I like to consider myself a poet and, writing all the time, my love for herps sometimes comes out in my poems. That is what you will find on this page.
Newest are at the bottom. Some of the ones at the top are several years old, so you can see some progression.
You are welcome to share these poems with others, but please credit me when you do. Please credit Ida Duplantier.
If I were a Frog what kind would I be?
If I were a frog what kind would I be?
Would I be one that lived in a tree?
Or would I be one that lived on the ground?
Would I be hopping all around?
Would I be a predator of worms and bugs?
Would I eat crickets, ants and slugs?
Would I hibrenate when winter came?
Would I come out for next years spring rain?
If I were a frog what kind would I be......
An Ode to a Toad
Oh! Mr. Toad,
In your abode,
You seem so very glad.
You seem so peaced,
Content, at least.
Are you ever mad?
A shady spot.
A dampened pot.
You do not ask for much.
A bug for lunch.
A worm to munch.
I wish I could feel such.
No, I do not
Want a house pot
And never bugs to eat.
But you seem so
Away from woe.
I bet that that feels neat.
Published in my local Herpetlogical Society's Newsletter
A curious and bulging crimson stare
Accompanies a slimy lime skinned face.
I'm smiling at the sight, so bright - alive.
They say they're signs of luck and surely grace!
I've met a few who say they're slick and gross
But surely they don't recognize the fair.
For they are such. It's true I can't resist
That curious and bulging crimson stare.
Perhaps I'm just accustomed to the frog,
It's simple and infatuating ways,
The way it climbs so slender and equipped,
The way they symphonize hot summer days.
The way they eat will make you stare in awe,
They way they leap can leave you in a fog,
The way they. Ah! If words could only say!
Perhaps I'm just accustomed to the frog.
Blind To Beauty
about the crested gecko
The beauty in your eyes captivates me.
In light - sharp piercing slits, at night - so round;
Your eye turns nearly fully ebony
Beneath your vibrant head (so rightly crowned!).
Your movements far more graceful than ballet.
What leaps! And what precision when you hunt;
At times I find it hard to look away
Admiring front to back and back to front.
And every smile you give me shows such charm,
You're often more attractive than my race!
A living piece of jewelry on my arm,
You compliment me with your gecko grace!
Yet I've heard some insult you utterly.
I wonder if such people can not see!
"Pagona" is part of the latin name for the Bearded Dragon.
Their eyelids rise. I wonder if they dream
While bathing - so contented - in the light.
Her hand upon his back, it almost seems
They're capable of love. They love less trite
Then people I have met. Why can't we be
More like these reptiles which so few exhalt?
For they, their tails entwined, love more than we.
Our blood is cold, not theirs. They know no fault!