YWP Newsletter 10. 08. 2018
The perplexing traffic that seems to strike at the oddest times, such as 1 o'clock this Saturday, indicates that leaf-peeping season in Vermont has begun. As the fiery foliage begins to show, so, for many of us, does the school work. While selecting work for this Newsletter, I noticed that many writers were feeling discouraged, tired, or generally overwhelmed; feelings I wholeheartedly experienced multiple times last week. I admit, at the end of a crazy week, putting this together felt like another item to check of my list. Until I began reading all of your wonderful work, and found that not only do many of you share my experience, but you are expressing them in some truly beautiful writing. I was reminded that writing should be a refuge, not a responsibility. To any of you who feel like you're running an endless marthon held by the education system, I get it, but still try to find time for the things you love, even just five minutes, a quick haiku or sketch, will help refresh your mind for the next mile.
As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP Newsletter for new readers. Feel free to skip ahead if you're a regular.
Welcome to the YWP Newsletter, curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, Recommend work for Publication, Create Challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This Newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining...we aim for variety to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give these creators a wider audience, provide our busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some of the pieces we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: Check out the other Newsletters, and share the link with others who may enjoy it.
This issue features the creations of: adalet, cholen, écrivain, irishjayne, lia.chien, Love to write, and neanbean .
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT HAPPENINGS:
Anthology 9 Celebration - This Sunday!
Playwriting Workshop with Geoffrey - Still Time to Sign up!
Next SoundCheck - October 18
Poetry Riot - October 24th; see YWP Events 2018-19 for more information on this event, and on other reoccurring opportunities including next week's Voices of Color Showcase, and the upcoming Poetry Experience workshop.
( Heading Photo Credit: irishjayne )
sunday is for lying
in my pink bed,
staring at the ceiling,
my room
reddened by bouncing rays
of light,
turning the color of autumn leaves,
as the Cranberries sing about
zombies and
dreams and
you and me
into my ears.
sunday is
undone algebra growing
cold as the hours pass
as I lay instead of working and
the sun sets,
anxiety like boiling
water bubbling
under my skin,
unanswered phone calls
understood things that
still sting,
false apologies and
lies,
eyes squeezed
shut,
world tuned
out.
sunday is the shadow
of the lantern hanging from my window,
moving gently like a
setting moon,
eyes playing childish tricks
bigger
smaller
bigger
glowing
gone,
creamy white ceiling left
untouched.
a transformed
sunday circle
lazily drifting by
as my world
melts.
( Photo Credit: lia.chien )
i carry
my past in my shoulders
and my caution
in the knots in my stomach
my exhaustion lives in
the arches of my feet
and the space behind my eyes
i hold empathy in my chest,
hidden behind my lungs,
where you'll find my secrets
i carry my stress in my spine
and my anger
in the bottom of my stomach
in my hands,
my health in my fingertips and
ambition in my knuckles and
creation in my palms
i carry my own story and
it lives within my skin,
waiting to be heard,
waiting to be told
( Photo Credit: Love to write )
i have never found myself in poetry,
but i think i may have found myself in your arms
as we sit in your kitchen, waiting for the kettle;
your soft eyes and parted lips, sculpted by aphrodite
as you silently boil the water.
you have careful fingers as you pour the hot water
into two red, chipped mugs. i remember the
gentle pressure of those fingers twisted in my hair.
curled green leaves lay with small jamsmine flowers,
pearlescent petals floating delicate in the mug.
how sweet this vanilla air is, and for a vivid moment,
you have the effervescent beauty of a thunderous
splinter of forked lightening.
i sip carefully, hoping not to burn my lips,
as tentative as the manner in which i reach
for your hand in the dark. my mouth burns
with the taste of green tea and sugar.
(but i wish it was burning with the taste of your lips)
i like milk and sugar in my tea, but you don't.
you like a spoonful of honey, golden and warm
spilling over the sides of the cup;
sticky and sweet. (i find myself completely and
utterly in love with you, my dear.)
and my favorite thing in the world
is bringing you a mug of tea early in the morning
when you're still foggy with sleep, the finality
of you dreams creeping up slowly-- but
for at least a moment, a faint memory remains.
there's a worried crack in my lip, split between my front teeth
and you tell me that it's nothing a cup of tea can't fix,
and i realize this may be the most i have ever thought about tea.
