the boy

he is holding the boy in his claws,

he opens his mouth, and roars.

oh, how loud the roar is, yet it lasts at least three seconds.

he leaves.

he flies away.

he lands in a rocky cavern,

and sleeps.

The boy comes when he tries to fly,

every attempt, every try,

seems to fail.

The boy draws him in a small book,

perhaps a journal...

they boy seems to be of no harm.

The boy drops his pencil, 

thats when he just seems to notice him.

They make eye contact. Read more »

It seems almost
absurd, that
the boy I
built splintered bridges with, and
talked forever with, and
who chose me as
the first to hear
of his thoughts on
suicide and
God,

is now growing
facial
hair:

blond, awkward prickles that
make him look like
a
cactus.

Now lifetimes away from
childhood,
I still see him as
a little
boy,
and this new
addition

just makes him look
ridiculous.

Alone
By Kati Borsh
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Alone he stands
Eyes cast down
Lost yet found
Ripped clothes
Full of misfortune
Yet somehow content
Happy in his own little paradise

Working day and night
In the fields
Around the farm
Hairs mussed
Skin pale
Bony
Yet behind the grim expression
A bit of happiness Read more »

What does the future hold?
By Heather Rameau
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

The young boy.
Spirited, full of energy, but alone.
Living a peaceful life,
yet screaming a silent moan.
Up at dawn, down at dark
Working all day
But he doesn’t have a say
His spirit young as the dawn of a new day, Read more »

Whiskey problems on the boy's mind
By Noah Gray
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Whiskey. I hate it. The smell? A sour reek. The color? Like old wet hay. And the terrible effect it has had upon my family.

My name is Willy Nickels, and it was a year and a half ago that my brother, Bill Nickels, left our house to smuggle a load of whiskey down from Canada. The Nickelses have always been serious whiskey runners; my father — Robert — my father’s father and his father before him all smuggled liquor into America. My older brother Bill, he was no different. Read more »

Chore time
By Kaiya Provost
Colchester High School, Grade 9

Ten years old and just waking up, he lives in a farm and prefers not to speak. He does not look at anyone in the wrong way, nor does he make himself known to others. He is but a child, and children are to be seen and not heard. Read more »

Who are those guys?
By Jenn Clark
Hartford Memorial Middle School, Grade 7

I was just minding my own business, working on the farm, and out of nowhere these people with cameras started taking pictures of me and the farm. I didn’t know what to do so I ran to get my father. Read more »

Prayers for those who don't understand
By Keisha Picknell
Hartford High School, Grade 10

A shy boy with sad eyes,
Lonely, reserved, disguised;
Mystery swept across his face
As if he was longing to win this race
Of telling his story,
His glory,
His pride of living where he does:
The Farm.
His soul feels empty, transparent. Read more »

Unbearable is the weight
By Whitney Dubie
Essex High School, Grade 12

Oh cold, reckless hollowed feet;
Oh heavy, miserable legs —
You carry me through these trials.

A shadow of her heavy weightless oppression
Coming over us like a lighted speck
On a mountainside.

It’s something unbearable,
Yet expected. Read more »

The Boy This photograph, captioned “Son of a woodcutter in Eden Mills, Vermont,” was taken in August 1936 by Carl Mydans for the federal government; it was of 160,000 documentary photos commissioned during the 30s and 40s. YWP students were asked to write a story, poem or essay based on this photograph. The students were not told he was the son of a woodcutter. Mydans went onto become one of Life magazine's first photographers and was a giant. He died in September 2004 at the age of 97. To see more photographs from this era, click here and use Vermont as a search word. This is a site within the Library of Congress site.
More YWP pieces in response to this prompt will be posted here during the week. Check back!

Photographer's point of view
By Kaitlin Bates
Hartford High School, Grade 10

His daddy owned a farm 10 miles up the road.
They didn’t have much money
But
They had each other.
The little boy looked tired,
He was a hard worker.
There wasn’t much time for fun,
When you had chores to do. Read more »

This boy is not what you think
By Paul Seaver
Hartford High School, Grade 10

This young boy is not living in poverty. He does not live on a farm as many would assume. His mornings do not consist of collecting eggs and milking cows. In fact, the boy has never even been to a farm. This boy is just a normal kid, but unlike other eight-year-old boys, he has a job. Read more »

Look into his eyes
The Renaissance School, Grade 5

He is there.
He stares at me, eyes digging out
Of the page, almost hauntingly,
As if he was real, and
I know he
Has gone through many hardships,
And I can see all of his life,
His joys, his agony,
All through this one poorly copied
Photo on a sheet of paper. Read more »

Samantha Packard, Grade 7, HMMS, The boy

Here on the Farm Read more »