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.


Oct 06


Pain has become my reality. 

The salt washes through my body. 
I'm not fighting it. 
I breathe it like air. 

I'm in the air. 
My body smashes into a pit of gritty sand. 
I feel my body reacting, 
fighting the saltwater that burns my lungs. 
It comes out in bloody, sandy chunks, 
and spills onto my new world. 

Black laces around the edge of my vision, 
sending tendrils across my eyes. 
Everything is white. 
My arms tense, and I sense movement. 
Am I doing this?
Can I move? 
Now there's something else. 
is it color?
What does color even look like, 
and how am I supposed to know? 
Something black and...
that's it. 
Its blurred, and I can't tell. 

How does my body obey when I can't even think?
One arm. 
The other. 
One arm. 
The other. 
Oct 06
Dayne.greineder's picture


The morning sun shines off the bright red roof, casting a shadow of darkness beneath. Clouds roll in fast, smothering the day's light but fighting the darkness beams from above burst through upon the open land. Sitting alone, day by day, waiting for the old wooden door to be opened once more, bringing shelter and comfort to the one in need. An empty bed lay in the corner, which now is a home for the mice. Beside is a homemade table a traveler made while his stay at this peaceful place. The cold wood stove sits, wanting to be filled with the hot flames is used to do so well for the family last winter. You can still hear the laughter and the cries that echo through the walls. Many memories, and many different faces for the ruby red roof is a welcome sign to all.
Oct 06

Dear President

Dear President,
I'm writing to you today for a very special purpose
The country you are about to run is really kind of worthless.
I mean the people or good, unless their kinda racist
But really the environment has been run down to its basis.
No oil or trees just really big cities
And the decency of the humans is a little bit...
The people are poor and children are crying 
Their starving bellies, all of 'em dying
And the veterans are homeless even though they served
Innocent people killed because "It's what they deserved."
Please don't build a wall or delete emails
About all those things on nuclear sales
Because one day you will see
This country will rebel against thee.

These people are strong yet some of them weak
A lot of them have not found out how to speak
Against injustice that is commited
And stories of hate crimes that have been ommited
But President 
Oct 06
poem 0 comments challenge: Scary

On This Black Night

On this black night
The stars are soulless eyes
staring down at heartless bodies

Demons slink around every 
dark lonely corner

Children’s pale pink flesh
metamorphosizes into scales

On this black night
Death echoes under covered bridges
and through open windows

Sinister rhythms flow out of trees
and breathe malevolent anecdotes
Of merciless creatures
into listening ears

On this black night
Fatigued minds stroll 
Down somber streets

Tongues lay still 
Inside moist caves

Silence is the soundtrack
On this black night

Oct 05


Are we meant to have more then what we started with?

And if we get more then what we originally had,
did we make it?
or did we just take it?

Humans have wondered 'why do we live?'
when the truth is
we barely exist.

Because in order to live we need to be better
then what we were when we were

And if we exist how are we not living?
if we live how do we not exist?

Is love what you build
or is hate what you tear down?

Because I have found that we are in a never ending metamorphoses,
we change on the outside
but we never change on the inside.

For every bad choice we make is reflected
in the eyes of those who have seen too much but not enough
in the bones of the sickly as we pump them full of false marrow.
in the hands of the abused as your fists match their bruises.

For every good choice we make is reflected
Oct 05
joseph.deffner's picture


    One summer day on the water at a camp at Lake Fairlee, I was doing diving practice. I decided to go to the bottom of the lake, which was nothing new to me. I’d done it about a thousand times before. As I was approaching the bottom, I saw those weird mossy rocks it's I'd seen earlier. I decided to push of off from the bottom on these rocks, so I swam over. Then I pushed off.

    Then my feet exploded. I thought I was dying as I swam up. Those were not rocks, they were something else. They had cut my feet open. I never saw it coming. I tried to swim to the dock but I couldn't move my feet. I made it anyways and was able to relax for the first time to look at my “feet.” Or should I say, “ bloody monstrosities.”
Oct 05
Cleo19's picture

My Message to the President

Dear president,                                                                                10/4/16


    Congratulations on becoming the president!  I know you probably have many things to do right now but I wanted to ask your opinion about reducing landfills.  I know that some candidates say they will do the things people ask them to do and then they don’t, even major things like reducing major crimes.  I know what i’m asking is complicated and will most likely require a bit of thinking, but isn’t that what being president is for?  I know we’ve tried burning trash and that released poisonous fumes.  There has to be another way.  I don’t want my great great great grandchildren living in a world where they have to step in trash on their way to school.  Please think about this.

Oct 04
joseph.deffner's picture

The Cabin

Craig was tired. He had been working all day, and even walking home was an enormous challenge. He glanced at his watch. It read, 7:30 p.m., Friday, June 20. He focused on the path ahead, to keep his mind off his tired legs and sore feet. He walked past the corner store, and the park, up into the more rural part of town.
Oct 04
poem 6 comments challenge: General


When I peel flecks of polish off my nail
it reminds me of being seven
and peeling white paint chips from the side of the house,
back behind the garage where I knew my dad would blame it on rot,
not my curious fingers. 
I was a child obsessed with discovering what was underneath--
the insole of my shoes, the hood of a car, the stones in the garden.
My mother came up to my room once,
only to find me carefully detatching a corner of the carpet from the floorboards,
just to get a peek at the wood underneath. 
When my teacher taught about the biology of the earth,
and the anatomy of the soil,
I couldn't concentrate for three straight days.
All I could do was picture the ground beneath me,
teeming with microrganisms,
crawling with earthworms and hard-shelled beetles,
alive with fungi and bacteria.
"Some kids have their heads in the clouds,"
Oct 04
Cleo19's picture

The Chair

“Oh stop being a baby.” Adeline said

“Oh, excuse me for being scared about going into one the top haunted houses in the state.”  Shayley said sarcastically

“You said you weren’t afraid.”