"geckos" poems
Daddy takes me to the greenhouse,
behind our rotted trailer, deep in sovereign backwoods.
Marsh voices, thick like tupelo honey.
The coo of a loon, hiss of a cottonmouth, shiver of a snapping turtle.
The silver of swamp lilies lip the land in wild haze,
a veil of ochre moss tickles my nose like gauzey ginger ale
and soil clings to my ankles like a lonesome hound.
Daddy’s greenhouse is a shed, a haven.
A milieu of magic and fleur-de-cannabis
where pixies pull my curls and gnomes dance
under mushroom parasols.
My hands dip into a hollow of muddy earthworms.
I feel akin to the yellow blood of a butterfly
or pale jade of perplexing geckos.
Daddy is a shaman.
He trims holy blooms that come from spirits
who sing in the wind like the whippoorwill at dusk.
Snipping sticky bushels, he pads tufts into his pipe,
carved in the shape of a sullen armadillo.
I watch him inhale.
His breath
stiff
as a braid of mangroves.
He exhales a ligneous cough.
I don’t mind,
much.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
island summer heat
big backyards
shared by three families
with rambunctious kids
sundresses, sandals, swim trunks
a big mango tree and
a merry-go-round with red chipped paint
geckos and mud baths
"boy's got cooties!"
mid-west plains' dry, summer heat
Mr. Sun is our lamp well past 9:00pm
Dow St., a giant hill covered
in uniform houses, filled with the uniformed sacrificial
spinning wheels, acre-wide hide and seek
nintendo and donkey kong, fireflies in jars
front yard mulberry trees
pippy longstocking "lets' go into this 'cave' of vines"
poison-ivy
southern peninsula, humid, summer heat
above ground pools and trampolines
a red brick house; the first home
the first CD collection, Filipino food
THE PARK,
the sandbox lid drowning in the bayou
sleeping in guest rooms, sleepovers a sign of status
pelicans, ducks, fishing,
sleeping in the boat; camping on the beach
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
Warmth,
Sunshine,
Humidity,
Filling the days.
Monkeys here,
Snakes there,
Geckos everywhere,
Finding them throughout the day.
Homesickness pulls at my heart.
Birds tweeting,
****** of a foreign language,
Small things caught throughout the day
Reminding me of home.
Cold,
Clouds,
Wind,
Filling the days.
Raccoons here,
Seagulls there,
Buildings everywhere,
Spotting them throughout the day.
Homesickness pulls at my heart.
Foreign things,
So different from home
Making me long for the past.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 7:30 PM UTC
Beautiful, breath taking views
Of vast volcanoes and bright blue seas
Scorching sun and high temperatures
Palm trees swaying in a soft breeze.
Through landscapes layered with black lava
White washed walls wind their way
Around gardens full of fantastic flora
Where lizards and geckos love to play.
Ships sail by beyond the breakers,
Planes pass over as they come in to land,
Promenades packed with holidaymakers
By beaches of beautiful golden sand.
Sun loungers and swimming pools
Hours of rest and relaxation
Siestas while the hot sun cools
Poolside bars for cool libations.
Spectacular sunsets in surrounding skies
Each day ending in such serene splendour
Reds pinks, blues, greys and turquoise;
Colours any artist would be challenged to render.
Pubs clubs and restaurants of such variety
activities that appeal to everyone
Local residents renowned for their hospitality
Make Matagorda a paradise second to none.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 4:28 AM UTC
The afternoon was excessively humid
The earth seemed a seething hot furnace
Dark clouds were gathering overhead
Lightning drew florescent patterns in the sky
Thunder boomed and rumbled
A few sparse drops of water hit the window pane
The air grew dark, leaves shivered
Soon the rain pelted down in torrents
Drumming on the corrugated tin roofs
Spreading a dark curtain between the eye and the sky
It poured down in full fury for about an hour
In no time it flooded the ditches and hollows
But its might slackened and it vanished as quickly
As it had come, like a messenger on an urgent errand
The day was dying and I witnessed another rain
The rain of insects into the sequestered freedom of the night
Termites and white ants, sleeping in the hollows
Suddenly emerged from their lairs in thousands
Out of every crack and cranny, every fissure and hole
From under every boulder and brick
Winged termites emerged, fluttering about dreamily
Never knowing they were on their first and last flight
They all flew towards the bright light in the porch
But striking against the concrete ceiling
They fell down one by one, some losing their wings
And creeping on the floor, like wounded warriors
A quivering swarm of insects, a clumsily moving mass
This was the harvesting time for the geckos
In one and two, the lizards emerged from their hide
Flicking their tail, they stood ready for the catch
With their darting sticky tongue, they began
Devouring the insects, hastily cramming their stomachs
Until they could hold no more
When the insects began invading the inner space
I switched off all the lights and went to bed
The cool air and the sonorous but rhythmic chants of the frogs
Put my sleepy eyes into sound slumber
Early morning as I woke up
I saw the porch strewn with filmy wings of the termites
They lay like scattered chaff after the corn has been stored
Also some weak survivors, staggering to their end
I thought, to what bleak fate, the exodus of insects
Had taken off on their wings for their maiden flight!