( Photo Credit: chloen )
Tiny Write
"The only thing more painful than not being able to speak,
is not being able to say what you mean." -neanbean
YWP Newsletter 10. 01.18
This past weekend I found a new form of fall procrastination - pie baking. With only a few crises - lack of salt, dairy overage, crust confusion - and the resulting internet searches and grocery trips, I now have a small, asymmetrical pumpkin pie and a large, shallow tray of custard (a delicious accident). However, while getting into the fall spirit, and enjoying all the corresponding spicy, warm, and tangy smells, I somehow failed to realize that this Monday was the first of October - my first month as editor of this newsletter. A Monday Mind block, perhaps? Whatever the cause, I hope all my fellow writers, artists etc. will forgive the delay, and are enjoying their own fall festivities.
As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP Newsletter for new readers. Feel free to skip ahead if you're a regular.
Welcome to the YWP Newsletter, curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, Recommend work for Publication, Create Challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This Newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining...we aim for variety to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give these creators a wider audience, provide our busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some of the pieces we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: Check out the other Newsletters, and share the link with others who may enjoy it.
This issue features the creations of: Aidster, Amazingnutmeg12, CecyRavenclawFireheart, Dancer, Icestorm, laurenwwright, MTBcello88, Nightheart, Nora F, Rovva, and Ruber Soul.
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT HAPPENINGS:
Anthology 9 Celebration - All are Welcome!
STARTING SOON: Playwriting Workshop with Geoffrey - Sign up!
NEXT SoundCheck - October 18
Poetry Riot - October 24th; see YWP Events 2018-19 for more information on this event, and on other reoccurring opportunities.
you think you know
the color of the sun
until you sit down
to paint it.
you reach for the yellow,
yellow of sunflowers,
of a cliché crayon drawing you did,
a perfect lemon in the top right corner.
but your hand drifts then,
to sparks on the crest of a wave,
to that glimpse of melting iridescence
in a friends’ eye- white.
orange is the bottle you finally seize
to squeeze autumn leaves,
the setting sun over a lake,
onto your impatient palette.
but soon, all those colors
(plus a few more)
and spilled on the canvas
(plus your fingers).
you think you know
the color of the sun
until you realize
you don’t know colors at all.
who else can validate
that your ocean is truly blue,
that your sun is the gold
you’ve always been sure of?
after all,
everything is perception
and if you think too much about anything
it doesn’t exist at all.
so you sit down again
and this time
dip in your brush
and paint the sun
as a prism.
( Photo Credit: Rubber Soul )
Nightheart
Dear (Absent) Dad,
Guess what?
You missed it.
Time goes by so fast,
(you blink)
and then it's gone.
You missed
the birthdays
and the graduations
and the colleges
and the parent-teacher confrences
and the signatures
and the weddings
and the kids.
You missed it.
Where are you now?
Are you married?
Do you have kids?
Where you there for them through it all?
I hope you were.
They don't deserve what I got.
We miss a lot of things in life.
the (beat) of a hummingbird's wing,
whispered words,
a day of work,
glances in the dark.
how the sun
(reflects,
reflects,
reflects)
off of the waves
setting them on fire
even though they are wet.
But (only) strangers miss
each other's lives.
(I guess we're strangers now.)
because you missed mine.
Hate,
Your (Non-Existent) Daughter
( Photo Credit: Dancer )
Da red an oranj leefs,
dey fal onto da me!
i cetsh dem wit mah paws!
dey cowld an yummy, yeet!
maple pumpkin apple kaik,
turkey gravey pankaik lake,
cozy fire blanketz yeet!
Bannanaz?
Nop.
Pinaplz?
Nop.
apple cider doughnut kaik,
turducken cheeze an gravy lake,
cozy fire blanketz yeet!
Da red an oranj leefs,
dey fal onto da me!
i cetsh dem wit mah paws!
dey cowld an yummy, yeet!
( Art Credit: Aidster )
Sketches
As I was selecting work to highlight from this week's work, I noticed a multitude of responses to the Portrait Challenge. Each post was vividly unique, and it would be impossible for me to choose one to feature here. Here, instead, are some of the standout lines. Hope you enjoy!
( Photo Credit: lila woodward )
"Spots on your face, but what's a moon,
without stars? - Rovva
"The perfect moment is when I understand. If I don’t, I’ll quietly go up in flames." - CecyRavenclawFireheart
"The freckles are all over her face and look like a dot to dot game." - Nora F
"The sun peaks over the trees, a sliver of lights peers through the window, enhancing a strand of caramel blonde" - laurenwwright
"......big brown eyes "...some black nail polish desperately clinging to the very tips of my fingernails." - Rubber Soul
that follow you, judging you
but still respecting you." - Amazingnutmeg12
YWP NEWSLETTER - 9.24.18
Welcome! While selecting work for this week's newsletter, a theme began to establish itself. While I could point to chillier air, reddening leaves or the way my lips feel dry all as signs of fall, the surest omen of its onset is the writing on YWP. When I find the site covered in autumnal poetry and pictures, I know I should put on my sweater tomorrow morning without needing to check the thermometer. Anyways, happy fall! I hope you enjoy these pieces as much as I do.
