Leather Wing Bat Re-vamped lyrics by Ariane Simard "I" said the little leatherwing bat "I'll tell to you the reason that The reason that I fly by night Because I lost my heart's delight" Refrain: Howdy-dowdy, diddle-um-day Howdy-dowdy, diddle-um-day Howdy-dowdy, diddle-um-day Hi lee-lee, little-I little-o "I" said the cockerel sitting on a fence "Once I loved a handsome wench She got saucy and from me fled Ever since, my crests been red." "I" said the blackbird sittin' on a chair "Once I courted a lady, fair. She proved fickle and turned her back And ever since then I've dressed in black." (refrain) “Aye,” said the robin, pecking at the clover. "Your courting days are best long over Marry soon and you’ll shed no tear Complete in love means free from fear." “Tut-tut” said the little turtle dove, "I’ll tell you how to win her love Court her night and court her day Never give her time to say 'O neigh'" (refrain) “Hey” said the woodpecker high in a tree, "To hear love’s beat, listen close to me My lady-love laughed, then she flew away And ever since then, I’ve worked all day." "I" said the bluejay and away he flew "If I were a young man I'd have two If one were faithless and chanced to go I'd add the other string to my bow" (refrain) "Neigh" said the little turtle dove "For that's no way for to gain her love If you want to gain your heart's delight Keep her awake both day and night" "Hoot" said the owl with a head so white "A lonesome day and a lonesome night Thought I heard some pretty girl say She'd court all night and sleep all day" (refrain) “Hush,” said the bat from high in a tree "I want my lady to marry me. Hurry off to bed and no more speak Of the love you’ve lost or the love you seek." Bat unfurled his wings and began to fly, Among the trees in the moonlit sky. Away he flew off into the night, searching for his heart’s delight. (refrain)
Bats In a freezing attic somewhere in Prague a hungry songwriter invents Sincerity, but alas, too early. A decade later, a popular singer, struck by the intimacy a microphone fakes, invents a way of sobbing in time to the music -- earnest little hearts are wrecked from San José to Surbiton. The angelic choirs, should they be tempted to rebel, would they hit on a trick so lucrative? Clouds of butterflies reassure us: we are so much more serious, and intelligent -- think of rockets, and the invention of dentistry and napalm. Sincerity? It will take a Poet Laureate to turn it to profitable use. Bats circle the Old City, low and silent.
Our wings heal quickly - else how could we climb every night into your guarded sweetness: cloud-white windows of the watery heart? Eben J. Gering
Check out On A Bat’s Wing for a nice collection of Bat Poetry
Dreams And dreams like bats (which with small cries go chasing gnats and long-legged flies) wing through the darkness of the breast until with day they take their rest, hanging head downwards, vague, aloof, like some soft fungus on a roof.
The Bat Poem Bats are big bats are small have a good time with them all Bats may be scary OH MY, but they will never make you die No one knows when they came about, but they use echolocation to find their route. Tonight they'll eat 6000 mosquitoes. They must be very hungry! Right? One day all the bats will be gone, but if respect them, they will never go wrong.
THE INDIGESTION OF THE VAMPIRE Look at this red pear Hanging from a good family Where the butcher hung the rag on the tree. The bat's bloated again, Hooked on his dark nimbus Getting over it. Here is the cure of pity Upside down. Elsewhere the laundry Is buried, The deer tracks left by his teeth Look for the cross-roads, The veins that are still good Hold out their hands. Here's his story. His bridges are not burned only folded. In a while the swollen life He calls his own Will shrink back till it fits the mirrors, No worse for no wear; The eyes will come To conceal movement again; He will find his voice to fly by. That's how he does it: rock-a-bye, Hanging there with his silence all wool And others at heart, Two pounds in his pound bag, Shaped like a tear but Not falling for anyone.
Bat I walk towards our house after dusk has covered the yard and through the open windows I hear a sharp yelp from our daughter. I look up to the stairwell window where I see the silhouette of a bat flashing across the walls. Inside the house, the sound of your laughter echoes behind the living room door as you try to lasso its beating wings with a green and yellow afghan. Its wild aerobatics finally subdued and rolled up into an acrylic ball, you rush out into the now-black night and like magic, its fluttering wings dissolve into stars.
Bats are cute and never scary Bats are very sanitary Bats in dismal caves keep cozy Bats remind us of Lugosi Bats have webby wings that fold up Bats from ceilings hang down rolled up Bats when flying undismayed are Bats are careful Bats use radar Bats at night time at their best are Bats by Batman unimpressed are.
