‘Observer’ and other poems by Ida Prose
By Ida Prose
Seeing through the foggy lens, a glimpse
of the world, formerly unnoticed
Barren branches and tall trees stood
No one ventured out anymore, no one
glided through the bushes
Who then saw the tree and branches?
Yet the branches blushed,
Being observed is a kind compliment
more leaves grew
who saw the green flourish?
more branches grew
who saw the earth nourish?
more trees grew
Dews on the grass, dews trickling down
Who saw it rain?
Ponds filled on its own
Bathed shyly, the ducks
Who saw the swampy muck?
Now weeds grew
Sometimes veiling light
Who saw the sunshine bright?
Pink buds bloomed
Breeze swift by
The petals shed its pinkness
Who saw the wind blow?
You witness, I exist
You witness, I flourish
pond and the bud
you observe, I revel.
I grow, I amplify
I dance for you.
Yet, who saw you?
That I’m imagined.
Hopping from one branch to another,
amidst overwhelming verdancy
Your call is heard, yet no sign
flipping swifter than light
echoed rhythmic musings
like numerous leaves in foliage.
yet pleasantly familiar
futile is eavesdropping
secret codes, wise forewarnings
ancients knew your source.
High pitched and squeaky
reiterating same tone
maybe falls to a deaf ear
but I hear you,
wish I could talk to you
less lonely the meal would seem
watching your back
seems you were fed right
reached out to you to cure me
craving for a conversation
and exchanges over seeds.
But silence simmered slowly
Breeze frayed the fronds
a dull shadow cast in my heart
and slowly beyond
You fall, you fall like a delicate cotton ball
soft and squishy gently enveloping all
I’m mesmerized, transfixed watching you dance
as you take the tunes of the wind and create your own song
The leaves are pale, the bark is pale, pale are the grasses tall
I want to touch and play with you amidst the cloudy call
But just like the cloud, with my touch you will cease to exist at all
yet, I can’t stop gazing at you, your beauty just enthralls.
The coldness, the somberness of the white bare woods eggs one to walk alone,
Its bearable, it’s almost inspiring as the bright snow lights the path.
Do I say this only as a witness away from harsh gaunt frost?
Would I say this if I was stranded amidst it feeling the cold penetrate my bone?
What if the chills numbed me into a pale blue glob?
either way if I was an artist fine, I’d paint you with all my artist’s glory
But since I just have my humble words I only muse, dear flurries.