If you already know what the newsletter is, feel free to skip the next paragraph.
Hello! This newsletter highlights writing, audio and images and any happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges and select Daily Reads, Recommended and work for Publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you authors extra audience and shine and to bring you readers some special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the stories to bring the authors even more viewers. Enjoy!
This week we feature the work of Drift, sarahaiyunghall, adalet, Anna P., Embermist, Love to write, and Rubber Soul.
READ THE NEW EDITION OF THE VOICE HERE!
Did you miss any of the previous newsletters? Click here.
Hello Autumn
Drift
I won't write about
sunsets painted on tree canopies
or how the horizon is aglow with flames,
I won't write about the spiced apple cider
and the cinnamon of my childhood.
Autumn is not those sensations,
not those memories,
not to me at least.
Autumn is the start of a school year,
eagerly awaiting my friends
and the joy they brought me daily.
It was the community
and the unity
that made it my favorite time.
It was morning walks
with my nose turning red
and the sky still dark,
but everything still bright and fun
with laughter and conversation.
It was leaving school late after rehearsals,
throats raw
and knees red.
It was squishing into the same booth
at the same restaurant
and debating about what appetizers to get.
It was not having enough money in my bank account,
but I didn't care
because spending time with friends was priceless.
Autumn was figure skating,
tugging at nylon laces
so hard
that they sliced open my palms,
and tinted my laces red.
It was purple and black knees
and long nights with heating pads.
It was staying up late
on the phone
trying to figure out calculus
and crying
(just a little bit).
Autumn is a season of change.
My parents visited me
after my first four weeks at college.
It was an adjustment,
and a lonely one at that.
I didn't realize how much it hurt
and how much I truly missed them
until I heard my mother's voice
and I took off running
until I was back in her arms.
Autumn is sobbing into her shoulder
holding her close.
Autumn is turning to look at my dad,
smiling despite his teary eyes
as I say hi
and pull him close too.
It's the bags of food they brought,
and the snacks,
and the stickers I bought in China
two years ago
but never used.
It's going to a restaurant
and talking as if nothing ever changed.
It's struggling to find parking
and then going to sing in a choral concert.
It's walking around campus
spitting out fun facts I learned and memorized
without realizing.
It's showing off the gorgeous garden
and old house.
It's sitting at a high table that's too small
and drinking water together.
It's buying sweatpants I never thought I wanted
until I remembered it was getting colder.
It's walking back to my dorm,
giving my mother her jacket
(that she forgot to grab for the second time)
and hugging her tightly again.
It's pulling my dad close
and then slipping cash into my hand.
It's saying goodbye
and saying I love you.
It's watching them walk down the hall,
and wondering if they're crying
just like I am.
It's sitting at the laptop,
opening it up
to write
about their first visit
and seeing that it's the fall equinox.
Hello Autumn.
I missed you.
(photo credit: sarahaiyunghall)
adalet
fall is the season of decay
today i cut my flowers
because at the first sign of death
i must preserve all other signs of life
i built a corpse out of their leaves
but
discovered that i couldn't bear
to leave their fallen petals behind
so i walked home
with a trail of their yellow light
falling out of my pockets
(photo credit: Anna P.)
Embermist
Welcome to the fanfare of fall.
To the fire-sprung foliage that flutters onto ping-pong tables
And frustrated fighting over paddles.
Welcome to forgetting.
Welcome to wistful warmth.
Welcome to wood cabins and weaving branches,
Water reflecting here and now
A whispering world wills us away,
Away from wanderlust.
Welcome to scintillating sky,
To six AM stars, sunset streaks, spider-silk cosmos
searching for summer constellations
seeking solace from insomnia.
Welcome to pealing laughter
Loud laze of campfire (we love campfire!)
And after-dark tetherball
A leaning lullaby
liberating from life and its labors.
Welcome to melodramatic
Morse code and magic
Mastering the art of amusement
Me, drooping eyelids while memories are being made
Welcome to hungry happiness
To hand games and hideaway
Hugs (when they found me, long after the game finished)
Welcome to restful retreat
Remembering I'm still allowed to be young
So I can recount the remains to my grandchildren
without regrets
Welcome to the fanfare of fall.
To a fateful farewell
To never forgetting
the feeling of fantasy;
Frolicking across the field
Giddy and stupid with ecstasy
...
Welcome to camp.
(photo credit: Love to write)
Not every story has a happy ending written into it for you. So get up and write your own damn ending, nobody is going to do it for you. But before you write the ending, you have to write the rest of your story, and hopefully, you write some friends in to help you along the way.
