I wrote and workshopped this poem last Nov and sent it to Dawn Treader magazine and they loved it and published it in their December issue ...  click here to go to their website
The Dawn Treader magazine


No fences stop the lifting wind
from whipping it away.
The slightest breeze
sends it skitting for miles.

Unrooted, blowing across the prairie,
no right side up, becalmed
or spinning like crazy bobbins,
crossing long straight empty roads.

No hooks to fit the eyes,
no anchors hold it on the ocean bed,
no tendrils blindly feel along a fence,
seeking a stable post to cling to.

It slips and slides, no purchase
on life.  A hurricane whirls it high
and spits it out again, losing interest
in its lack of resistance.

Skimming over deserts and plains
nowhere safe to rest
no hand can hold back
its unremitting journey.

Where next oh wind?  Where next?

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