the ball around
Badgers and Bats prefer to play at night
Giraffes are good with very high balls
and Kangaroos are always up for a fight.
Pigs and Hippos love it when it's muddy
but Polar Bears like a pitch covered in ice
Owls are happy with any type of surface
as long as they can mark Voles and Mice!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Seeking Beauty
Cold winds can never freeze, nor thunder sour
The cup of cheer that Beauty draws for me
Out of those Azure heavens and this green earth --
I drink and drink, and thirst the more I see.
To see the dewdrops thrill the blades of grass,
Makes my whole body shake; for here's my choice
Of either sun or shade, and both are green --
A Chaffinch laughs in his melodious voice.
The banks are stormed by Speedwell, that blue flower
So like a little heaven with one star out;
I see an amber lake of buttercups,
And Hawthorn foams the hedges round about.
The old Oak tree looks now so green and young,
That even swallows perch awhile and sing:
This is that time of year, so sweet and warm,
When bats wait not for stars ere they take wing.
As long as I love Beauty I am young,
Am young or old as I love more or less;
When Beauty is not heeded or seems stale,
My life's a cheat, let Death end my distress.
poem by William Henry Davies
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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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Swallows in the summertime
Swallows in the summertime
The swallows have returned again,
Reminding me of those halcyon days of my youth,
Many years have passed since those blissful days,
I would spend many happy evenings watch them dart around.
The swallows always return each summer,
Spreading their joyful wings over England's green and pleasant land,
Every summer I wonder how many more times will I see the return,
Although it's summer again, I ‘am approaching the winter of my life.
When the swallows return again next year again,
I wonder if I will still be here to see them again,
Flying on the wing under the clear blue skies of summer,
If I ‘am, I will sit by the babbling brook and watch their dance once more.
If I see the swallows return once more,
I will remember those summer days of long ago,
When I was a lad and the countryside seemed to go on forever,
And in my mind I will be young again.
By Christopher Tye
poem by Christopher Tye
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Evening: Ponte Al Mare, Pisa
I.
The sun is set; the swallows are asleep;
The bats are flitting fast in the gray air;
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep,
And evening’s breath, wandering here and there
Over the quivering surface of the stream,
Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream.
II.
There is no dew on the dry grass to-night,
Nor damp within the shadow of the trees;
The wind is intermitting, dry, and light;
And in the inconstant motion of the breeze
The dust and straws are driven up and down,
And whirled about the pavement of the town.
III.
Within the surface of the fleeting river
The wrinkled image of the city lay,
Immovably unquiet, and forever
It trembles, but it never fades away;
Go to the...
You, being changed, will find it then as now.
IV.
The chasm in which the sun has sunk is shut
By darkest barriers of cinereous cloud,
Like mountain over mountain huddled--but
Growing and moving upwards in a crowd,
And over it a space of watery blue,
Which the keen evening star is shining through.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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At Sea
Three are emerald pools in the sea,
And wing-like flashes of light;
The sea is bound with the heavens
In a large delight.
Night comes out of the east
And rushes down on the sun;
The emerald pools and the light pools
Are darkened and done.
Our boat dips and cleaves onward,
Careless of night or of light,
Following the line of her compass
By her engines' might.
Through the desert of air and of water;
Like the lonely soul of man,
Following her fate to the ending,
Unaware of the hidden plan.
Sure only of battle and longing,
Of the pain and the quest,
And beyond in the darkness somewhere
Sure of her rest.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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May's Come To Ireland
The robin he sings on green sycamore bough
And calf drink from udder of her mother cow
And the dark otters play in quiet pools of the stream
And May's come to Ireland and meadows are green,
The sun in the morning shine through the gray fog
And the turf cutters shlaun out dark peat in brown bog
And the gorse bloom with yellow flowers on the brown hill
And golden buttercups bloom on green banks of the rill,
The skylark is carolling his clear notes of joy
As he soars towards the heavens a speck in the sky
And the plain mottled pheasant she sits on her nest
Her twelve olive brown eggs so warm neath her breast
And the swallows fly o'er the green meadows all day
And the hedgerows scent sweet with the blossoms of May.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The closer the bird is to the surface of the water, the firmer and more inelastic is the uplift of the rising air. The bird appears to almost feel the surface with the tip of its weather wing.
quote by Lawrence Hargrave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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We Sip The Wine
We sip the wine. We drink it slow.
We think by sipping the time won't go.
We try to make the moments last
but unlike the wine they move too fast.
Shall we have another or pretend to drink
and maybe have more time to think?
No drinking or thinking will ever be
enough of both for you and me.
So we sip the wine. We drink it slow
and with these gestures we both do know
it's over.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Past and Present
I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor bought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups--
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,--
The tree is living yet!
I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And throught the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.