--Rubber Soul
YWP NEWSLETTER - 9.17.18
Welcome! I'm happy to say that (like always) there has been a wonderful buffet of poetry for me to fill the newsletter with this week. It's fun to see all the new writing from only one week's time, it never fails to amaze me how many fabulous pieces are posted in just seven days. Keep it up! But, (yes, there's a but) we need MORE PHOTOS AND ART!!! If you have a camera or phone, please take some photographs or upload some artwork to YWP. Not only does it make the editor's job easier, but the whole site is made more beautiful with new visual components. So please, get out that camera!
If you already know what the newsletter is, feel free to skip the next paragraph.
Hello! This newsletter highlights writing, audio and images and any happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges and select Daily Reads, Recommended and work for Publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you authors extra audience and shine and to bring you readers some special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the stories to bring the authors even more viewers. Enjoy!
This week we feature the work of wondering about rain, Love to write, Abriatis, Fiona Ella, adalet, charvermont, and Anna.
YWP HAPPENINGS
SOUNDCHECK STARTS THIS THURSDAY! Learn more here.
Did you miss any of the previous newsletters? Click here.
wondering about rain
Cheek pressed against the
cool grass I see.
The heat of Southern
California summer coming off
of the sun-bleached pavement
in waves,
waves goodbye
to cool breezes and
the sweet taste of
Persephone's spring.
A slow beetle crawling its
way across the lined
palm of a leaf stops to
wave its legs to and fro.
A silent sermon, to
what?
The sweet tsunami of flavor
from the pineapple that
adorns a fancy drink.
Bliss is the cool that
comes from the fridges
open arms on a wednesday
muggy morning while the
house still sleeps.
3 am and the shadow of the
sun not yet kissing the
horizon,
when you look into the
dark blue and all lost
balloons are, indeed,
lost.
6 am and the slight
clink of a student's
bike chain sets the
cities tone, and
my shirt, still sticking
to my back from
the Southern California
heat.
words required to use: Beetle, California, Fridge, Pineapple, Tsunami, Shirt, Bike, Sermon, Lost balloons, Persephone
(Photo credit: Abriatis)
Love to write
This is a poem
for you.
The kind of poem
that drips,
golden and glowing
from your lips
onto hard concrete at 2AM.
I’m reading you aloud
in the dark company
of night.
and you’re not even here to listen.
This is a love poem
to all the gods
we thought we knew.
To thick fog
at dawn.
To distance between fingers
and the sticky glue
we call hope.
I’m finally talking about
all the things
I forgot to mention
early in the morning, lonely
on a train platform somewhere.
Surely, the exact place
I have never been.
This is a love poem
to you.
It’s about caves,
and winter sunlight.
About all the places you refuse to cry
and the time
the ocean did it for you.
This is a manifesto
to the nook
below your chin.
And the place your
eyelashes meet when you
sleep.
These words are for
the silent parts of you,
your stomach;
the time you stomped all the stars
from their sky
in your socks.
This is a love poem
but not the kind
we pretend to know.
charvermont
Today you texted me.
I missed you.
Did you miss me as much?
You asked, “what happened to us?”
and I smiled, because you made it sound like
we were boyfriend and girlfriend.
I said something like, “I don’t know. I tried.”
I’m still waiting on a reply.
You were my best friend.
Do you remember the time
we got pringles and Twix
and ate and watched movies
and we danced around my room
and talked and talked
and giggled our hearts out
and I felt like I had the bestest friend in the whole world.
We traded our scrunchies:
my pink velvet
for your black matte.
And we met at summer camp!
Of all the places,
summer camp.
We were the perfect best friends there had ever been.
We were invincible.
But I guess things can’t always last forever.
(photo credit: Anna)
i spent my life wishing to be tough,
to be so strong nobody could hurt me
but i grew a thick skin and
now wish for nothing more
than to be soft again
--adalet
PHOTO GALLERY
YWP NEWSLETTER - 9.10.18
The mornings are now chilly enough that I don't hesitate to put on a sweater after waking up. It's useless to say that Fall is here, because the weather can be so unpredictable, but I have seen red maple leaves already fallen, waiting for the rest of their friends to join them. I daresay it'll be long now, as when wind hits my face it's no longer refreshing, but a little chilly. Let's enjoy these days, for they'll be gone far too quickly. And enjoy some wonderful writing and photographs, too! Welcome to the YWP newsletter!
If you already know what the newsletter is, feel free to skip the next paragraph.
Hello! This newsletter highlights writing, audio and images and any happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges and select Daily Reads, Recommended and work for Publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you authors extra audience and shine and to bring you readers some special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the stories to bring the authors even more viewers. Enjoy!