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 7:51 AM UTC
• This great division of space. •
And the untamed plants.
Geckos...
Pose as domestic pets -
slide along its faded railings.
Casing draughty walls,
tethered to rafters loose lashing;
hanging in jungle green.
I clean up the wild flowers
that float in the a i r, without
explanation, without wrong measure.
Is as it comes -
I am ashamed that this is all I want.
A testament to solitary hawks in the upper branches.
Flutter in memory carefree cardinals
in this leaf-strewn place,
Dragonflies form wing-prayers
We kneel and peel our shoes off,
drop our feet to sleeping grass
to be closer to the narrow splendor.
Peacocks honk rough phrases, asking anyone.
Commuting the tracks, between valley stream.
I linger limbo roads
On the jungly drive,
pass a farm that repeats
its exotic fruit tree, the elbows of orange blossoms
Guava groves, avocado arsenal,
saturated ocean views beyond pestyflower frills.
At the life proof gate. This world is untidy
with its muddy banks, with its eyes.
1000 flower bloom
Listening feral fowl, ungulate shake
Retirees friendly fire,
Long forgotten barbwire crossing creeks
the mountain lost in a sea of green
This land, like me, is free
To live a less domesticated dream
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 12:24 AM UTC
Dusk sets on the quiet desert
Eerie shadows hide behind saguaro soldiers
And sanguine striped snakes
Sneak back into the earth
Rowdy coyotes meet among the rocks
To cry at the moon
Who never cries back
The wind roams so freely through the desert
Stopping where she likes
To dance with the wildflowers
Or tickle the sun soaking geckos
She laughs as she passes by
And the sands chase after her
Begging to ever be so light as to
Keep company with the clouds
The mountain wraps his unfaltering arms
Snugly around the valley
A regal jacket of deep greens and browns
Laid across his towering shoulders
He lets his gaze follow the hustle and bustle
Of life in the desert as suns set and rise
From the place he has always been
Greeting each javelina and jack rabbit
As they settle into his solid embrace
The wind moves manically
Passing through the creosote bushes
With just enough time for a polite greeting
Before she rushed off to tease the birds
She touches every piece of her beloved desert
But she can never settle or linger too long
For fear of losing herself all together
The mountain feels his weight
Pressing so firmly against the earth
He faces anyone who challenges him
And he only rumbles with laughter
When they strike
But he begins to wonder what lies beyond
Where the liquidy sun shimmers in the air
He cannot abandon his post
For fear of crumbling into pieces of himself
The mountain cradles the wind
Slowing her down long enough
To warmly welcome her home
The wind tells the mountain
Stories of the desert
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 1:59 AM UTC
Pip pip
My pip boy.
Don't you know how far
This hole goes.
Follow the white rabbit
And see.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
It's been a long life, been a long day
Waiting for all the yesterdays to simply die away.
Here I'am waiting with nothing to do
And empty hands don't make work light
Loneliness doesn't fill up right.
A hundred and three years she's been alive
No more breath to be taken and mesuared now
I'll remember the visits, jelly beans and nail polish
Not quite comfortable in that place,
The hospital's never been a pleasent place for me.
Now the struggle's over and I wasn't there.
Coward perhaps but now, all I can do is wait.
Wait till the aftershock stands still and everyone is home again.
Be there and try to understand losing
Someone close, distant at the same time.
I hope there's a better place, full of sunshine
No geckos and nothing goes to waste.