I remember, I remember
The fir frees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.
poem by Thomas Hood
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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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I Remember, I Remember
I Remember, I Remember
I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
I remember, I remember
The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily cups--
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,--
The tree is living yet!
I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
The summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.
I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.
poem by Thomas Hood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Dreams
What would we do if we had no dreams?
No themes, no streams, no things to play
With; Darkness all and all around.
No colourful thoughts, no shining streams,
No happy hours, those bright and gay;
No listening to the cheerful sound.
Of flowers showing their natural themes,
Of water falling in to stay;
Towards nothingness, we are bound.
To lose these lively things; it seems
Is the thing to do in this young day;
In filth of veracity, we are drowned.
What would we do if we had no dreams?
No themes, no streams, no things to play
With; Darkness all and all around.
poem by Osama Waqar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Opening in the Sky to Heaven
in the eyes of the swallows
the sky winds its way into
a mysterious golden
- cool luminous opening
to where heaven is
on and on the excited swallows
would sing wishing one day
it would be able to explore
what is inside
on and on the swallows would sing
as they cruise the sky
delighting all earth's inhabitants
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hour of Twilight
When swallows and bats
gambol outside in flight,
with the moon hanging full and stars
are shining like bright beacons in the night,
some people are walking in the streets
to dance and gambol
at places where the bright lights are inviting.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Picasso's Last Words (Drink To Me)
The Grand Old Painter Died Last Night
His Paintings On The Wall
Before He Went He Bade Us Well
And Said Goodnight To Us All.
Drink To Me, Drink To My Health
You Know I Can't Drink Any More
Drink To Me, Drink To My Health
You Know I Can't Drink Any More
3 O'clock In The Morning
I'm Getting Ready For Bed
It Came Without A Warning
But I'll Be Waiting For You Baby
I'll Be Waiting For You There
So Drink To Me Drink To My Health
You Know I Can't Drink Any More
Drink To Me Drink To My Health
You Know I Can't Drink Any More
Jet... Drink To Me
Drink To Me... Ho Hey Ho
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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RIP The Night Away (Sunrise Reprise Remix)
If it ain't natural, then it ain't real
Ohh we gon' be kickin' tonight
We gon' be sipping tonight
Ripping the night away (rip the night away)
Ohh, when the time is right
Another full moon light
We rip the night away (rip the night away)
If this was the last joint, that we ever rolled up tight,
I'd want to be with good friends, underneath that open sky,
Play some mellow music, throw our dreams into the fire,
Release all the demons, and our souls are uprising
Oh we gon' be kickin' tonight
We gon' be sipping tonight
Ripping the night away (rip the night away)
Oh, when the time is right
Another full moon light
We rip the night away (rip the night away)
Oh we gon' be kickin' tonight
We gon' be sipping tonight
Ripping the night away (rip the night away)
Oh, when the time is right
Another full moon light
We rip the night away (rip the night away)
There's nothing in the world like some good times and good vibes
Surrounded with your friends and your family by your side
All the time you spent together going out havin' fun
Doin' the things you do, this life style's got us on the run
Life's too precious every moment make it count
Some days you're on the top some day's you're down and out
This life's a gift, I'm gonna shine my light
So sit back, relax, get high, with us and kick it with us tonight
Oh we gon' be kickin' tonight
We gon' be sipping tonight
Ripping the night away (rip the night away)
Oh, when the time is right
Another full moon light
We rip the night away (rip the night away)
Oh we gon' be kickin' tonight
We gon' be sipping tonight
Ripping the nigh
song performed by by Kottonmouth Kings
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Duty Done - 1935
The swallows are back, and I'm tuning my lyre,
For today 'tis my duty to sing
A melodious lay that is graciously gay
To welcome - officially - spring
Ting-a-ling
So let's have a song with a swing.
Bing!
High cockalorum and fal-de-rah, whack!
Young Spring's in the offing! The swallows are back!
To put sense in the song matters little so long
As the lift and the lilt of it ring.
And a mention be made of the wattle-hung glade
Where the blithering birds are a-wing
Ting-a-ling
And the clamorous honey-bees cling.
Z-z-z-ing!
Tho' I'm scarce in the humor, alas and alack!
Ho, merry-down-derry! The swallows are back!
So - officially - Hi! Oh, salubrious sky!
What a dear and delectable thing
To behold such a blue as old Arcady knew
When - er - Strephan or someone was king
Ting-a-ling
And life held nor arrow nor sling.
Ping!
Ah, the fervor is forced; but I mustn't get slack,
Tho' the rhymes may run low, for the swallows are back!
But - privily - oh, my vitality's low,
And a sneer at the season I fling
For I gasp and I wheeze in the weary unease
Of the plagues that the pollen days bring
Ting-a-ling
I'm insipid as second-hand string.
Ring.
Ah, ring down the curtain! I've gone to the pack!
But, a last word in closing: the swallows are back.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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