This week we feature the work of Quell, nean_bean, wondering about rain, Love to write, lily veronica, About to Snap, Rubber Soul, Abrieart, Marina2020, and Anna.
YWP HAPPENINGS
SOUNDCHECK IN SEPTEMBER--Learn more here.
Did you miss any of the previous newsletters? Click here.
The Sweetness We Forget
By Quella
Perhaps death smells like autumn leaves,
maple hands gently fallen,
bodies curled in sweet blood hues
Laid at the feet of their mothers.
What a wonder it is that we try so hard to pretend we will never fall from our trees.
It seems such a tragedy to leave this world bare,
To be swallowed by snow.
We forget it seems,
That there is a sweetness in
The bloom that comes later
And a sweetness too in the falling,
In returning to the earth
In red.
(photo credit: nean_bean)
By wondering about rain
All the flowers in the world
wouldn't have been enough,
not nearly.
Not enough to cover the gentle
valleys of your heart or the
bed of candles lit as prayers
and silent whisperings to something
bigger than you.
All the time in the world won't
erase the ever-present
smell of the kitchen as you,
small but a force of nature,
worked throughout it.
The quiet shuffle at 5 am
as you awoke to a day as I am sure
had been done your whole life.
Wisely crafted from years past
I felt you always saw
right through people.
"Oh Mija I have missed you".
I have missed you too but now
the words are spoken
to an empty chair and the
quiet flickering of candlelight.
(photo credit: Love to write)
By lily veronica
Alone in your room
Your friends left an hour ago
Tomorrow is the first day of school
Summer, you realize, drifted by the way you fall asleep
Slowly, then suddenly
You want to cling to these last few moments even though
Your outfit is planned
Your bag is packed
Your face is washed
You had to fill that hour with something, or the first day of school would have been shit
So you click a nob
Move the needle
Lay on your bed as the music starts
The music you listened to all summer
And as you fall asleep so does
The warmth
The green
The sun
The happiness
"Until next June," you think
"See you soon"
-august 28th, 8:19 pm
(photo credit: About To Snap)
I always ask "are you there?" not because I don't know that you aren't, but because maybe you will see that I'm here and join me.
--Rubber Soul
Photo Gallery
YWP NEWSLETTER - 9.3.18
THE WEEKLY NEWSLETTER
Well, school has snuck up on us, once again. It's been a drastic shift from relaxed summer days to bustling hallways and math quizzes, but we always seem to survive it... Best of luck in the new school year, and keep up the fantastic writing!
If you already know what the newsletter is, feel free to skip the next paragraph.
Welcome! This newsletter highlights writing, audio and images and any happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges and select Daily Reads, Recommended and work for Publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you authors extra audience and shine and to bring you readers some special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the stories to bring the authors even more viewers. Enjoy!
This week we feature the work of lila woodard, Anna P., Nightheart, Rubber Soul, Abriatis, Love to write, lia.chien, and laurenhall.
YWP HAPPENINGS
A YWP writer was named NATIONAL STUDENT POET FOR THE NORTHEAST!
SOUNDCHECK RETURNS IN SEPTEMBER--Learn more here.
Did you miss any of the previous newsletters? Click here.
Kentucky
by lila woodard
she rides on her
dreams,
tracing her heart as
it beats to
the footsteps of her
love
she never falters,
an untouched passion
threatening to burn her
from the inside out—
turn her into a star,
made to supernova into something
no one has seen before
and that is the beauty
in her insanity.
(Photo credit: lia.chien)
By Anna P.
Our candles burn
like a million flickering stars,
awaiting the return of darkness
And we just sit
and wait in the shadows,
as if we can never be heard
As our eyes light up
like sparklers on a summer night,
dancing to the sound of the moon.
(photo credit: Love to write)
By Nightheart
let me tell you about pulsars.
In binary star systems,
there are two stars that
revolve around each other.
Sometimes,
they form pulsars.
this is when one of the stars
starts taking materials
from the other.
It takes and takes
and spins faster
until the two beams of light
came out of either end.
and the other star?
it's gone.
that's what you are to me.
a pulsar.
you stripped away my layers,
and i thought it was only because you wanted
to know the beautiful core.
but as we lived,
in the light of long-dead stars whose
silent screams never echoed,
you ate away whatever was left of me,
and shined brighter yourself.
bursting in bright beams,
the light you had taken from me radiating
so nicely on your skin.
and everybody told you how good you looked,
shining as bright as you were,
radiating twin beams of light.
But here's where we aren't like pulsars.
stars, powerful as they are,
are subject to the laws of the universe,
inanimate objects floating in space.