Hope you found the peace and the faces you needed
Great Grandma Sophie
Please rest in peace.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
Pile clouds push the north ridge
liquid blue lines at dead man’s point
cane garden pool for industrious folk
verdant green tuck from the upper deck
Waterfalls heavy and head winds calm
sea deep clear at the pit cove
pusser *** pints (for the pain ****
eateries pop and glow in port
Oleander clips and elephant ears
scuppernong grape from the jester
tannia stock on dipping day
calypso calls from an improvised spot
Hammocks hung at coral beach
funjie band in bamboshay time
ficus, gallows and *** runners
flying fish on the catamaran row
Metallic crab and swordfish
soggy holes for the sage and musk
sinkers, skiffs and rollers
white squalls gust on the north bay
Skeleton art at charlie t's
powder white and breezy
shells and driftwood for the artisan heart
geckos short of the cabana
Butterflies float on violet caps
fingers cross the hummingbird bath
anglers steady under canopy layer
lighthouse sails are bending
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 11:01 AM UTC
my head is a moon of many
in the strange orange
alien sunrise.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
Tears of a bleeding knife; spoken promises from silent lips;
The language of one swaying a conversation- like their hips
I have been a victim of defeat, while snuffing up my tears;
Alongside the skeletons parading around in my closet
As a bone to pick with love, while picking up roses
Traveling through the thick of things as two lovers
Both stealing hearts- and being thick as thieves
As a moon spotlights over misery- wretchedness still,
Still under the sun we must celebrate in amnesia
Of what has passed- our past fades in time;
As its ticking clock of regret, is no longer mine
A breeze of promise echoes- searching for change
The very chances that elude the sage geckos
As we march towards another battle ground
I smile as a promise of fighting for better
Neither as a man who wears a frown
I look above for hope’s song
Jul 7, 2024
Jul 7, 2024 at 8:12 AM UTC
If we should set the Earth on fire
And build our own funeral pyre
If we should melt the ice and snow
And drown the world
Where will we go?
A firebird on burning wing
The oceans deep no more to sing
The stars to never more be seen
Never more blue
Never more green
No more pandas
No more geckos
No more music
Only echoes
Never more a foal, a calf
Never more a smile, a laugh
There must be something we can do
It's up to me
It's up to you
For we who burn the Earth like churls
Can never buy another world
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
Sometimes I mine for echoes
Ghosts of sounds within me still
Cicadas and the clash of boules
Soft voices from the hill
Two young boys tongue-tied in the sun
Barefoot on summer's shore
Soft feet licked clean by freedom's whim
With oceans to explore
My mother nurtured flowers
Drowning shadows out with paint
The brightness of geraniums
The patience of a saint
My father cut the grass too much
And ran to clear his mind
Until the echoes of the Angelus
Beseeched him to unwind
My brother lined his time with books
He tore through Willard Price
And towed me just behind him
Through the fronds of paradise
Marauding hornets launched their raids
From castles in the attic
While Stanley mined for longwave gold
From seams deep in the static
And all the while
My granny kept her patience in the shade
Her deck of cards adorned with birds
Their feathers slightly frayed
The swallows scythed through open skies
Back home where they belonged
And like Narcissus, swooped from height
To kiss the surface of the pond
The wasps built paper palaces
The geckos froze on sight
And midwife toads woke from their doze
To tune up for the night
As daytime took its leave
We sought out satellites and stars
Then lay in quiet contemplation
Watching Venus waltz with Mars
I remember cowboys’ breakfasts
With my father by the lake
Freewheeling with the moon roof open
For freewheeling's sake
We wore our bike tyres paper thin
Climbed castle walls unseen
Dived into lakes to race for ducks
And ruled the world at just thirteen
We fashioned bows and arrows
From the saplings in the wood
Sprung ambushes from chestnut shade
And fell dead where we stood
We roamed the dust-filled houses
On the back streets off the square
An ageless band of soldiers
Feigning death without a care
We raced around the wood yard
Sometimes scuffled in the dust
We traded glances with the neighbours' girls
And felt the nascent tug of lust
We sought out mischief in the hills
Stole naughtily from shelves
Smoked roll-ups in a Dutch girl's car
Unclipped our wings and helped ourselves
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 5:42 PM UTC
2 months ago I said I might love him.
I might love his mind.