Bats Bats have shiny leather wings Bats do many clever things Bats dose upside-down by day Bats come out at night to play Bats cavort in soaring cliques sounding ultrasonic shrieks Acrobatic in the sky Bats catch every bug they spy
The poem uses the first letters of the term echolocation. Every evening Caves come alive and Hunters alight On New Mexican deserts. Lone riders of the night skies are Off to nocturnal feasts. Caverns spew their winged lava Across the darkening deserts. Teeming leathery warriors In flight over arid seas. Onward legions of the twilight Night-borne pilots of sandy, moonlit shores.
Ravishing Spirits, Soaring through the Night. Mysterious Creatures, Caught in Mid-Air Flight. Misinterpreted Beasts, What a Beautiful Sight. Fearsome Killers, Not in the Slight. Fascinating Beings, Never Seen in the Light.
I am a bat, no, not a cat, I fly during the night, Because i don't like the light, I eat lots of fruit, And wear a fur suit, I hang upside-down, And I don't wear a frown, Because being a bat, Is surely all that
Ode to Bats (Cabo San Lucas, BCS, Mexico) Twilight. Bats erratic insect harvest. Beautiful evening. Death.
Bat Wing-ed creature of the night sleeps by day, at dusk takes flight. Though black and fanged it's very light this creature could never bring forth fright.
DEAF AS A BAT Riding the fly flecked flours of a dusty sky, Into dusk's rusty brisket, I have a universe Slipping under me in liquification & fractions; I know the secret address of the inventor of Tetrapaks & how his oaks are ideal for hanging my body from. have a shotgun loaded with rice firing a wedding In my ears on fine days, the air is my bride I grate over the fire of my destiny. Noise is an alien I try & deny hold of me; It reminds of thunder made at molecular level, The electrons burst from balloon rubs; The inflated objects that cling to the skeilings Are brothers bloated w. decay; poisoned & rotten. I call to them when night comes & spread fingertips To touch for response, to swivel a hold on A world that sweeps up vaulting as combing hollow, A gape where I can fold in & out as I wish. Alive, the pink inside the cat's ear is my fear, The pinks that penetrate the petal of a gardenia's heart Pall beside the pink of those tiny eyes, The albino sight that combusts to a sun touch. In distance screams bounce off living breath & saliva sumps free; in the seconds it takes To steer & home hunger to fat flesh & farrago of legs There is the drowning in stealth. The trees they talk a strange suction of silence As branches behave as arms, fingers like twigs Swim a semaphore nothing but phylum interprets. They question the air of its motives. They seem susceptible to my tiniest draughts. There is an answer hung in this skull cave, Hooked it jerks not like a fish But a man drenched & tickled w. current, Hoping it will not want a mouth for hiding in I freely form the sounds of a fear Never shall I acknowledge that I hear.
Bats Flight of bats on the rime of night echo fragile cries over the still black mirror. They skim, dip, tip stars glimmer quicksilver grace to riffle water. Swift to kill caddis nymph lacewing and mosquito in flight; tilt, soar, glance and glide insectivores shimmer in the skyloom.
A Batty Poem A little black bat flew into the room, I heard a loud sound, and it was a ZOOM! Her mother was a mammal who nursed her young, They hang upside down by their feet not their tongue. Nocturnal time they sleep all day, Because they are sleeping with no time for play, Eating bugs in flight all through the night, Their echolocation shining bright. Some bats are huge and some are small, Some have ugly noses, and some have none at all. Big ears and small eyes, and they're little sized, They follow the insects with ears not their eyes. Huge eyes and big sized to juicy fruit they eat, They eat till they're full, then hang by their feet. In the winter they hibernate just like a bear, So if you should see one, let him sleep, Leave him there!
BATS Midnight marauders Flit and shudder Because they know They're Misunderstood Rodents of the air. Givers of life And patient evolution You'll never be trusted Surrounded by black cats, Witches And such. -All that dark stigmata. Tonight, by Devil's Tower, The blue dusky sky Will be peppered again With hundreds of agitated Ebony bowties. Ready for night-time Formals And Witching Hour Tea Parties.
A bouncing sound from echoes around in a world of acoustic cues Where visual clues are important and rare to seek the truth out there
Bats ! Bats go flying in the night, Some give people a lot of fright, Most people think they're very scary, But most of them are just cute and hairy!
from "A Door in the Hive" IN TONGA the sacred bats hang in their chosen grove, sinister old dustbags, charcoal gray, doze upside down, alien, innocent. Restless, like seals on a rock, they nudge one another, they slip off into air to circle return, squeaking their utterance, a fluttering language, and others, disturbed, squeak in reproof. All day in the heat they wait for dusk and the high invisible orchards. If they could think it would not be of us.
