In front of my first Taiwan apartment, a shallow but wide canal
flowed slowly to the Strait of Taiwan. Hundreds of
dipping and diving bats filled the air each night above the canal. Those tiny bats dropped down from their
bridge-bottom roosts at sunset and searched for insect suppers. Those bats’ echolocation locked on midges, moths, mayflies,
and anything with mini-wings.
I was intrigued. I’d only seen one or two bats together at once
before in Canada, never a cauldron of these creatures. One of my Taiwanese
coworkers nonchalantly commented, “yeah, the city’s canals have thousands of
bats, and they’re good luck.” Standing still for a few seconds, I responded,
“What’d you mean, good luck?” My coworker replied, “bats are good luck in
Chinese culture.”
I started goggling. The Chinese sound for bat (fu) sounds the
same as the word for good fortune. Bats are a significant symbol of luck,
happiness, long life and prosperity. I
began noticing bats in temples, pictures, and carved wood panels. People wore
bat amulets to bring luck, and bats have been admired since ancient times.
Taiwan has 38 bat species, and there are over 1,400 species worldwide.
They also eat more than bugs. Fish are on the menu too. Once while driving my
scooter next to the canal, a bat flew into me, bounced off my chest and kept
flying. My Taiwanese coworkers grinned and said that’s good luck.
Some of these poems are
for kids, while others are for adults. Some I’ve used in my ESL classes. Some
are a bit wacky, but all are inspired by those dipping and diving canal
bats.
Spectacles
What's out a twilight,
in a navy-blue sky?
Wings flap from blackness,
I can't see what flies.
I'm sure they're bats. What else can they be?
I squint, scrunch and this is what I see:
Jumping fuzzy popcorn, bouncing high for bugs.
Furry wallets flapping open and shut.
Whiskered winged kiwi fruit out for mosquitoes.
Flying squeaky mice, looking for insect burritos.
Velvet hiccups burping every which-way.
Bushy soap bubbles blowing away.
Leathery change purses click shut for gnats,
snapping open for flies, but not for cash.
That's what I saw, but I'd better check,
tomorrow night I'll bring my specs.
Fisherman Bats
Stream flows smooth as pouring paint.
Can't wait.
Wings whisper quiet.
Suede silent.
Tiny fish fin sliver.
Smudge in the river.
Swoop, scoop with big feet.
Voila! Sushi for me!
Surfers
Chasing insect waves under streetlights.
We're bat surfers at midnight.
Fruit fly whitecaps.
Seasick bats.
Bug swells are to blame.
I'm unwell, a belly hurricane.
But flying ants and crunchy gnats settle the stomach storm.
Keep us surfing 'till dawn.
Hattie's Hair
Hattie had skyscraper hair.
Coiffured and stacked high.
Pancakes tilting to one side.
A high-rise buckwheat beehive.
A Vidal Sassoon cotton-candy balloon.
Maple syrup shampoo. Sweet hairdo.
Bugs landed for lunch.
Bats for beetle-brunch.
But disaster!
On Hattie's bouffant we were plastered!
Stuck and glued, couldn't move.
We were buzzing and squeaking.
Poor Hattie was screaming.
Only one choice.
We'd thought of them all.
Back to the beauty salon - now Hattie is bald!
Dusty Supper
Moths again?
Every night the same.
Dusty wings, antennae like string.
Mouth full of flour, baby powder.
How about a barbecue?
Caterpillar cheese burgers.
Roasted slug hors d'oeuvres.
Inch worm hotdogs.
June bug shish kabobs.
Okay, Tuesday it's cockroach fondue!
Toilets
Bat council meeting. Mom finally agreeing.
She sighed, "Alright, we'll try."
Twelve new latrines.
But cave toilet calamity.
Bathroom bowl tragedy.
Tons of toilet paper clogs.
Plungers to unstuck the muck.
Dynamite to clear the blocks.
Explosions, cruddy pools of ooze.
Green methane gas blast.
Floods and stinky bubbling lagoons.
Finally Mom said, "No toilets for us,
they always combust! Like before,
we'll use the floor."
Now we snooze, never worry about pooh.
but if you visit, remember your rubber boots.
Bat Bed
An upside-down hammock.
Built in blankets.
Sleep swinging from a tree, cave or rafter,
doesn't matter.
No quilt or bed linen.
Just cross my arms and I'm tucked in.
Attic Ice
Cool attic winter roost.
Minus twenty-two.
Woolly toques.
A pipe creaks, cracks, then leaks.
It breaks, water cascades.
Starts to freeze.
Get your skates!
Now we jump trunks.
Bounce hockey pucks.
Spin on figure skates.
But Dad's turning blue.
Don't worry, by spring we'll have a pool!
Beauty Queen
In fact,
Mom's the prettiest bat.
Voted Miss Attic two years running, back to back.
Piranha fangs.
Funnel nose.
Frizzy bangs.
Curly claw toes.
And a prickly tongue.
I hope I grow up just like Mom!
Tent-making Bats
We hike light.
Set-up our tent with campsite bites.
We don't pack axes, hatchets or hammers,
tractors, matches or ladders.
No backhoes, rope or bulldozers,
toasters, gizmos or snow blowers.
Just teeth, to tweak banana leaves.
chew bamboo lean-tos.
Bend rhododendron fronds,
curl coconut palms.
When we're done,
we close our tool box of teeth and drift off to sleep.
Attic
An attic crack
No bigger than a scratch
A bat pops between two shingles.
A sunset squeak, the signal.
Fuzzy water drops pour from a wall spout,
too many to count, wings sprout.
Buffet of flying ants and gnats.
But don't eat too many, it's a tight squeeze back.
Bat Dreams
We bats dream in smithereens.
Picture clips. bug bits.
Upside-down, dreams sneak out.
Vamoose, rattle loose.
In chandeliers, dreams roll out our ears.
On ladder rungs, they jump off tongues.
Attic beams. They squeak out between teeth.
A hiker's hostel? They squeeze out our nostrils.
It's got to stop!
Tonight, I'll try a hammock.
Storm
Whirling at sundown.
A twirling tornado.
Mayflies for dinner! We're darting and dropping,
an erupting volcano.
Paper thin wings, skipping rope quick.
Shaggy boomerangs, come back with a flick.
Cootie juice for dessert? yes, I'll have a sip!
Orchard
Cave orchard.
Roof dangling with drowsy fruit.
Day-cave sleepers, fuzzy brown peaches.
Underground greenhouse.
Snoring, mumbling woolly plums.
Bristly olives cough, apricots nod off.
But at night dangling cherries open their eyes.
Nighttime risers, velvet grape flyers.
