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.


May 02
wondering about rain's picture

Patterns in the Rock

You can't walk across hot coals,
I found out, without a stinging sensation.
I take a step and I am seven again,
walking across the worn down
rock driveway on tiptoes feeling
the smooth sharp edges on my feet.
I am there again,
walking, with a friend
who holds me.

Once the rough rock patterns
from a climb marked my hands,
shaping the life line
that runs across a palm.
The click of metal as I swayed,
the shock of height drove my heart to
a snare drum beat.
The next suspended plank a step ahead.

Maybe the coals followed,
each step golden, red, glowing.
Marking each footprint is the past.
Worn down rocks, a old rope bridge,
May 02
Lorr's picture

Last Chance

This is your last chance, your last chance for glory, fame, and fortune. Your standing back stage waiting for them to call your name, your hands are sweaty and stomach is in knots, you’re filled with nerves. You have to wait, everyone says that you’re good at what you do. You don’t think so, but you’ve made it this far. The people say you’re good. Even if you don’t succeed you still have popularity. You get this feeling everytime, you know that once you get up on the stage your nerves disappear, but you can’t help it. You’ve learned to live with this feeling all your life, almost everything you do gives you this feeling.
May 01

Night drives when melodies weave into miles

Headlights skim the landscape,
showing off Night's shy, rolling figure.
The speakers drip with soft enthusiasm
and surround eager ears as Night settles down.

The velvety yellow on the road reflecting back into my eyes 
causes my eyelids to dance as they shut out the bright lines,
only wanting to see the black of Night.
Only wanting to see the music's colors
scrawled across the dashboard.

A sense of serenity blankets me and
my mind fills with melodies
as the miles tick by.

The darkness shivers 
as the bass shakes and bounces off the cold glass
The Night trembles
as the treble drowns into the leather seats.

The harmonies slow 
and the wheels accelerate.
Gnawing on the road,
spitting back rubber and lost lyrics.

The voices falter
The rhythms smooth into silence
and the movement slows to a stop.
I reach a familiar street and
Apr 30
emily.hess's picture

It Does Get Better

i'm glad i didn't die before i met you. 

sometimes i still think about it 

sometimes it still makes sense

but i remember that 

when it always made sense 

i then met you

and i realize how silly it is now. 

i'm glad i didn't die before i met you. 

because i think you needed to meet me 

as much as i needed to meet you

and there are more you's to meet 

more time to be had.

i'm glad i didn't die before i met you. 

i'm glad i'm gonna be here for a while. 

Apr 30

Out Of Smoke and Stars, The Latter Loses.

Her face turns cold as stone,
As I watch her father grip her shirt,
Pulling her forward, touching their foreheads together,
His face red as he dictates what she can and cannot be.

I watch as my best friends heart is torn out
By the person who made it.
The slurs that fall from his cold, chapped lips 
And the smoke that curls from a cigarette left burning in a dish by the door
reminds me of our childhood.

Here, in this home, the place that always smelled 
Slightly like lavender and incense,
The air fogged with lost inhibitions.

And as he swings at her, his eyes wild and his ears shut,
Deaf to her pleas.
I remember holding her close,
Hugging her body, wrapping mine around her while
She sobbed about her mother-- lying dead in the soil behind her home.

I remember how we found each other when we were both suffocating,

Apr 26

Small Talk Failure

Eyes pierce my skull
Their stares plog up my mouth
I just can’t seem to find the right words
that will engage people in conversation.
Trapped in a room full of partying bodies that make small talk
so naturally, as if they’re programmed for it.
Chatter destroys peaceful silence.
Faces spit out words like hoses
overwatering gardens with jargon.
Will someone please turn them off
so I can get a word in?
But my hose is dry and leaky
so I lurk in dark corners, hoping no one will notice me.
Is that really what I want?
No, I would like to join them
If only I could think of something to say.
Looking into their eyes wipes my brain
as I struggle to remember all the social rules
Scanning for a definition of normalcy,
I rely on basic phrases without meaning.
Nervously munching on chips.
Checking the time. I really just want to go home
Apr 24


Why does she say 
That she loves me 
But then turns and
 beats my reflection
 In the mirror? 
Apr 24

Never alone

I am only a small speck
only a little light
only a smile
only a drop of sunlight
but I am not alone
Around me is a sea of light
brightening the dark
smiling at the sad
loving the hateful
making a difference
speck by speck

Apr 24
happy_smiley's picture

Big eye

Big eye,
bright eye,
seeing everything.

Big eye,
bright eye,
little thing in a big city.

Big eye,
bright eye,
night and day on watch.

Such a big world compared
to a little speck of light,
but a little speck can always have a big eye.

The tops of skyscrapers
look like huge blocks to this little speck.
The people down below
look like tiny toys to this speck.

Little speck,
big world,
big city,
big eye,
seeing everything.
Apr 24
mythicalquill's picture

Of Stars and Streetlamps

The universe is upside down.
The lights of the city, so bright, so dazzling,
are below me as I float across the breeze.
The galaxy lies beneath, not overhead.
Above, the inky blackness reigns,
dripping down between the buildings,
running through the streets,
engulfing all but the brightest of lights.
Some of these lights twinkle, some stand still,
and some zoom past, hurrying off to nowhere,
like comets or shooting stars.
I make no wish.
I have nothing to wish for.
I’m in no hurry.
I have nowhere to be.
A speck of light
holds no office hours,
needs no days off,
has no strict schedule,
no schedule at all.
Unlike this city,
I am calm.
Unlike this city,
I am quiet.
All sounds are distant.
They echo within me,
yet leave no lasting effect.
I am free, floating on the breeze,
my thoughts mirroring its easy flow.