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.


Jun 26
poem 3 comments challenge: Three
EB164's picture


She spun the 

Globe around with

Her fingertips, dreaming
Jun 26
poem 5 comments challenge: Random


I called you.
You spoke in fire.
I spoke through falling rain.
You told me you saw a plastic mess and left it.
I told you I grew tree roots from my hands.
You informed me of broken china.
I informed you I was stuck to the wall with super glue.
You notified me through eight books.
I notified you through nine,
but then you switched to ten.
You stomped across your telephone,
while I muddled by mine.
You gulped oxygen,
while I telescoped the window.
The sky was lightning.
We were the burning meadow below it.
You concluded that I never talk.
I ended with you never looked.
But if you had been the wanderer I thought you were,
you would have known
my eyes are books
and your ears are broken.

Jun 25

poems vs stories

I wonder why poems
spill out of me,
fully formed;
Stories aren't this way,
they takes time,
and more patience than I am
willing to give.

So I sweat over my laptop
at two in the morning,
the icy-tipped fingers of
creeping their way up my spine.

Why are poems so nutured by me
and stories
left out in the cold?
Started and abandoned in and instant
but poetry so
lovingly and delicately crafted?
At all hours I'll answer it's call
(In language arts class, while doing homework,
waking up from a dream),
but stories have set timers
in my phone?

My heart is open to poetry,
my ears straining to hear it
in public,
my brain
winding and unwinding letters and words and phrases,
gentle stanzas that come to me in the night.
No rhyme or reason.

And stories
hurt my head,
Jun 24
poem 5 comments challenge: General


I want my mother
at night.
When my body catches up with my mind
and my face unfolds from sleep so I can
remember every detail of the dream that woke me.

I want my mother
at night.
When I stumble from my raised bed to hers
two rooms down and to the left.
Her covers are better,
her arms warmer,
her breath reassuring.

I want my mother
at night.
When I lose my first tooth
and I don't know if the fairy will come
because I might have put it under my pillow too late.

I want my mother
at night.
When she keeps the light on in her room
while she reads the bills until the morning.

I want my mother 
at night.
When the shouting reverberates in my ears,
about how what we have is not enough
How the crops are nothing compared to NAFTA.

I want my mother
at night.
When the days are getting longer
Jun 23
emily.hess's picture


I took a lie detector test, 
They asked me if I still loved you, 
I said no. 

The results said that was true, 
because even my own body had learned to lie to my mind. 
Jun 22
poirier's picture

finding your self

Finding yourself

What environment are we putting out
Do people feel comfortable
Being themselves
Do we make people feel safe
What about gay people
What takes over
Implicit bias
Or do you get to know them first
There I said it
Sometimes people are afraid to use these words
Some use these words as an insult
And so what if you are
What are people running from
Yes some people are different
Live with it
We all can’t be the same
So whatever you are running from
Stop running

Our country has changed so much since
Where gay people
Were forced to question there choices
We are here now
From June 26 2015
When the law passed that
LGTBQ people could first marry Each Other
in all 50 states
That is about 3 years
From now
And some people
Still don’t come out
Everyone should feel safe
Jun 22

Borrowed Sweetness.

Her lips are red,
Borrowed sweetness
From my own. 

Her mouth leaks smoke,
From her lungs,
Limp cigarette hanging from her 
Red lips,
Borrowed sweetness. 

I remember the day
I tried to tell her that
they’d kill her. 

She just laughed,
Saying that
That was the point. 

To die slowly 
But painlessly. 

Until the end,
When it all crashed down,
And she faded out.

With nothing but a 
Burning cigarette 
Between those red lips,
Borrowed sweetness. 

Jun 20

for summer:

it’s the heavy air
the parched grass’s thirst 
the dog napping sprawled on a weathered deck

it’s dirt collecting on calloused bare feet
it’s slivers on your palm and pollen in your nose 

the whine of insects and the distant chuckle of farm equipment

senses melded together because,
which one is which?

i’m stuck in the lull of it. 
and i wouldn’t change a thing
Jun 20

Vinyl Record Store

Flipping through rows of vinyl records
lost in an obsolete technology maze
that holds past memories around every corner
records of past lives and creative ambitions.
I admire the flashy covers
and try to imagine what the music might sound like.  
my ears crave new music, they wish to consume all sounds
in the known universe, but their is not enough time
in the short lifespan of a human to hear all of it
and the records are so expensive.
I can feel the store owners gaze piercing my neck,
of course he expects me to buy something.
I grab everything within my grasp
and bankrupt myself to obtain
soundwaves that will resonant with my soul.
If only I actually owned a record player
than I could play all these dusty things.

In the future
I wonder what types of old media we will grow nostalgic for
perhaps when we have computer chips
implanted in our brains