Joshua Lewis White


144 Syllables On A Winter Morning


I sit in a chair,

Looking out the window, at the trees,

The long black branches, bare of any leaves

Images of tropical cities fill my mind

Scraps of paper lie to the left of me, notes of a poet's imagination

I begin to feel the cold

A house stares back at me, windows empty

Nobody moves

The wind blows heavily against the walls of what I call home

Howling, bellowing, beckoning

Sounds of distressed songbirds distantly arise

Frost covered fields, a frozen lake

White sky

A clean slate

The wind blows through the trees

Silently calling

Howling, bellowing, beckoning...

Submitted: Thursday, February 13, 2014
Edited: Thursday, February 13, 2014
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Composed whilst staring out the window on a January morning.

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