The whistling man.

The whistling man is back again
He wakes me up at 5am
He must be happy every day
Why else should he whistle this way?

I sleep with windows open wide
And so he whistles with each stride
I stir from slumber much too soon
Courted by his whistling tune

It’s possible this man is sad
And life for him has turned out bad
He whistles loudly every day
To keep his sad thoughts out at bay

Perhaps he’s lonely, there’s a thought
An empty life in which he’s caught
No one there to kiss his lips
So music, from him, softly drips

He might be scared, that could be why
Afraid today is when he’ll die
Whistling maybe calms his nerves
Just one more day that he deserves

Another thought; he is enraged
His angry thoughts inside him, caged
And so to stop him from attack
Whistling brings his calmness back

I have a thought, I might be wrong
But mainly I just think his song
Is whistled so because he can
And he’s just a happy, whistling man.


Winter within me


Scathing wind bites my face, icy chills stop me in my tracks and a frozen-hold surrounds me.

But it’s not even winter yet.



A poem by Rich Harris. Harris Harrison© 2015