The way he evaluates everything,
Logically, as if emotions aren't for making decisions.
I thought I loved the curve of his spine
And the muscles in his back
I thought I loved the way he looked when he played basketball
And how he screams right before he laughs.
I might have thought to love his caring touch,
When holding a baby sister named Chloe,
Or taking care of his geckos.
Or making sure the people he loved were happy,
Buying toaster stroodles when the girl he liked craved them,
Covering and healing broken hearts and old scars,
Saying he was in love.
Just not with me.
But if I loved him then I would miss him right?
I would be lying in bed wondering how I messed up,
Trying to figure out what I did wrong.
Depression would cave in
Obsession would break through
And everyone would be asking
"What the hell happened to you?"
But to me, it just didn't work out.
If I loved you that would make me upset
The secrets, the hiding, I'd be angry.
But I just don't care.
This is new.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
CIRCLE OF LOVE
Time in Space
Moments and Seconds
all in a row
Days and nights
all in a row
Years, decades, centuries
Milleniums
all in a row
Side by Side
calm eternity
Sparkling joy
quiet Wisdom
all in a row
Waiting for bait
for dusty flies...
lucky geckos
for humans looking
for Love
Watching souls
dancing in a circle
around a never ending Fire
Seeking newness which will
not be found
except in time in space
All in a row
In an open sky
the row becomes a
Circle of Love
( Poem recited by Poet on YouTube @ghairodanielspresence : poetry playlist )
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 9:29 AM UTC
I've been busy around with work lately so I cannot write some poems.. So instead, I'll tell some interesting things about myself..
1) I have a collection of exotic pets, mainly tarantulas, hissing cockroaches, scorpions, leopard geckos and all sorts of things.
2) I'm a computer engineering graduate, yes I'm actually an engineer. That's why I've been busy lately :/
3) I tried eating live crickets. JUST ONE TIME!. Just for the sake of the event, I ate 15 pcs. of live/adult crickets
4) I'm an outdoor kind of guy, love hiking, camping, literally being with mother nature.
5) I'm a jack-of-all trades kind of guy, err not really. Just knowledgeable on general info's and stuffs.
6) Soon to be an Astronaut!(I Wish), yes, one of my lifelong dream is to become an Astronaut. That's why I took engineering :)
7) I love music, seriously, music is my passion (although I can't compose stuffs) but I can play a guitar and a piano (mainly self-taught, thanks to YouTube).
Well, that is all :)
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 1:31 PM UTC
When my mother dropped me off at the airport
She said, I hope that you find your home
This one is tired and bent at the edges
And it doesn't suit you well
I walked and flew and slept all across the universe
But then I remembered... I know where my home is
My home is walked into the paint-stained carpets of dorm hallways where we taught international students how to curse in English
My home is under the napkins in greasy spoon diner tables where my godfather winked across at me
It's somewhere between the white and the blue in the waves of the ocean
Inside one or both of my headphone earbuds
Under the bark of a eucalyptus tree
Inside the box of waxy crayons on my lap during road trips
Caught like a stone in the treads of the tire of the wood-sided Jeep my father gave me
Buried under a tree in the backyard, with the goldfish and the pet mice
In between the keys of my piano and the keys to my first dorm, first house
In the sunlight through the window panes of my room in San Fransisco
And hanging off the roof with the geckos in Indonesia
It's feeling scared in the school library and at senior prom and in empty alleyways
It's the empty park nine thousand miles away from my mother
Where I whispered to the birds that I wanted to go home
Because I knew no one else would listen.
It's in the scissors that gave me blisters
When I redecorated our house by hand
And the tears I hid from my brother
While I turned up the thermostat to warm his icy soul.
A lot of it is stuck on the roof of a hospital room
Staring up wishing to disappear
Some of it is in my father's bones
And his misty eyes when they started to show
Home is in my best friend's bed
We didn't have our health but at least we had each other
It's my favorite space between the top bunk and the bottom bunk
Where secrets hang like candle smoke
It's the words of a book I haven't written
And the pages of one I don't want read
It's here, it's now, it's etched on my skin
It's me, it's him, it's somewhere far ahead
I don't know what it looks like but I know it will be there.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
well, he didn't really get loose
I forgot to put him back with Spike after his 30 minutes of freedom
3 hours later, after looking under every chair and couch,
checking every room, every closet
inside every box of crap I keep in the basement
I got to wondering if he climbed into the basket of ***** clothes
and is now belly up in the rinse cycle
luckily that wasn't the case
after an exhaustive search,
I was convinced he was under or behind the refrigerator
but I was too tired to move it
so I decided to wait until tomorrow
as I was about to climb into my luxurious air mattress
something caught my eye in the corner
Zilla was poking his head out from under the speaker
of my mp3 player
stared at me as if to say;
'you lookin' for me?'
