En.Citatepedia^®.ro

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Swallows

AH! swallows, is it so?
Did loving lingering summer, whose slow pace
Tarried among late blossoms, loth to go,
Gather the darkening cloud-wraps round her face
And weep herself away in last week's rain?
Can no new sunlight waken her again?
'Yes,' one pale rose a-blow
Has answered from the trellised lane;
The flickering swallows answer 'No.'

From out the dim grey sky
The arrowy swarm breaks forth and specks the air,
While, one by one, birds wheel and float and fly,
And now are gone, then suddenly are there;
Till lo, the heavens are empty of them all.
Oh, fly, fly south, from leaves that fade and fall,
From shivering flowers that die;
Free swallows, fly from winter's thrall,
Ye who can give the gloom good-bye.

But what for us who stay
To hear the winds and watch the boughs grow black,
And in the soddened mornings, day by day,
Count what lost sweets bestrew the nightly track
Of frost-foot winter trampling towards his throne?
Swallows, who have the sunlight for your own,
Fly on your sunward way;
For you has January buds new blown,
For us the snows and gloom and grey.

On, on, beyond our reach,
Swallows, with but your longing for a guide:
Let the hills rise, let the waves tear the beach,
Ye will not balk your course nor turn aside,
But find the palms and twitter in the sun.
And well for them whose eager wings have won
The longed for goal of flight;
But what of them in twilights dun
Who long, but have no wings for flight?

poem by Augusta Davies Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

After the rain

After the rain
the air is full of swallows
swishing up and down
hanging in it
to catch flying white ants
and I see them ascending
and descending twittering.

Some sit as if strung together
right next to each other
on the silver lamp post
and hordes are invited
to the feast of the swallows.

Later when I sit in my study
there is a bird
that that lands on my windowsill
that looks like a parrot to me
and seeing itself in the window
pecks constantly against it

or maybe it’s something else
that I take as a parrot
and its head is scarlet red
up to its neck,

its eyes wide from each other
and its beak is bended
and below the red
its pitch black
and the rest of its body is light green

and I know that it’s too late
for the festival of the other birds
but maybe it would rather have
An apple or two

and every day
I now wait on Polla
or whatever its name is
to come back
to awake me with its knocking
and maybe I will catch him
but it’s rather much better
to be without a cage
and never again to be cooped in.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Blue Swallows

Across the millstream below the bridge
Seven blue swallows divide the air
In shapes invisible and evanescent,
Kaleidoscopic beyond the mind’s
Or memory’s power to keep them there.

“History is where tensions were,”
“Form is the diagram of forces.”
Thus, helplessly, there on the bridge,
While gazing down upon those birds—
How strange, to be above the birds!—
Thus helplessly the mind in its brain
Weaves up relation’s spindrift web,
Seeing the swallows’ tails as nibs
Dipped in invisible ink, writing…

Poor mind, what would you have them write?
Some cabalistic history
Whose authorship you might ascribe
To God? to Nature? Ah, poor ghost,
You’ve capitalized your Self enough.
That villainous William of Occam
Cut out the feet from under that dream
Some seven centuries ago.
It’s taken that long for the mind
To waken, yawn and stretch, to see
With opened eyes emptied of speech
The real world where the spelling mind
Imposes with its grammar book
Unreal relations on the blue
Swallows. Perhaps when you will have
Fully awakened, I shall show you
A new thing: even the water
Flowing away beneath those birds
Will fail to reflect their flying forms,
And the eyes that see become as stones
Whence never tears shall fall again.

O swallows, swallows, poems are not
The point. Finding again the world,
That is the point, where loveliness
Adorns intelligible things
Because the mind’s eye lit the sun.

poem by Howard Nemerov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Vote! | Copy!

Swallows (Brisbane Sonnet)

There is a happy bird, a little one
when all the other birds do move abroad
that is flying chirping everywhere
until the time comes that the sun is gone
small swallows fill the air over the road
twisting, hurtling up and down through the air

flying to and fro, flying very fast,
like fighters they dive over the bridge,
over the water as if visiting fish
skimming along as long as the day lasts,
catching small insects, every midge
they make me feel young and somewhat impish,

flying on long pointed wings and turning,
dropping from where the hot sun is burning.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Weave My Cocoon, Only For Own Metamorphosis!

Strangely life looks like a web,
Knitted by Sunlight,
Light of distant stars,
And light Reflected by moon and planets..

I could have survived and cut the web,
but the web is strengthened by more layers,
May be light absorbed and reflected by me,
And bouncing back from my Kiths and kins,
Mosquitoes and bugs,
My own blood relatives,
Sharing my blood or may be I am sharing thiers!
Life is like ground under fruit bearing tree,
Full of smashed fruits by its own fall,
Half eaten, half ripe, may be fully ripen and may be rotten!

