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 07


Perhaps, in our own ways, We are all super heros.
While not all of us can fly, or swing from buildings,
Some hide behind masks, others in plain sight.
Yes perhaps we are all superheroes.
Some hidden in the shadows,
wrapped up in their own fantasies.
Others stand in bright spotlights,
Projecting to the world in hope to tell them,
Convince them, make them feel something.
Some heros strive around others,
Displaying their strengths,
Glowing in their own success.
Other heros sit alone,
In the back of the classroom,
Or in a quiet corner of a coffee shop.
Scratching pencil marks or typing away,
Creating an escape.
For themselves.
For others.
Yes, in our own ways we are all superheros,

Sep 07


Many emotions surpass his beautiful features,
But the same sharp look lingers in his alluring amber irises:
And if I'm not careful,
He might burn me too. 
Sep 07
g_rob02's picture

Nature I

In spring and summer,
when the sun shines brightly on the forest, it looks like an artists paint tray.
                                                                                         The vibrant colors.
                                                                       The trees,
seemingly green with envy over the beautiful wildflowers, colorfully dressed in their Sunday best.
                                                                        No envious tree or vengeful vine could dull the colors which oozed off their being.
They were safe.
They were protected.
                                 I watch them dance, making musical motion. 
                                 A soft songful sway from the wind, like Mother Nature
                                                                                                    giving them a warm welcome,
Sep 06
emily.hess's picture

The Planet and Her Colors

blue, and murky gray.

When I think about my planet
I think about her many colors,
I think about,
browns and yellows,
and reds and the rarity of purple.

And when I think about my planet I am afraid.

As I grow up
my colors become less vivid,
more industrial and smog
and polluted and black.

And when I think about my planet I am afraid.
I want to hold her in my hands and
show my future children the colors of the world,
I want to show them green and blue
and rainbows.

I want to show them that all their favorite colors were given to them from the Earth herself,
and I want to show them that they too can hold the planet in their hands.

When I think about my planet I am afraid,
because it is mine,
as well as yours, and hers, and unfortunately it is also his.
and we are far too often taking her
Sep 05
poem 1 comment challenge: Nerves

First Day

It's the first day.
First day of High School.
Time to fit in, time to be cool.
So many people crowding the hallway, talking to their friends.
New people, new classes, new world, everything else ends.
Right here, right now.
I want to get to class but how?
I feel so small, a seedling below a tree.
Don't fail.  Nothing less than a C.
I look around for a familiar face, but everything is a blur.
A teacher waves to me.  Good morning sir!
Saying hi to a teacher?  Is that right?
I see circle of friends that's tight.
Oh that's right.
It's the first day.
I'm ignored and shut out with nothing else to say.
Time to move on, time to run.
The bell has rung, the first day has begun.
Sep 05
Fiona Ella's picture


it's my first grade of the year.
solid 100 percent
and i feel a thrill as i look at it even though
i hate this system. 
and it's not even a thrill because it's a good grade
because god only knows 
that grade has a whole semester to go down.
it was only based off of a few things anyway. 
that thrill came from the simple reality of 
having a grade
that curse of last year. 
that reinstituted prison. 
i hate having grades. 
i hate the way having your learning evaluted
kills it. 
i hate how subjects i used to like
are converted into numbers on a page
and those numbers determine my future. 
i hate having to obsess over these,
and i gloried in having a whole summer free of it. 
and now the prison is back, 
and i welcome it with open arms. 
because i no longer know how to evaluate myself
without it. 
Sep 05


You've grown up knowing that most other people around you probably can't spell all the words that you can.

When you were two, you were flipping through books. You read more and more, and by the time you were four, you were reading chapter books.

When you were five, you read your favorite series several times that year.

In first grade, you thought it was weird how no one else had read the Harry Potter series except for you, who finished the first book in two hours.

In second grade, your journal entries in class were pages long, while other kids wrote a paragraph with bad spelling. Your teacher adored you.

In third grade, you took private Greek and Latin root words lessons. Your spelling group had two 4th graders in it, and you, and it was clear you knew more than them.

In fourth grade, you were the only kid in your spelling group.
Sep 04

Into the Lonely Woods

One step, then another
I follow the well-loved path
into the lonely woods

I take in the scent - 
ever so faded, but familiar somehow
wavering through the air
in the light fog

I can hear voices, but not their words
Many voices, woven together in their lack of language and meaning
Voices I do not know
but know the pain of

I come to a crossroads, and do not hesitate - 
for if I did, I would never make my choice - 
and continue forward on

No matter where I turn
or which path I take
they all bear the footprints
of those who came before me

I wonder what the first person to come here did
If, with nothing to lead them
they could not find their way
and withered to nothing

I never see a soul - 
only shadows, hidden in the corners of my eyes
and in between blinks
I know they are there, nevertheless
for their voices never stop
Sep 04

First Day Of School...At Home

It's a first for me. 
Yet it is not really a first.

I start my first day of eleventh grade...at home.
After spending every school year in the same small school, it is extremely odd for me to not go back there. Homeschooling is a lot different. Yet it feels like I am still in the middle of summer. 

I miss my school. I miss my friends and teachers. I miss all of it. But everything has to change at some point. 

I feel nervous despite being in my own home. My mom set up all of my assignments for this week. She has to work so I am basically teaching myself. I have to be responsible and manage my time wisely. I guess this is good practice for the future but it is still overwhelming. 
Sep 03


I am a molecule in the black abyss. There is an invisible glass wall in the distance.
No matter how much I try to swim to the wall, it never get's closer. No matter how much I try to swim away from the wall, it never get's farther.
There is no moving forward or backwards.

I am alone here, sort of.
Through the wall on my right, there are voices of those I love, muffled. Through the wall on my left, there are voices of my deceased family. 
But I can't see anything. I am completely blinded.

I never thought that death could be like this. Or the afterlife in that matter.
So peaceful and quiet. But weirdly enough,
I'm not sad. 

I was told I would be happy. I could watch over my family. And I could see my grandchildren grow.
But I just see the endless black.
It grows thicker and thicker.

But I am not sad, or mad and happy.
I am nothing, just molecules in the black.