I knew he was hungry...he didn't think about that
when he went awol
so I put him back in his glass house where Spike gave him a
'welcome home'
slap in the face with his tongue
and I fed him a nice juicy superworm
no fur on the clothes or furniture
no barking at the neighbors
no smelly litter boxes or yard mines
no yearly shots, expensive food, flea and tic oil
sweaters, burial plots, surgeries, walks in the park...MUST I GO ON?!
Geckos...the perfect pet!
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 12:51 AM UTC
In the square of the hanging palms
where the white sands sifts softly underfoot
and geckos and lizards know to stay away
the elders sit in quiet contemplation chewing kola nuts
Come, you son of tomorrows for its time
Soon you will go into the forest to find your mettle
for the Night of a thousand whispers beckons
where you will meet the headless warriors with three legs
and the talking calabash will ask of you where bravery lives
You will traverse in honour grace on your own
for now the hills says you are no longer a stranger
and your hand now reaches over your head to your ear
you will get a sheath for your sword and the armlet of a deity
that holds the charms of all the braves who wore your blood
know that the tears of your mother was shed only at your birth
You are a son of the land made of water and lightning
Sango gave you heart of fire while you drank the milk of tigress
before the oracle it was divined that your road leads in frontage
go resolutely with the cured spirit of the blazing sun at noon
remember some days ahead you will walk alone, its ordained
walk wisely like the tiger with the sleight of the regent beast
Know that in your river blood flows the tales of the unvanquished
the tenacity of the lynx and the ****** of your sword cleaves solid
go and do not look back, your path is true and the Creator sees!
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 3:07 PM UTC
you are lying on your back in a bed 5,487 miles away from home.
there are geckos trilling from the corridors and the trees cast shadows in the room
above the door, the air con whirs and you shift, sticky, skin sweating against starched cotton sheets
too hot, too humid, too much
everything is too much, but at least it’s too much here instead of too much back there;
you visit temples, vast and golden in their glory, and white and intricate in their purity; ocher where the sun has kissed blessings upon their pillars,
and pretend that you too are subjected to the numinous nature of sanctums and their spirits
and pray they don’t notice that the awe in their eyes isn’t reflected in yours,
hope they don’t sense that you are not here to heal, only to stretch old wounds into splitting open anew
you are ruining your life
you are ruining your life somewhere beautiful that’s been the making of so many others’ lives
but you always strived to be different, never recognising
that agony, despair, self-deprecation, self-victimisation, suffering—they’re the most common connecting factors between all humans
you are the same as the other six billion people aching and crying and spitting anger in their sorrow,
blind to the one billion ***** trying to make the world a better place so the rest of you might smile a little more often.
one of the geckos scurries across the ceiling and you flinch,
a moment of fear for the unknown before you settle once more and simply watch his little legs fidget his body to freedom through the slats of your propped open window.
inside your chest there’s a moment of heavy silence as your heart grapples for a connection between you and that little creature
both small little things striving to survive in a world too large, too bright, too crowded yet too empty
chasing freedom like a child chases a dream.
the moment passes.
your heart regains pace and your mind whirs with the lonely static of too much me time
you are ruining your life
not realising you’re weaker to suffer than you’d be if you tried to heal
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 10:55 AM UTC
those who use their real names
on poetry websites:
we own a poodle
2 leopard geckos
buy ***** by the half gallon
have killed 2 to 3 people
BUT ARE NOT
serial killers
we only listen
to Tom Waits
songs
are surely
on the f.b.i 's no fly list
may own too many
guns
we wonder???
how long???
is a piece of string???
and tattooed
on our genitals
"live free or die"
a dog pees on
every tree
telephone pole
and mailbox
to let the other
dogs know he was here
and here I am
Oct 15, 2021
Oct 15, 2021 at 5:03 PM UTC