YWP Newsletter- 4/15/19

Welcome to the 2nd April newsletter! We've been getting some gentle rain showers these past few days and it looks like we're in for more... be ready for plenty of May flowers.

As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP Newsletters. Feel free to skip ahead if you're a regular.

Welcome to the YWP Newsletter, curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, Recommend work for Publication, Create Challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining... we aim for variety to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give these creators a wider audience, provide our busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some of the pieces we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: check out the other newsletters, and share the link with others who may enjoy it.

This week's contributors are IcestormGraceful, Maisie N, Nathaniel Steele, PeachesMalone, Ice Blink, Nightheart, and k.daigle.

Photo above is by Ice Blink

ars longa vita brevis 
by Icestorm

i bet no one ever told you
that poets are liars.

they are gifted with the curse
of spinning tragedies into fairytales,
like straw into gold.

because before blood was beautiful,
it was brutal.

it was the animal desire to survive,
scarlet rusted on wolf fangs,
a deadly tapestry dyed on fur.

because before hunger was attractive,
it was abuse.

it was a half-dead city rat
with bones like blades,
starving under a starless sky.

because before addiction was normal,
it was neglect.

it was broken bottles and cigarette stubs,
craving and carving,
thoughts like curdled milk rotting inside a skeleton.

because before mental health became a competition
pain was not coveted.

what poets do not tell you
is ars longa, vita brevis:
art is long, life is short.

Photo by Graceful
Wake Me 
by Maisie N

I wanted to remind you of us running
Running late for everything
When we used to wear each other's clothes
And smell like each other every day
Me driving home after school
With you, right there in the passenger seat
Of stolen autumn kisses-- lips warm, air cold
That feeling when two seasons meet.

I was running late for school this morning
So I left you alone, sleeping
I hadn't the heart to try and wake you
So I took your jacket with me
I stepped outside expecting March snow
Only to be greeted with April rain
Suddenly you and I were different
I noticed the seasons had changed.

I cannot claim that I knew from the start
I still am not sure, what did I do?
I can't believe I captured your heart
Got myself so stuck on you
Fell for you with the autumn leaves
And froze there as wintry wind blew
Now the frost is thawing, the birds are singing
But still, I'd rather be with you.

What is it, precisely that sets you apart
When nothing feels so unique or new?
Indeed, it feels like a unique sort of start
Just to wake up in May with you
Your eyes, my heart and the sky are clear
This weather is long overdue
But every time you draw near
I feel the same as I used to.

This is our spring awakening
This might be our very best part
April showers bring May flowers
For you and I to make into art
I will write, and you play that song
Make me dread any time we spend apart
I will listen, and you will read out loud
What we feel, but refuse to impart.

Art by ​Nathaniel Steele, grade 12, Danville School. 
A Polite Refusal to Be Forgotten 
by PeachesMalone 

I don't want to be forgotten
I don't want to be someone that the future doesn't know was here 
I don't want to be someone normal
I don't want my name to be on a gravestone covered with moss that tourists pass by on their way to someone else's tomb
I don't want to be an anyone

I want my words to flow through years 
Like brooks
I want them to inspire again and again
I want the stories I write to be loved
Worn
Nibbled on by literature-inclined mice 
Read again and again by people with soft hands
Wrinkled hands
Small hands
Scarred hands

I want to be great
I don't want to be a memory in someone else's mind
I want to be someone who changed people's hearts
I want to love
Be loved

I want to write
And draw
And sing
And dance
And read
And change
And change
And change

I want to be a candle that never goes out
I want to live forever in people's hearts 
And in their books
And on their shelves
In their shadows
Behind their doors
Jumping out and reminding them that 
I was here
I was great

Billions of people have passed through here
In a sea of human bodies, most will be forgotten
I must politely refuse to be one of them

I want to exceed the standard
Go above and beyond
Work hard, be remembered

But sometimes I don't know which direction I want to go

Photo by Ice Blink

tiny writes

Try not to think too much
it might end up killing you.

By Nightheart

 



I think there will always be a part of me that is lost, 
wandering somewhere out in the world. 

By k.daigle