The Works in Progress page has become so popular, it wasn’t possible to print every submission in 2025. These are but a few of the poems received which haven’t, until now, met the page. Going on four years, it’s been a pleasure to share creative works by talented poets and artists sprinkled throughout the Valley on the Works in Progress page. Readers can look forward to more in 2026 and beyond. Thank you to all of the participating artists who make this section possible.
Redwood Forest
Rick Davis
Glenwood Springs
“The redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes silence and awe. It’s not only their unbelievable stature, nor the color which seems to shift and vary under your eyes, no, they are not like any trees we know, they are ambassadors from another time.”
– John Steinbeck
How would you describe the sound of the wind as it winds its way through the tree tops of a forest?
Moving, flowing almost river-like, loud and strong, or soft and gentle like a mountain stream.
Describe to me the forest sun shining between the trees and the tree boughs,
sunlight twinkling, moving in between the shadows and the towering trees
dancing on the forest floor and in the
colorful meadows.
The air is filled with the earthy scent of the forest, the moisture of the ground, the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the shadow,
offering a unique fragrance that only the forest can gift you.
It all speaks to me, not in words nor in images, it speaks to me in a language of my heart;
a language I have forgotten so very long ago.
It tells me of time passing slowly, stretched out over hundreds and thousands of years;
a wisdom that has grown from patience and age, from observation and understanding.
I am not witnessing a single tree or even a group of trees, but an extended family.
Each tree reaches out its roots, some sprouting new life, its roots intertwining with other tree roots, creating a vast underground network.
Each tree supports another, forming a community.
The growth around an old tree, the Mother, is called a Family Circle.
The tree’s sacredness intertwines with our own, connecting us to its circle.
It speaks to us on a deeper, soulful level,
washing over us with the richness and fullness
of the forest.
We find ourselves not in nature, but with nature.
No painting or photograph can capture its
essence, no poet’s words can express its beauty and wonder.
Having experienced a Redwood forest,
how can I now live an ordinary life?
Preposterous!
By Nancy Bo Flood
Four Mile
A full moon last night so I
Pedaled
My new blue
bicycle
Up, up, past mountain peaks onward
into space
Wearing a no-atmosphere safety suit,
Snorkel, mask, helmet
238,855 miles
Arrived!
whew,
safely
landed on the far / dark side of the moon
oh so quiet,
No Wars Allowed
Alone
I sat,
a zillion stars silently smiling overhead like
happy fireflies
Sh-sh-sh,
If you tell any earthlings
They’ll politely smile and mutter, preposterous.
Next time, you come too.
We’ll soar together.
Magic happens
Every blue moon.
The Corner
Daniel Spiller
Glenwood Springs
I would like to be the embodiment of March
in both life and art.
carry the air one forgets each year
return memories then disappear
like a ghost revealing what you already know.
Still you’ll find me under an empty bottle, soaked
into sponges, at the bottom of a portfolio.
Oils and paints tucked away in a suitcase,
In some dark corner
on the edge
of some place