Once that star disappears,
there is no coming back.
Humans, however,
weave their own rules
out of fabric and
mystic and the things
they do not understand.
and so i built myself back up
slowly,
piece by piece so you would not notice.
and when your fist came
flying toward me,
big blackberry bruises on my skin that
i use to think meant
'i love you',
well,
i didn't turn the other cheek.
and now i stand in front of you,
weaving my story in front of a courtroom,
your skin no longer radiating.
Because that was the thing that you
didn't know,
it is that pulsars,
they go out.
(photo credit: Abriatis)
The Photo Gallery
YWP NEWSLETTER- 8.27.18
THE WEEKLY NEWSLETTER
This is the last newsletter of August, meaning school is right around the corner. Ugh. Those you who did their summer homework early instead writing, I applaud you. Congratulations also goes to the writers whose pieces were selected for the Anthology 9, YWP's collection of yearly highlights.
The next paragraph is just reminders about the newsletter and YWP news.
This newsletter highlights writing, audio, images and any happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges, select Daily Reads, Recommended, and work for Publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you authors extra audience and shine and to bring you readers some special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the stories to bring the authors even more viewers. Enjoy!
This week we feature the writing and images of adalet, a.harkness02, CateBuley, lia.chien, k.daigle, Love to Write, and Abriatis.
View all previous newsletters here.
by adalet
today the sky is red,
as red as life
red like resilience
rosy and animated,
filling me with hope.
today the sky is orange,
orange like healing,
orange like recovery,
sweet like cinnamon,
with victory on the horizon.
today the sky is yellow
like shining sunlight,
the gift of warmth
from the universe,
a reminder to breathe.
today the sky is green,
like the earth and nature below me,
softly shaking in the breeze
it makes you feel whole
with the intent of grounding you.
today the sky is blue,
and bittersweet peace
dances through the air
despite it all,
we come to terms with the truth.
today the sky is purple,
magical, spiritual,
and although we are apart,
the spirit, the heartbeat,
the connection lives within our souls.
and now the sky is pale,
neutral, unknown
the future is uncertain
but the message filling the air
is that we'll carry on.
(Photo credit, above: a.harkness02)
by CateBuley
It was one of those days.
Those days in late fall where the maple trees
are bursting with crimson and gold.
Where the light filtering through the trees,
seems to dance with the shadows.
Where the brookes all seem to be laughing,
and the birds always singing.
They might have been singing then too,
but he could not hear them over the echos
of his own heartbeat.
And that's when he saw her,
in the golden light her hair shined like honey.
Her green eyes seemed to be ablaze,
her soft lips stretched up into a playful smile.
He could have mapped out the freckles on her face,
as one might the stars.
The world seemed to stop,
even if only for a moment.
He had seen her before of course,
but never like this,
but never this way.
(Photo credit, above: lia.chien)
by k.daigle
With their rapid beating hearts and tiny wings,
they flutter around like stars in my own universe.
Swirling tones of a green and yellow storm they sing
their sweet, silent songs of melodical verse.
“What is it like to be a human being?”
the birds ask with their unvoiced inquiry.
“To have a body like yours must be freeing,
instead of our bones, so fragile and wiry.”
Should I tell them the truth to their question,
or let them live on in their peaceful naiveté?
My lips part to give them the hurtful confession,
although something inside me kept it at bay.
“You wish for a human body like mine,
but blessings don’t come without a price.
While I long to fly above the clouds and the pines,
being earthbound is my yielded sacrifice.”
I continue on with sustained vigor,
"Everyone wishes for what they don’t have,
yet they don’t see the crucial figures.
We are made whole, not in two halves.”
“You were made with wings for you were meant to,
just as I was meant to have the bones in my body.
We are all perfect the way we are----it’s true!
We are who we are supposed to embody.”
The birds cease their cyclone as they ponder
the words that have come from my heart----
not the ones they expected, but the candor,
so from my company they quickly depart.
I watch as they swarm away, an emerald river
flying from me, flying from my truth.
One tiny bird stays behind, he quivers
and I can tell he is only a youth.
Somehow I can hear his soft voice
as he studies me as I do him and tells me,
“They left because they didn’t like your choice,
but I understand the words you told us, I see.”
“My friends wanted to know it was better,
for you to pity us for what we are,
to know what it was like to write a letter,
read a book, kick a ball, drive a car.”
“Your words, they were the right thing to tell them,
because although they don’t get it, I do.
Like a flower grows beautifully from a stem,
so will I continue on your enlightened view.”
My hummingbird companion, so quiet and small,
he understands me, deep down and so thoroughly,
that he will convey it everyone and to all,
and with that he takes off hurriedly.