Delicious and sweet fruits it bear,
Sometimes by cosmic friends, parrots and bats,
May be monkeys and niebours,
Test me and tease me,
My ability to access the fruits,
They have better nose and eyes than me,
They observe changes faster than me,
They peck or take a bite,
before I can wake up and see,
Birds are better than bats and monkeys,
Birds just eat enough and fly,
Monkeys and bats are horrible,
They taste one, pluck many,
Take to their friends and relatives,
And throw on their path
as a route map to others,
Rotten fruits smell bad,
Flies and mosquitoes,
Flies spread disease, are better,
Mosquitoes spread disease
and feast on my blood too,
Just like juice after meal!
All these knit web around!

All I have that is my own nest,
My own shining shine,
Where I weep, laugh and workout my own plans,
Which becomes my shield,
And what look like shield is my own cocoon,
Where I sleep or meditate,
Only come out completely metamorphing myself,
cutting cocoon With flying colours!

I feelfree now with coloured wings,
Antennae and suckers,
I fly over flowers,
But gather nectar and I help flowers to live fruitful!
But I am innocent
I sing and dance in air,
With my coloured wings
I am a flying flower
Found in garden or in wild!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Letter to Prof Wole Soyinka

to the stone that sharpens axe,
kudos.
to the stone that grinds pepper,
kudos.
to the bird that swallows snake,
kudos.
to the woman who swallows man,
kudos.
to the man who swallows lion,
kudos.
to the hunter who returns
from exploit, when the day breaks,
kudos!

poem by Stephen Olufemi Omolara
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Sun

The sun has gone down
No fun I only frown
The sky is already brown

Bats flying in the sky
Into the trees I hear their cry
The Night has given darkness a try
No light no love
Silence holds mi with a persistent pry

The sun has gone down
No fun I only frown
The sky is already brown

poem by Khalifa Mustapha
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Andys Chest

If I could be anything in the world that flew
I would be a bat and come swooping after you
And if the last time you were here things were a bit askew
Well you know what happens after dark
When rattlesnakes lose their skins and their hearts
And all the missionaries lose their bark
Oh, all the trees are calling after you
And all the venom snipers after you
Are all the mountains bolder after you?
If I could be anyone of the things in this world that bite
Instead of an ocelot on a leash, Id rather be a kite
And be tied to the end of your string
And flying in the air, babe, at night
Cause ou know what they say about honey bears
When you shave off all their baby hair
You have a hairy minded pink bare bear
And all the balls are rolling out for you
And stones are all erupting out for you
And all the cheap bloodsuckers are flying after you
Yesterday, daisy mae and biff were grooving on the street
And just like in a movie, her hands became her feet
Her belly button was her mouth
Wich meant she tasted what shed speak
But the funny thing is what happened to her nose
It grew until it reached all of her toes
Now when people say her feet they mean her nose
And curtains laced with diamonds dear for you
And all the roman noblemen for you
And kingdoms christian soldiers dear for you
And melting ice cap mountain tops for you
And knights in flamming silver robes for you
And bats that with a kiss turn prince for you
Swoop, swoop
Oh baby,
Rock rock
Swoop, swoop, rock, rock

song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Andys Chest

(reed)
If I could be anything in the world that flew
I would be a bat and come swooping after you
And if the last time you were here things were a bit askew
Well you know what happens after dark
When rattlesnakes lose their skins and their hearts
And all the missionaries lose their bark
Oh, all the trees are calling after you
And all the venom snipers after you
Are all the mountains bolder after you?
If I could be anyone of the things in this world that bite
Instead of an ocelot on a leash, Id rather be a kite
And be tied to the end of your string
And flying in the air, babe, at night
Cause ou know what they say about honey bears
When you shave off all their baby hair
You have a hairy minded pink bare bear
And all the balls are rolling out for you
And stones are all erupting out for you
And all the cheap bloodsuckers are flying after you
Yesterday, daisy mae and biff were grooving on the street
And just like in a movie, her hands became her feet
Her belly button was her mouth
Wich meant she tasted what shed speak
But the funny thing is what happened to her nose
It grew until it reached all of her toes
Now when people say her feet they mean her nose
And curtains laced with diamonds dear for you
And all the roman noblemen for you
And kingdoms christian soldiers dear for you
And melting ice cap mountain tops for you
And knights in flamming silver robes for you
And bats that with a kiss turn prince for you
Swoop, swoop
Oh baby,
Rock rock
Swoop, swoop, rock, rock

song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!