A Bat Poem by Alex I'm a bat, I do not see like a rat. Bats are nocternal but that's just a kernel. That bat is not very fat. This is his diet: (he doesn't exactly eye-it) Mosquitoes but not Cheetoes! Bugs are rough but bats are TOUGH! The End I'm a bat and that's that by Caryn I'm a bat and that's that I use echolocation and some of us use hibernation I sleep in the day and when I go out to hunt I never bump into trees on the way. I sleep in a cave and my name is Dave, I usually have one baby at a time but I haven't heard of a bat that has nine. The vampire bat drinks blood and I would. . . if I could.
Childhood by John Clare 1793-1864 One summer eves with wild delight We bawled the bat to y Who in the'I Spy' dusky light Shreiked loud and flickered by And up we tossed our huttle cocks and tried to hit the moon and wondered bats would flye so long and they come down so soon Traditional Verse from Cornwall Airy mouse, airy mouse, fly over my head and you shall have a crust of bread and when I brew, and when I bake You shall have a piece of my wedding cake Alphabet Verse, Edward Lear B was a bat who slept all day and fluttered about when the sun went away B brown little bat.
Waiting Afield at Dusk by Robert Frost, 1920 WHAT things for dream there are when spectre-like, Moving among tall haycocks lightly piled, I enter alone upon the stubble field, From which the laborers' voices late have died, And in the antiphony of afterglow And rising full moon, sit me down Upon the full moon's side of the first haycock And lose myself amid so many alike. I dream upon the opposing lights of the hour, Preventing shadow until the moon prevail; I dream upon the night-hawks peopling heaven, Each circling each with vague unearthly cry, Or plunging headlong with fierce twang afar; And on the bat's mute antics, who would seem Dimly to have made out my secret place, Only to lose it when he pirouettes, And seek it endlessly with purblind haste; On the last swallow's sweep; and on the rasp In the abyss of odor and rustle at my back, That, silenced by my advent, finds once more, After an interval, his instrument, And tries once--twice--and thrice if I be there; And on the worn book of old-golden song I brought not here to read, it seems, but hold And freshen in this air of withering sweetness; But on the memory of one absent most, For whom these lines when they shall greet her eye.
Joseph Thomas writes : Here’s a bit from Ted Hughes’s Birthday Letters. It is from a lengthier poem.Posted by admin on October 5th, 2007 filed in Uncategorized
It happens on the Common in Boston: A bat fallen out of its tree Mid-Afternoon. A sick bat? I stooped Thinking I'd lift it again to tree-bark safety. It reared up on its elbows and snarled at me, A raving hyena, the size of a sparrow, Its whole face peeled in a snarl, fangs tiny. I tried to snatch it up by the shoulders But is spun, like a fighter, behind its snarl. ... ...Finally I had to give it my finger. Let the bite lock. Then, cradling it, Gently lift it and offered it up To the wall of chestnut bark. ... At home I looked at the blood, and remembered: American bats have rabies. How could Fate Stage a scenario so symbolic Without having secreted the tragedy ending And the ironic death? It confirmed The myth we had sleepwalked into: death. This was the bat-light we were living in: death.
From a very old Peter, Paul and Mary album: "Hi!" said the little leatherwinged bat, "I'll tell you the reason that-- the reason that I fly by night is that I've lost my heart's delight." Excerpt from Robert Browning's "Sordello": The sorriest bat which cowers through noontide While other birds are jocund, has one time When moon and stars are blinded, and the prime Of earth is his to claim, nor find a peer. Old nursery rhyme: Bat, bat, come under my hat and I'll give you a piece of bacon, and when I bake, I'll give you a cake, if I am not mistaken. It was once a popular belief that bats liked bacon, possibly because they sometimes came down people's chimneys, where bacon used to hang to cure? An excerpt from "Sir Roderic's Song" from Gilbert and Sullivan's RUDDIGORE: When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies, And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies-- When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay at the moon, Then is the spectres' holiday--then is the ghosts' high noon! Excerpt from "Senlin: A Biography" by Conrad Aiken It is evening Senlin says, and in the evening The leaves on the trees, abandoned by the light, Look to the earth, and whisper, and are still. The bat with horned wings, tumbling through the darkness, Breaks the web, and the spider falls to the ground. The starry dewdrop gathers upon the oakleaf, Clings to the edge, and falls without a sound. The last four lines of a poem called "The Phases of the Moon" by W. B. Yeats. And then he laughed to think that what seemed hard Should be so simple--a bat rose from the hazels And circled round him with its squeaky cry, The light in the tower window was put out. William Blake: The bat that flits at close of Eve Has left the brain that won't believe.