After this encounter, I realize something;
it doesn’t matter if they all accept you,
but if one does, it means everything.
Hopefully one day you’ll know that, too.
With warmth in my heart and smile on my face,
I will remember that hummingbird everyday.
Whenever I feel down or angry, I allow myself to embrace
the fact that one friend will make it all okay.
(Photo credit: Love to Write)
YWP NEWSLETTER- 8.20.18
THE WEEKLY NEWSLETTER
Welcome back to the Young Writers Project Newsletter!! Hope you all have had a great end of summer reading, writing, getting inspired, maybe doing some long put-off homework, trying to hold on to what little heat Vermont has left us. Enjoy this weather while it lasts! Remeber to post your own writing and photography to get recognition for your art.
Skip this next paragraph; just reminders about the newsletter and YWP happenings.
This newsletter highlights writing, audio, images and any happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges, select Daily Reads, Recommended, and work for Publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you authors extra audience and shine and to bring you readers some special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the stories to bring the authors even more viewers. Enjoy!
This week we feature the writing and images of LukeTheDuke, Abriatis, Drift, mythicalquill, lila woodard, and Rubber Soul
View all previous newsletters here.
by LukeTheDuke
All the ideas are taken
and I don’t know what I should write.
Being one inch tall and a giant awakens?
Or maybe the power of flight?
No, it’s been done; I’ve seen it before!
To steal their ideas would be theft.
I’m sitting here with an empty page,
but there are simply no ideas left!
You see, Hollywood knows what it’s doing –
rebooting an old film or just making a sequel.
And if that doesn’t work
‘cause they need some green,
who’s to stop them from making a prequel?
But I don’t want to do that.
I want to be new! To make something fresh and exciting.
If I had been born
a hundred years in the past,
I’d have so many ideas for my writing!
Then my 6-year-old bro says,
“Wouldn’t it be cool – the story of an outer space hen?”
And I look at my page, start writing things down,
realizing what a big fool I have been.
(Photo credit: Abriatis)
by Drift
I thought I was good at this.
The whole
"Say goodbye and move on"
ordeal.
I told myself it was routine
and it was exhilarating every time.
I used to hail change as my savior,
because it felt like despite
my stable home
I was still wrapped in a blanket
of turmoil.
I love adventuring.
I love the unfamiliarity.
I crave chaos like it craves me.
There was nothing I loved more
than my muscles twitching with anticipation
just waiting for my next move,
the spontaneity
and the unexpected
that was vast enough to swallow me whole.
I loved that.
Or so I thought.
I was raised in this world
to move like a sprint,
to pounce as if it was my vice.
I was fine with that,
I accepted that and believed it.
Why am I hesitating?
Why are there clothes scattered on my floor,
littered like the bodies of old versions of myself?
Why are the boxes and the bags and the labels downstairs
haunting my nights?
All of a sudden,
I'm frozen to the spot.
I'm paralyzed with fear,
and it's struck me straight through
to my core.
I'm reminded I'm still a child,
lost
and in love with my family.
I love my friends
and my safety,
and it's getting harder to tear myself away from that.
The blisters on my hands from scissors
are expanding
and they're ready to burst
as I snip at every last tie.
Goodbye is the last thing I wish to say.
I thought I was good at this.
(Photo credit: mythicalquill)
YWP NEWSLETTER- 8.13.18
THE WEEKLY NEWSLETTER
It's mid-August already!! Who's ready for school? Yeah. . .me neither. Hope everyone has had plenty of time to write and enjoy the work of fellow young writers even though the summer has gone by so fast! Rememeber to post and share your creations to get feedback and publication!
This next paragraph is a YWP Newsletter info update, skip it if you're a regular/
This newsletter highlights writing, audio, images and any happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges, select Daily Reads, Recommended, and work for Publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you authors extra audience and shine and to bring you readers some special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the stories to bring the authors even more viewers. Enjoy!
This week we feature the writing and images of EmilyAnne, chloen, Rovva, Abriatis, dogpoet, Hazel.C., and BloodMoon825
View all previous newsletters here.
by EmilyAnne
I'm making jam at 8:30 in the morning,
a humid, rainy morning.
I wonder if this isn't Vermont,
and instead, everyone's been fooling me;
I must be in Florida.
I look over my shoulder and
see a hummingbird drinking from that fake red flower we put up
and worry if the fox is near the chickens,
who cluck blissfully in their pen.
I wonder if next year I'll be New York City,
grabbing coffee in a crowded bakery with steamy windows.
Or taking a stroll around the quiet streets of Santa Barbara,
my hair getting lighter the longer I stay in the sun.
