A Pipistrelle in Winter

The Pipistrelle is the smallest British Bat. It normally hibernates through the Winter.

Fly instead, should be feeling.
A wing, a dusk and stuttered dreaming,
compose, create, furred life complete
to demonstrate a fleeting sleep.

Suppose instead you stay once waked
Suppose preyed eye prick restless state
search only for each precious night
a moth, to dust, seeking light.

An iced filled window, leaded pane
a purple sky, stilled weather vane
a screaming moon, reflect frost shattered
uncooled blood prey, its silence tattered

Despite still flies, hard reason crushed
Beats still small heart and soft claw touched
fierce is hate, commend each beating
awakes its kind, cold hold is stealing.

a small delight, a single flame

a doom filled frost to season blame.

Contrast the night with darkened spire

of church, of faith, each speck entire

In dark winged fold, webbed belfry hold

accept embracing bright eyed cold.

This winter roars, the ice stick spike
rage red the hunt, still that it might
the ghost of all on leathered wing
crushed body of, this one small thing.

Author's Note

The photograph is mine and is called Winter Dreaming.

Reviews

[Leslie Philibert]

a very good poem, that reminds me that Ted Hughes wrote a huge number of poems about animals , a classical subject for a poet, and Ken does his subject proud here. I like the good rhymes, the excellent syntax or scanning, the use of phrases. This is a real cracker, one of the best poems I have ever read from Ken - simply very,very good.

[Ken Simm.]

Aw shucks as they say across the pond. Crow is one of my favourite poems. Thank you Leslie

[Pete Langley]

The old- fashioned format of couplets and the cadence of the poem almost elicit the regularity of the sonic transmission of the hunting bat, belying the fact that the poor creature should be asleep and it`s heartbeat down to about once every ten seconds or so, making me think you`re on a metaphoric flight as well, Ken. The images are compulsive and continuous. All in all, a piece John Clare would be happy with if he had had your vocabulary. P

[Ken Simm.]

You place me in illustrious but welcome company Pete. Clare is one of my favourite poets. yu can keep most of the other 19th century johnnies for me.
Thanks mate.

[emmajoy]

The acute observation within your words almost supercede the specific metre start to finish; you dart in and out of the wintry shadows, describing the come and go of the wee creature within 'This winter roars', an atmosphere there to be found by people like you who see and feel. But there's more to that than meets the eye. I think.

Strangely i felt like the moth attracted by the light .. had to read and read twice, slowly, ' Suppose instead you stay once waked ~ Suppose preyed eye prick restless state ~ search only for each precious night ~ a moth, to dust, seeking light.'

Don't know how i missed this.

[...]

. i thank you infinitely for sharing this post with readers ... oh, this is absolutely stunning work ... the "contrast" is expressed brilliantly ... "this one small thing" is heroic ... and how skillfully and sensitively you bring that to the fore ... "stuttered dreaming" is an unforgettable expression and emotion ... and those of us who have experienced it know how excruciating it is ... for me, these lines are especially moving beyond measure ...

"a screaming moon, reflect frost shattered
uncooled blood prey, its silence tattered
Despite still flies, hard reason crushed
Beats still small heart and soft claw touched
fierce is hate, commend each beating
awakes its kind, cold hold is stealing."

. of course, the photograph is stunning too ...

[SPINNING ON that dizzy ..]

Beautiful images here - even though, sorry, bats are a little creepy - maybe other-worldly? Hmmm... this tells a story to me too of just being a bit out of step, out of its element, timing wrong, shaken instead of stirred.... being in the wrong place at the wrong time..... we do that too don't we?

Lovely poetry.

Kath

[holly]

This is powerful. The rhyme and rhythm accentuate the thought. The fact that you're writing in AA, BB and manage to create such ferocity is a testament to your ability.

[SM Davis]

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get here. The night is always darkest right before the dawn. Le morceau de l'hiver est dur, mais est toujours gu�ri par le baiser d'�t�. Tenez serr� et ne renoncez pas, l'�t� vient de nouveau bient�t.

[Emily B]

Don't I feel foolish, I thought all along that the pipistrelle was some poetic form of which I was ignorant. I like the pace of the words. Felt like I was taking one last flight before the long cold days. I would like to hibernate, I think. Rest. Freedom away from worries and stress . . .

[W.k.kortas]

It is paced very much like a march, which Mr. Hart so astutely noted, which works nicely with the notion of this tiny bat, against reason and the dictates of nature, gamely soldiering on against the odds, as it were. Exquisite metaphor, fine execution-- as Ed so concisely put it, the joy of watching a top-notch pen and mind wander.

[Ed Hart]

for those of us who like good poetry, it's a pleasure to see what comes wandering off your pen...this one's a nice tight little march, that demonstrates again your serious eye and careful pace, and flourish...ed