Poets Unlimited
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Poets Unlimited

something is coming

Swallows on the wires, Humera, 2018 — photograph by Ben Weinberg

Long ago, when I lived on the island,

weeks at a time with no one,

only the wind and tide moving.

Long enough on my own,

so the empty spaces in solitude were filled with wild

and quiet was not alone.

Then, the stars drew closer,

and in the pause between breaths I heard the whispers in the wind.

I knew when someone was coming.

As though the movement toward the island far away

sent ripples through the woven structure of atmosphere,

like the echos sent ahead on the rails by an approaching train,

vibrations cast forward through time and space.

Even now, another life, another time,

worlds away from simplicity,

I still feel the rise and fall of the tide,

the wind carries far away whispers.

Along the street, cast-away wrappers stir sullenly,

the heat brushes the world with a glaze,

a glare,

trapping us all in a waiting hush.

In the haze,

I taste dust,

smell smoke,

and I know that something is coming.



Six Years of poetry-only content, mostly published daily, but no longer operating. PoetsUnlimited was diverse, engaging and authentic poetry magazine. It was diverse and original, and always free-to-read by all. The poetry remains available for reader access.

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benjamin weinberg

benjamin weinberg


Writer, walker, poet, educator. Commercial fisherman, builder, donut maker, organic grower. Boston, U. City, Maine, South Africa, Madrid.