Or watching the leaves slowly turn gold,
as I take a bus into Boston for an escape of theater and gardens.
Or maybe I'll be in Colorado,
skiing...which I haven't done in years.
I could be anywhere.
It's an exciting time to be alive, isn't it?
(Photo credit, above: chloen)
by Rovva
I can hear the choir,
crying in the night,
shouting inaudibly,
barely kept in harmony.
And though their voices ring,
like chiming bells,
and their shrieks,
shatter my heart,
I cover my ears,
and duck my head,
for the raven squawks,
high in the forked tree.
I mustn't listen.
I mustn't see.
I mustn't hear,
the song of Thana,
for I am afraid.
The shadows which,
beseech me to follow,
are but a trick of the light.
I have lost my mind,
yet my soul is intact,
and they have come,
to rip it from me.
O, I have fathomed my grave!
My mind is buried,
and my bones ache.
Come sweet,
come bitter.
Come warm,
come cold.
Come cheery,
come weary.
Come!
Take me away!
by dogpoet
Small girl walks
forward,
to take her turn at last,
to quench her thirst.
Small girl wears
a dusty white rag, dirty and ripped from it's journy.
Small girl looks
like a dust moat fairy,
hair in a featherlight knot of dust, feet in a layer of dirty dust, face and arms and legs covered
in
dust.
Small girl feels
tired
thirsty
dry
sore
craving water
dusty.
Dust
settles
down.
(Photo redit, right: Hazel.C.)
you like to test the waters,
i like to dive right in.
you tread softly,
and i am heard from a mile away.
you are earth,
and i am fire.
but we need each other.
that's why i love you.
--BloodMoon825
YWP NEWSLETTER- 8.6.18
THE WEEKLY NEWSLETTER
This is the first newletter of August!! This is MY first time making it, and I'm looking forward to selecting all the great pieces you guys create. Hope you all will enjoy viewing some great writing and photography. Remember to upload your poetry, stories, and pictures to get featured!!
You know the drill. . .skip this next part if you regularly check the YWP Newsletter.
This newsletter highlights writing, audio, images and any happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges, select Daily Reads, Recommended, and work for Publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you authors extra audience and shine and to bring you readers some special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the stories to bring the authors even more viewers. Enjoy!
This week we feature the writing and images of nean_bean, Love to Write, Abriatis, mythicalquill, Drift, lwood, and Icestorm
View all previous newsletters here.
by nean_bean
I saw your eyes first.
You had a little bit of grey behind them.
Your eyebrows strung together,
And your forehead knit itself into a scarf.
I think it would be orange.
You said
“This is for me?”
As if you were surprised
That someone would take the
Time to make something for you.
...
I said “yes it’s for you (silly)”
Your scarf unraveled quite quickly.
You kinda bit your lip
Before you smiled.
It was a small smile.
It was only a tiny bit of light let
In
Through the blinds.
(Photo credit, above: mythicalquill)
by Love to Write
It was sunny the morning everything left.
The birds in the trees,
ripples on the water,
and you in your shaft of light,
eyes closed,
dust in your short, dark hair.
We were happy,
I would have it forever.
And then, you left.
Quiet steps down the walk
and a train ticket in a worn-out
overall pocket.
And you wrote me
but me but I never did the same.
Because who leaves without saying goodbye
(except the sun, maybe)?
And who forgets to close the door
on the way out
(except when you’re in such a big hurry
you forget who you’re leaving)?
Don't you remember who
we were together?
(Photo credit, left: Drift)
by Abriatis
I am tired of not feeling safe.
Is it because I am a girl?
Is it because I go to high school?
Is it because I've been pressured to drink by my own family?
I do not know.
I am just tired of it.
I am tired of thirty-year-old men staring at me after a bike race once I changed into the well-fitting shirt I received.
I am tired of hearing my classmates speculate on who was most likely to bring a gun to school.
I am tired of getting messages on Facebook from my twenty-three-year-old cousin, asking me if I want to 'get shitfaced'.
I just want to feel safe in my own skin.
I don't want to stand with my arms over my chest.
I don't want to think about what would happen if someone brought a gun to school.
I don't want to block my own family online, when I know I won't see them for months.
Is it bad to want out? Out of this..torment?
My problems are just laughed at. They're not worth the anxiety they cause.
It's because I'm a kid, isn't it?
A dumb, naive, fifteen-year-old girl.
It's just my hormones, isn't it?
It's just my imagination, isn't it?
It always is.
(Photo credit, right: Drift)
There's so many words in us that we just let loose to drift
Floating in the still air, they make up the space between us
Most of them go unnoticed and uncommented on
Maybe we wanted it that way, but most likely we didn't
--lwood
