YWP Content Published in Newspapers

Young Writers Project is most grateful to its eight newspaper partners who publish your work on a regular basis. Weekly: Burlington Free Press and The Valley News. Monthly: St. Albans Messenger, Brattleboro Reformer, Rutland Herald (and Reader), Times Argus (and Extra), Bradford Journal Opinion and Charlotte News.

The papers have a combined circulation of nearly 75,000 and the papers are read by well over 150,000 people.

YWP staff, volunteers and Community Leaders from this site help select work.  If you'd like to help with this process, contact Susan Reid.


Sep 30
poem 2 comments challenge: Grades
Kittykatruff's picture

How I Feel About Grades

Those letters, percents, and comments
I check constantly, hoping
For the perfect A+'s, 100%'s, and
Words of praise from
All my teachers.
Every assignment, every
Quiz and test
What will colleges think?
What will my parents say?
What of the embarrassment
And guilt
If I get a 
Bad grade?
Report cards mostly convey
How students perform on tests,
With some thought of 
Homework, behavior, and
Class participation, of course.
The stress begins to build
As the testing time comes near,
As this one document
Could realize my greatest fear;
As if I forget just one thing
My grade will fall, and then my tears.
Students should learn and truly know
What teachers teach in class,
However I'm not sure that tests
Best represent everyone's abilities;
Some people may do best under stress,
But others do much worse.
Sep 28

Thinking, Thinking

Thinking, thinking, thinking
My head in the clouds
Soaring with the birds
Flying with the breeze

Oh! A lightbulb lit within!
A fire burning bright!
Illuminating webs and shadows
What a great idea!

Planning, planning, planning
So many things to do!
Must I do this now?
Must I do that then?

Worry, worry, worry
Life is not so kind
Anxiety presses down
So little, little time!

Thinking, thinking, thinking
What had I just thought?
My head is full of water
And everything is naught!
Sep 28
Emma.P's picture


      She stood looking back at me. She looked about 5’5”. Her brown hair ending in the middle of her back. Her hair looked like brown frizzy waves going down her back. She smiled at me. Her dimple on her right cheek and the ones that go around her mouth show. She has never liked her dimples. But she puts up with them because there is nothing she can do about it. Her somewhat big nose widens as she shows her silver brackets on her braces. She used to have a gap in between her two front teeth about eight months ago, and her bottom teeth were turned in all different directions. Now her teeth are as straight as can be, and the gaps are filled. Her bony shoulders poke out of her white tank top that she put on when she got out of the shower. Her long arms stop just after her hip bone. She has her Christmas pajama pants on. Man does she loved Christmas. She has long legs and a very short torso. Her skin was very dark in the dim light from her Christmas lights in her room.
Sep 28
Nora.F's picture

There she is

There she goes in the back of the pack. She has blonde hair that falls to just below her shoulders and has a face full of freckles. Her hair is blonde not bleach blonde but blonde with little curls that form around her ears when it gets humid out. Her hair is thick and frizzy. The freckles are all over her face and look like a dot to dot game. She has blue eyes with eyebrows that you can barely see because they are blonde. And her eyelashes are long and thin. Her shoulders are an average size. She walks with a smile and when there isn’t a smile on her face then something is wrong which is rarely.
Sep 28
jessie.p's picture


He looks up at the ceiling fan and is now in a trance, his big blue eyes watching the blades turn. His arms and legs flail with happiness, soft legs kick my arms, while his chubby little hand is holding my thumb. His small head resting against me, just the slightest dusting of hair on the back of it. He finally looks at me, and the biggest smile appears on his face. 10 seconds later he is pouty, his eyebrows furrowed, and begins to cry.

He likes to grab onto hair, and be held by anyone that is willing to hold him. He likes a cat named Mittens, and he doesn't seem to be too in love with dogs. He has a big brother that makes him laugh daily, and a father and mother who love him more than words.  He's four months old and drools all the time. He hates going in the car, but he like his car seat. He likes being at my house though, so he can stare at the ceiling fan and start the whole story over again...
Sep 28
laurenwwright's picture


She stands 5 feet 8 inches high, on her soft pink feet, in front of the large window, watching the sun rise into the crisp air. Her hair falls just a few inches past her wide, broad shoulders. The sun peaks over the trees, a sliver of lights peers through the window, enhancing a strand of caramel blonde, making it appear almost glowing, reflecting her feeling in this moment of simplicity and peace. She enjoys the little things that make life beautiful, like sunrises and sounds of morning. As the sun becomes completly visable over the trees, a smile spreads wide across her soft face. Dimples set deep into her lower cheeks. Her warm freckled cheeks raise, making her eyes small. Where all you can see is the glow of her blue eyes peaking out the small breach, like the waves of the clearest ocean rolling over the sand. In this moment she stands taller then usual. Filled with simplicity, beauty, and peace. Like she hasn't been touched by the world. Like she doesn't know the word stress.
Sep 27
poem 0 comments challenge: Hey!

More Than

I am not reliant, and I am not an accessory.
I am a person, not an object for you to move around the plot at your disclosure.

I am here to help to move the plot along, just like everyone else.
Too often, though, I’m simply a car.
An object used to get from one point to another as fast as possible.
One selected for beauty and functionality.
Not for personality.

I am here for a reason, and it is not to stand still.
It is not to be a statue the other characters draw inspiration from.
It is to tell my story, to develop further than a couple of thoughts from my head or - heaven forbid! - the smallest expression of my individuality.

I am here to support my fellow characters, but not at the expense of myself.
I am not the cheerleader off to the sides of the game, unable to do a thing.
I am your teammate.
I can make plays, too.
I can take action.
And yet, I am not allowed to.
Sep 26


And she missed him.

She missed him every second of every minute of everyday. A longing ache in her heart has been ignited and burned furiously like a wildfire should. She missed him like the moon might miss the stars. How the sun might miss sunrises and sunsets. She missed his playful smile, his bright brown eyes. She missed his messy cocoa powder colored hair and the white scar above his pink lips from that time he fell off his skateboard. She missed his dimples and the freckles that mapped out his checks. She missed him. She missed his puns and sarcastic humor. She missed his empathetic demeanor and witty comebacks. She missed the way her hand fit in his, and the way he made her feel on top of the world. She missed the warmth of his skin and the scent of his hoodie, which he had given to her. She missed feeling understood, she missed feeling a smile upon her lips that never seems to fade. She missed him, a lot. She missed him more than she had missed anything ever.
Sep 25

I've Always Wondered What Makes a Good Poem

It's not the ryhme or the reason,
The beats or the feet,
But the message it sends to all the people it meets