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These pieces are selected for publication by YWP Staff, mentors and this site's Community Leaders. If you wish to participate in the selection, contact Susan Reid.


Jun 06

Again & Again

Jun 04

Works of Art

Jun 03


Somewhere in the woods,
On a dreary night,
At the dreariest hour,
Diana stood on a stump,
Her hair loose;
Pale as flour. 

The pine surrounding her,
In its ominous moans,
Sang to her in their dark,
Terribly ominous,
And far deep,
Yet calming tones.

They begin to shout.

"Cease, must it be! 
We still stand,
But only for this land,
and not for your false harmony!"

And there Diana stood,
Unbothered by it all.
She had heard their plea,
And answered their call.
If not them,
Then who shall fall?

Just to speak it is a shame!
There is not us,
Or our mother, Diana,
To blame!

It is them!
They have filthied us,
Drenched us in their rotten nature!
There is nothing natural about this,
Nothing good in this danger!

We have shouted and burned,
May 30


May 20

Quadratic Formula Poem

Quadratic Formula Poem

X marks the spot,
If you pessimistically encounter a bee,
You should contribute something to it’s existence,
Or, perhaps,
Take the same something.

I’ve heard,
You know,
That bees,
On their birthdaays,
Appreciate a gift that is square in shape,
But rooted in thoughtfulness.

A gift containing bubbles or bobbles or babbles or blubber,
Nibbles or cobbles or pebbles or rubber,
From which you have removed a quadruplet of aces.
My dear friends,
Is how to cover your bases.

Enter every best-birthday-gift-for-a-bee competition.
I promise,
You’ll be boasting first places.

Author's note: the spelling of "birthdaay" is intentional
May 18

Fun & Games

May 16


May 15

How to Lose Your Name

You lose your name
in a language that gives
your name vowels like
curdled milk.

You lose your name 
after hearing
all the variations
that are not your name.

You lose your name
in the eyes of new teachers
or substitutes, in that moment
they cringe when they 
see your name at 
the top of the list.

You lose your name
when you meet new people 
and your heart falls because
you don't even care to 
explain to them how to say it

You lose your name
when everybody calls you 
by the other name, the wrong
name, that haunts you all
day long, lurking even in
the shadows until you want to shout:
That's not my name!
You lose your name
when your friends 
correct the substitutes because
you don't even care enough 
to correct them

You lose your name
May 10

Night Swimming

Today I listened to the wind. 
The kind of listening that takes over
all senses.
It washed me away. 

Overwhelming. The way it starts to breathe for you.
As. If. You. Might. Drown. 

You look like you might have been swimming. 
But you never admit to loving the river enough to skip school.
I ask to join you next time. 

You don't respond.

I know you laugh like the sun. 
It's hard not to notice. 
"Wishing for unforgiving things is sometimes dangerous." 

I told you
how much it means to me, living with the tides.

I know it's like you said the first night I swam in the dark
"Darkness is only a by-product
of something too sunken to name."
I wish I could tell you
I knew what that meant. 

I wish I could tell
I know the difference
between darkness and water. 

May 05


We walk together again through Coyote Gulch,
sisters, side by side,
seven years of separation since our last excursion. 
The water is so shallow now;
my legs sprouted while I wasn't watching,
like the winter-battered trees will have sprouted
hopeful green buds upon my return.

We were always exactly the same height,
down to the wire,
competitive about it--
growing together but not in alignment. 
By the time I won,
May 03


Apr 26
Mozzerelli's picture

me and my pal anxiety

i fall asleep, maybe when i wake up i’ll feel different 
i wake up at 6 tired, maybe this life isn’t for me 
i roll out of bed at 630 
i drag myself to and fro
from the closet
to the mirror 
back to the closet
i cast aside each article of clothing as they fail 
to turn my torso into an hourglass 
make my ass so fat all the home boys want to hit it 
i tug and pull the clothing around my figure 
each shift of fabric reminds me that 
perhaps it will take more than something pretty
to make me someone pretty. 
my hands wade through the waves of my hair 
frantic, i gaze at the clock
time keeps flying past 
The anxiety that was sleeping in chest 
Has awoken in full throttle 
A raging storm, lighting piercing my stomach
My knees are weak
As i shrug into my clothing and gaze 
Too long in the mirror 
Apr 15

Mama, Look up

Apr 09

Why I don't Play Sports

   I know that some people love sports. They watch it, play it, basically do anything to get involved with it.
   I am not one of those people.
   The first time I really tried to play a sport was when I was about nine. My homeschooling group had set up a soccer team, and I arrived with new shin-guards and an eager outlook. I was so sure I'd be great! Simple enough, right? Kick the ball into a net, don't use your hands. 
   About three minutes into the game, I discovered I had an uncanny talent for being hit with the ball. Even more amazing, I had the talent to be hit square in the face with it and not even come away with a nosebleed. What did the coach do?
   He put me in a defensive position. Don't get me wrong- he's a really nice guy. It's just that he thought my misfortune was untrained talent.
Mar 30
nikki.crouse's picture

A House With No Windows

No way for anyone to look in,
to tell if it was light or dark inside.
No way to tell if things were quiet and still,
or if the house was about to explode.

