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 24
sophie.d's picture

She Swallows the Sun

With waves crumbling on her back
She stands
With neck growing to the sky
And clouds dotting her eyes
She swallows the sun
And smiles. 

Her throat blisters like 
Swallowed ghost peppers
Tears squeeze from
Eyelids clamped shut
Her burning body
Screams for a shortcut
To dissipate the tempestuous fire.  

With raindrops flying from her back
Her heart smokes 
With wind prying her hair
From her head
She feels her blood warm
It whooshes through her veins
Amid a rising storm. 

Her body tenses and 
Strains under pressure
Light fills every nook
Of bodily space
Every cranny of personality
And light 
Streams down her face.

With feet in an angry sea
She stands
With head in hungry clouds
Fire erupts
From her fingertips
And sews sun into 
A world left barren.

The sky becomes her blanket
Sep 24
poem 4 comments challenge: Portrait

The Only World I Want Is My Own

14 years old and still lost in time.
Dark brown hair almost always in a high ponytail.
Blue eyes desperately avoiding the gaze of others.
Long, strong legs that belong in an ice rink.
Feet that curl in, even they look shy.

High-functioning autism, social anxiety, and a little bit of OCD to top it all off.
My world is numbers
And spinning
And ice
And music
And chaos 
Or order.

I probably won’t talk unless you talk to me first.
When I do talk, it might not make sense to you.
But it will to me.

The perfect moment
Is when I understand.
If I don’t,
I’ll quietly go up in flames.

Don’t worry though.
Just pretend I’m not here
And I’ll do the same to the rest of the world.

The only world I want is my own.

Sep 24
poem 0 comments challenge: Portrait

A Discreet Description

The face that is in my dreams and
thoughts, squared and set,
eyes seeing things real and yet not,
is the one that I love without
claiming it, my mouth yet to
utter the words I so much long
to say, to watch those beautiful blue
eyes and sly, smirking mouth, move
in surprise and delight as the
three tiny words would slip past my lips
and reach your big, framing ears.
Everything that you are comprised of
is the definition of my love, from the
bouncing, blond curls around your
boyish yet manly features, to the long
stride of your legs, so much farther than
mine, to the strong, callused hands that
steady and create wonders for the
world.  If the Sun could take on an Earthly
form, it would be made into your smile,
as when you feel joy, the whole world lights
up, the whole world that is mine,
just because you are in it.
Sep 23


I was going through books of
the history of the United States 
in a back room of the library that
smelled like pages about to fall apart
when I found a section that held
books written in braille.
I opened one and was struck
with wonder because all those
little raised dots were words.
They were a language with power.
They were understanding.
And I had no clue what meaning they held.
Sep 23
hmseymour's picture

future as an ocean wave

the future is scary.
it is as if everything is hitting me
all at once.
like a crisp ocean wave
that knocks my body 
into the frigid salt water.
sound emits from my ears
as my head hits.
my eyes sting,
and my lungs burn,
and i can’t escape.
i reach for air,
and my hands come up empty,
but finally,
my body emerges.
i take a deep breath,
and i’m the happiest i’ve ever been.
Sep 22
poem 0 comments challenge: Greeting
kat_writer's picture

Dreaming of Home

Walking around the city,
a place I had never been.
Feeling lost, in a pity
and nowhere near being found.

Desperate for a trace of home, was I
Wishing to again see myself,
sitting under a tree eating pie.
Happy as could be at home.

Reflecting on how I got here,
wondering how it could be.
Longing for my friends, wishing one was near,
those neighbors I should not have left.

I jumped as I felt a tap on my back,
but from somewhere I knew
this was no attack.
I turned around and said "Hello!"

It was my best friend Jack.
Sep 21
katharina's picture



frequently asked
rarely answered

why do I exist
on this dock
     in this country
         this world

                                                                        i n f i n i t y

                watching the sunset
            feeling the motions of earth
        as if by magic
     it turns peacefully
 without changes

c o n s t a n c y

the thoughts work diligently like ants in my head

     do they
       or do I just think they do
         and now think about that I think about it

                                                                        d i g r e s s i o n
                 look at the sun
a bright red shining emergency exit
to escape                         this world

               again and again

Sep 21
Ordinary Owen's picture

The five colors of the setting sun

Fast feet that cannot flee from Grief,
seek shelter in the sunset.

Five colors at the sun-dried dock

Reality aside,
a blatant refusal of truth.

Rage does not ebb like the tide,
its flood washes other emotion away.

Sorrowful tears,
the only currency tragedy will accept.

Rage subsides,
but in its place is only carnage.

Devoid of emotion and lost,
only to vanish with the setting sun.
Sep 21

Natures Grace

She walked down to the dock
As the sun began to set,
The beautiful array of colours
Behind the tree line.
Quiet and peaceful,
It's exactly what she needed.

Her mind was buzzing with thought,
Mostly things she did not want to think.
The cool crisp air calmed her mind,
And she relaxed.
Listening to the trees move with the wind,
And the water splash against the shore.
She could see the silver scales of fish
As they move gracefully
through the water

She let her mind wonder elsewhere
So she wouldn’t have to think about
The tragedy that had happened.

She stuck her feet in the water,
It chilled her to the bone,
And slowly she grew used to it.
She moved her feet aimlessly
Through the water.

Sep 21
ccdussault's picture

Colors of the Sunset

I walked down the long, creaking dock.

I had sat down and dipped my toes into the clear, glass water.

I watched the waves my feet made as they touched the water

and wondered how such a small touch of the water could have made such a big effect.

I look up at the sunset,

except this time I study it hard.

I am curious if sunsets are just sunsets,

or if they mean something more.

I was looking for something in that sunset,

but all I could see was how the bright colors beamed off of the sun.

I realized that much like my toes had caused the waves,

the sun had created this sunset.

I start to feel the sunset running through my body,

as if I were drinking it’s colors.

I felt that, much like the sunset,

I was glowing.

And if anyone saw me from afar,

I would be screaming with color.