I am a bat I do not do what I should I cut the strings that bound my wings and made me shuffle about blindly with my teeth. I found an open window and launched myself for flight I clapped my wings two unnoticed strings caught me back sharply slap into a wall.
Bats have no bankers and they do not drink and cannot be arrested and pay no tax and, in general, bats have it made.
By day, the bat is cousin to the mouse He likes the attic of an aging house His fingers make a hat about his head His pulse beat is so slow we think him dead He loops in crazy figures half the night Among the trees which face the corner light But when he brushes up against the screen We are afraid of what our eyes have seen For something is amiss, or out of place When mice with wings can wear a human face
At the bottom of a stairwell In a pile of screeching lint, We found our newborn batling Orphaned...hungry...spent. He was crying for his mama Who'd long since flown away And left her babe to die there. On this...his saddest day. His body? Cold and hairless. His face? Only his mother could kiss, And fortunately for him this night, I would become just this. We fed him with a bottle And we cuddled him at night. We dreamed about his future, And planned on his first flight. The weeks turned into months, He grew dearer by the day. We couldn't imagine life without, The bat who came to stay. Vladimir, we'd name him But he never learned to fly, We provided everything he'd need He didn't need the sky. He'd often spread his wings at night, Our hearts told us he'd go, But he never actually took to air He must have loved us so. A virus came a-creepin' Into our home one night. It took our little Vladimir To Heaven...for his first flight. -Chantel D. Eaton September 13, 1997
Whales have calves, Cats have kittens, Bears have cubs, Bats have bittens, Swans have cygnets, Seals have puppies, But guppies just have little guppies.
Mind in its purest play is like some bat That beats about in caverns all alone, Contriving by a kind of senseless wit Not to conclude against a wall of stone. It has no need to falter or explore; Darkly it knows what obstacles are there, And so may weave and flitter, dip and soar In perfect courses through the blackest air. And has this simile a like perfection? The mind is like a bat. Precisely. Save That in the very happiest intellection A graceful error may correct the cave.
I think that I shall never see A think so lovely as a bat. I like to have them land on me. Now, what do you think of that? I had a young brown bat named gus. Over food, he'd make a fuss. It really made you want to cuss. But such was the temperament of Gus. One day a bug flew toward a tree. Gus's radar could easily see Him flying. I thought, "That's good, That Gus in going to have some food." But in that tree lived Fred the Owl. A dangerous bird, a frightening fowl. Into the den of Owl flew Bug, And Gus followed after, but there on the rug Lay the Owl asleep. Gus just had to think Of how he could eat without making a peep. He tip-toed in. He rolled on the floor, But hadn't remembered to open the door, But instead had crashed through it--which made such a fuss That it even awakened the rest of us. So the owl named Fred, when he'd gathered his wits, When he finally got over his rants and his fits, Said "Hello, Gus!" He was awfully excited, For he knew that his hunger would be satisfieded. "Hello, hello, Fred." The sweat had to roll. (Bats always get scared in these cases, you know.) "I would like to eat a bat." "What care I for that?" "I'm about to get my wish, and get my favorite dish." "It's been a bad day, through and through." "Maybe tomorrow will be better--tomorrow's always do." "Make it fast and sweet, to use a cliche." "Sweet 'n sour's my delight, any day." "Don't chew with your mouth full." "Would you like a blindfold?" "That's bad etiquette." Yes, I remember how Owl, though thinner, Had a Gus-flavored dinner.
The sun had set when they began their flight, Within a darkened cave they'd grown more bold. A cloud of bats erupts into the night, Their leath'ry wings now lick the air so cold. Dispersing now, they go their sep'rate ways. Emerging crecent moon now sets the mood. A smaller bat heads easteard through the haze, Towards a house in search of moths for food. Why do your human brothers fear you so? You killed and ate their pests this starry night. You're lovely, as your flight did clearly show; Your silver wings did pull the air so tight. In spite of those who wish to see you die, You'll rise again when darkness tints the sky.
Down the Rabbit-Hole
Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon
began talking again. Dinah’ll miss me very much to-night, I
should think!’ (Dinah was the cat.) `I hope they’ll remember
her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah my dear! I wish you were
down here with me! There are no mice in the air, I’m afraid, but
you might catch a bat, and that’s very like a mouse, you know.