If one wanted to see inside, they could,
but only if they had a key.
And that key, of course,
came from the owner.

And she was picky,
some would say too picky.
But why would anyone allow someone inside their house?
When they feared what those someones would think of it.

Those who were allowed inside may still have been tricked,
by the decoration adorning the house.
Lovely furniture disguised the warped floors,
and beautiful paintings covered deep cracks in its walls.

It was an old and tired house.
It had stood through many storms,
survived floods and earthquakes,
but that didn’t matter if it didn’t look nice.

And that’s all the visitors seemed to notice,
the pretty things,
Mar 26

Remembering You

What I remember of you is very little.
I was young when you passed.
I remember when you gave me,
a five year old,
four lollipops.
Your reasoning?
"two in each hand
so you don't lose balance 
and fall over"

I remember you at your husband's wake.
You cried over his casket
it was "the worst day of your life"
as you said.
It was soon forgotten.

I remember visiting you.
You offered us icecream and I felt
uncomfortable- but that's not your fault.
You didn't know that Grampy
wouldn't be coming home today.
You didn't know he'd been gone so long.
We let you live
in your ignorant bliss.

I remember that you didn't look the same,
you laid expressionless,
your face was too flat,
instead of round, plump, and smiling.
They had your hair just right,
blonde ringlets framing your face,
as you slept under the orchids.
Mar 25

"Schools are For Learning, Not Lockdowns"

Taken at the March for Our Lives on Saturday, March 24, in Montpelier, VT. 

It was so incredibly inspiring to be in the midst of this march and hear everyone's incredible speeches. Congrats to all the YWP members who spoke, you were AMAZING and truly inspiring!
Mar 22
clearyj's picture

The Roof

I watch 
As the sunlight dips 
Behind the greenish-gold mountains.
And I try to ignore the
Responsibilities tugging 
In the back of my mind

I am hypnotized by the roof of my garage,
But I am not looking at it.
I am staring at it without a meaning.

I am not looking at the roof
I am just resting my eyes
On a not-too-bright
With a bountiful amount of bumps.

I am thinking.

When I think,
Deep thoughts
Like what happens when I die,
Or what will happen, 
When the sun explodes
It is best no to bother me.

I will not listen.
Because I am drowning in my mind.
Please do not save me.

I watch as the 
Darkness creeps over the garage.
It is not a bad darkness,
But a reminder kind of darkness.
A go-inside-it’s-getting-dark type of darkness.
Mar 11

By Poetry

I. Moved:

I am moved by poetry
Sometimes slammed against the walls
Tossed up and down, side to side, to and fro
The adrenaline
The spine-tingling
Flow of poetry
I feel the words coming together
Unified, but divided
Unified so every word connects
Divided so every word has its own meaning
So every word has its own story.

II. Broken:

I am broken by poetry
Touched, tapped
My heart breaks
Into thousands of irreparable, irreplaceable
Bits and shards
Over and over
“Be careful,” they say. “Glass hurts!”
I know it hurts
My heart hurts too
But I would rather have my heart broken by poetry anyways
Even though I try to glue it back together
It always falls apart.

III. Caged:

I am held captive by poetry
Audio download:
By Poetry.m4a
Mar 08
wondering about rain's picture

Electric Galaxy

City floating in the black, inky sky,
I see you as I fly by. 
Each light adds to the galaxy 
of stories and lives. 
I imagine jumping into
the darkness, forever falling up
into the night sky reflected below. 
Maybe it's an ocean with 
strange creatures busy flowing
with the undertow. 
I'm a space traveler observing without
really seeing,
but I can still feel each being, 
pockets of life shown by lights. 
Teeming night, do you see me add
to your sky as you add to mine?
Awe inspiring, spread out
like beautiful coral,
or a crack in the earth 
with shining stardust showing through. 
I want to reach out and dip my
fingers into the land, 
touching each light. 
We cannot be only a blight. 
There is a peace to the chaos as you
watch from afar. 
It used to be a miracle to see the world
from the sky. 
Beauty tends to be lost on us after