Poet Corner

Change of Heart

The sun on the snow this cold January morning initiated a rebirth of sorts, finally light after days of clouds, finally thaw after hours of freeze, finally a change of heart after years of clinging to old hopes that lay frozen in time.

By Beth Bricker Davis

A Shift... The Pale Wolf

The pale wolf is silent she watches and she waits

When Spirit begins to move she quickens her hefty gait

She’s breathing and feeling and open to change

Holding space for new energy and broadening her range

With eyes and ears on full alert

Her nose to the wind her feet kick up dirt

She races forward her intent is clear

Whatever she’s after she shows no fear

Across the meadow and up the hillside

As she runs she lets go of fear and pride

As I watch, not to distant my heart filled with glee

Am I watching this wolf? Or is she, One with me...

By Karen Wallace

Food Truck Friday

Seven hours at Mineral Palace Park generators humming beneath the sun people at small tables scattered with reincarnations of the Pueblo Star Journal held down in a breeze with stones of jasper as cups of coffee are blended and homemade waffles filled with ice cream and chopped candy under elm and evergreen in their third century my balcony shaded by blackened limbs off the Sangre de Cristo range.

By Kyle Laws

Iditarod Dream

I tugged on my heavy felt Sorels after reading your letter. The compulsion to walk in the snowstorm was strong. I wanted to feel the Alaskan cold air, but Colorado would have to do. I imagined your chapped red hands tucked inside thick gloves, spongy soft fingers gripping the axe. You volunteered to chop frozen hunks of meat for protein starved canine athletes during the Iditarod. Bundled in polypropylene, wool and a water repellent down jacket you moved from dog to dog like a huge marshmallow puff.

I met a woman who ran her team of dogs on the Iditarod Trail and the scent of testosterone froze in the arctic fog. She completed the race. Ice crystals framed her head like a halo and the saliva froze on her dog’s muzzles. It was a successful run. Now I wonder what escapade calls you into your eightieth year. So, onward into this life! The path gets longer instead of shorter.

The dog’s muzzle white with frozen breath the race is on

About us

Our group began as Line/Circle: Women Poets in Performance at the Arts Alliance Studio Community until the start of COVID-19 when we drifted to Mineral Palace Park, Steel City Art Works and our homes. We’ve performed in Pueblo for four years, weaving poems together from our original work. We look forward to what we can bring to the Pueblo Star Journal.

By Patsy Kate Booth