But do cats eat bats, I wonder?’ And here Alice began to get
rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of
way, `Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?’ and sometimes, `Do
bats eat cats?’ for, you see, as she couldn’t answer either
question, it didn’t much matter which way she put it. She felt
that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she
was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very
earnestly, `Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a
bat?’ when suddenly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of
sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.
-for the Bats:
Drink the blood: for the grieving
-till heads hit stone.
Fly over the columns
straight in a row
defeat us to enrich us
Save the worm from Mother Earth.
color our sky…..blind-
to save our glory.
Take us with you:the earth’s too still
all warmth below just melts within
T C Gue
A Bat Is Born
A bat is born
Naked and blind and pale
His mother makes a pocket of her tail
And catches him. He clings
to her long fur
By his thumbs and toes and teeth.
And then the mother dances through the night
Doubling and looping,
Her baby hangs on
All night, in happiness,
She hunts and flies.
Her high sharp cries
Like shining needlepoints of sound
Go out into the night and
Tell her what they have touched.
She hears how far it is,
how big it is,
which way it’s going:
She lives by hearing.
The mother eats the moths and gnats
In full flight, In full flight.
The mother drinks the water of the pond,
She skims across,
Her baby hangs on tight.
Her baby drinks the milk she makes him.
In moonlight or starlight,
Their single shadow,
printed on the moon
Or fluttering across the stars,
Whirls on all night.
the tired mother flas home to her rafter
The others are all there.
They hang themselves up by their toes,
They wrap themselves in their brown wings.
Bunched upside down, they sleep in air.
Their sharp ears,
Their sharp teeth
Their quick sharp faces
Are dull and slow and mild.
All the bright day, as the mother sleeps,
She folds her wings about her sleeping child.
The bat is dun with wrinkled wings
Like fallow article,
And not a song pervades his lips,
Or none perceptible.
His small umbrella, quaintly halved,
Describing in the air
An arc alike inscrutable, -
Deputed from what firmament
Of what astute abode,
Empowered with what malevolence
To his adroit Creator
Ascribe no less the praise;
Beneficent, believe me,
From caves and hollows , they begin to unfold.
They are the first buds of spring.
As these tiny bulbs of fur free
themselves of the last crystals of ice,
the emergence begins.
Want for energy,
the awakening triggers the revival of the heart,
full veins warm the skin,
and the old motives resurface upon the brain.
The eyes become alert.
The fingers spread and give hint to wing.
Suddenly there are two dark petals,
and the cold winter of sleep is let go,
for the blossom
of a long awaited flight.
The following appeared in the April 15, 1996 issue of The New Yorker magazine:
The Fruit Bat
Because the air has darkened
like bruised fruit, you creep
down the bare branch
where you slept all light long,
gathered into yourself like a fig.
Little mandarin woman fleeing
under the stars on bound feet,
when your wings spring open
even you look surprised.
What are the raven’s slick feathers
beside these pewter sails
raised in the foundry of your flesh,
burnished by light poured
from a wasted moon and a dipper
brimming with darkness?
Enter Caliban, upstage.
Cal: This island’s mine, by Sycorax my mother,
Which thou takest from me. All the charms
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!
The earthen womb
Exudes from its dead boredom.
Black bat airs
Wrap me, raggy shawls,
They weld to me like plums.
One of the few poems to ever get into ‘Nature’ and is by J. D. Pye.
It’s actually about moth ears and bat echolocation
In days of old and insects bold
(Before bats were invented),
No sonar cries disturbed the skies-
Moths flew uninstrumented.
The Eocene brought mammals mean
And bats began to sing;
Their food they found by ultrasound
And chased it on the wing.
Now deafness was unsafe because
The loud high-pitched vibration
Came in advance and gave a chance
To beat echolocation.
Some found a place on wings of lace
To make an ear in haste;
Some thought it best upon the chest
And some below the waist.
Then Roeder’s key upon the breeze
Made Sphingids show their paces.
He found the ear by which they hear
In palps upon their faces.
Of all unlikely places!
From Mariana :
After the flitting of the bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement-curtain by,
And glanced athwart the glooming flats.
She only said, “My life is dreary,
He cometh not,” she said;
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!”
From “Come into the Garden, Maud”
Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, Night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown.
And this from “In Memoriam”
And Bats flew round in fragrant skys
and wheel’d or lit the flimsy shapes
that haunt the dusk; with ermine capes
and wooly breasts, and beaded eyes.