YWP Newsletter -6/10/19
Happy Summer YWP! The sun is shining, the birds are singing and there are so many beautiful flowers. I hope that all of you have the chance to get outdoors and soak in the warmth. Though the school is wrapping up, there will still be inspiration to be found on YWP. Check out the Summer of Stories and have a chance to win! Contribute to sophie d.'s Good Thoughts challenge and maybe see some of your quotations around Vermont. Write with Jennifer Cohen at her Vermont Commons writing workshop and pick up some new skills. And of course, be sure to read the June Voice! Have a great week!
As usual, regulars can feel free to skip the intro.
Welcome to the YWP Newsletter! These weekly newsletters are 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, sometimes focusing on a certain theme... we aim for variety in our collection each week to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give the creators of YWP a wider audience, provide the busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some that we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: check out the other newsletters, and share the link with many others who may enjoy it!
This week's featured authors and photographers are Graceful, abrieart, Abriatis, fire girl, k.diagle, BlueEyedRose, Autumn Lacroque, and hannemie
Photo credit by abrieart
by BlueEyedRose
We are told
To live in the moment.
A moment,
Every moment.
Sometimes, we are victimized
For wanting to see the bigger picture,
Or, for caring about the overall outcome.
So maybe my opinion
Is an unpopular one.
But nonetheless,
I don't think living in the moment
Is all it's cracked up to be.
We stress
About little things
Happening at this very second
In our very long lives.
The way we look in middle school,
The way our friend acted in a certain situation,
That we were late by five minutes.
Granted, some things in life do make
Greater impacts
Then just a few seconds or days
Of stress, or harmful emotions.
But most things,
Especially when you're in high school,
Don't last longer than those few seconds.
They don't need to,
Unless you choose to stretch them out.
Overall,
Middle school is middle school,
High school is high school,
College is college.
But life is life.
Don't stress about the smaller stuff,
Try to look at the bigger picture.
And I'd say,
As long as you're liking the overall colors
And composure
And feel or your life's painting,
You're doing pretty well.
So don't stress about those few wrong brush strokes,
They aren't noticeable overall.
Photo credit by Abriatis
by fire girl
like a wave sparkling in the desert.
like a stone rising on the tide.
like the ocean that reflects the sky.
like a pool hidden in the woods.
like the lake at the end of the world.
like a droplet hanging on the bottom of your chin.
every day I'll ask myself how to look into your eyes
but the same day my voice will try to answer.
crying a river of tears
drowning in an ocean of blood
today I'll look beyond,
and it was the most beautiful shade of blue.
Photo credit by Graceful
by hannemie
People protect their blood
Flesh, bones
Their family of shared homes
Saving young and old from the flood
Short, tall, grown,
The ones on the throne
They protect the rich,
Who protects the poor?
What even do they stand for?
Who protects the polite clever one
The fast charming redhead
What keeps them all from being dead
You? Not you!
They’d be gone if it were
‘Cause deep inside, well, all you care about is her.
Your child, Sir
Her nature is harming,
Neither clever, polite or charming
She is the worst,
But she’s yours
Well she’s not
You protect and save her
Anyways
And always
But who protects the neighbors' child
The clever fast, charming redhead
Who’s never been anything but polite
She may be your kid
But the neighbors' girl is right
So protect her at all cost.
Why does relation through blood and vanity
Get more rewarded
Than character and humanity?
Photo credit by Autumn Lacroque from Danville School
At some point, a dream becomes a reality.
I am holding on until I can find that point,
and then it will all be worth it.
-k.daigle
I wish I could lose my mind
Because it’s the only thing tearing me apart.
-Graceful
YWP Newsletter - 5/27/19
Another week gone by, Young Writers Project! I swear, summer is coming. Slowly but surely. As Jeanette Walls said, "One benefit of summer was that each day we had more light to read by." Keep that in mind as we exit May and enter June :).
As usual, regulars can feel free to skip the intro.
Welcome to the YWP Newsletter! These weekly newsletters are 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, sometimes focusing on a certain theme... we aim for variety in our collection each week to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give the creators of YWP a wider audience, provide the busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some that we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: check out the other newsletters, and share the link with many others who may enjoy it!
This week's featured authors and photographers are: Dancer, hannah.banana23, DarkTruths, hockeygirlforever, Dana1357, LadyMidnight, dayprovidential, piper, and k.daigle.
YWP Happenings:
Coming June 3: YWP's annual Summer of Stories!
Poetry with Alexandra Contreras-Montesano is currently happening! Sign up here or join in whenever!
Read YWP's new May edition of our digital magazine, The Voice! June issue is coming this week!
Respond to these prompts for potential inclusion in VT filmmaker Bess O'Brien's Listen Up Project.
Summer writing workshop with Jennifer Cohen at Vermont Commons School!
by hannah.banana23
I walk down the street,
my spirits high.
Yet I can still feel the eyes boring into me.
Whispers fly
questions, judgments, assumptions
of me.
It's not like I'm not used to this.
It happens a lot.
But sometimes
I don't feel like giving a mini TED talk to explain.
There's the "You're so inspiring"
but I don't need a medal for living my life.
I feel as if my disability
is written on my forehead.
Although there's lots of judgment
in my regular life,
in the summer, it all melts away.
Zeno Mountain Farm is my escape,
my haven,
my safe place.
There, people can relate to me.
At Zeno, I am not my disability.
We all feel valued, and feel dignity.
There is so much love in this little community.
I wish there was that much love in the whole world.
(Photo credit: Cadwell Collaberative)
by DarkTruths
You're a thief.
You stole everything that mattered.
You left me as a book with a spine, but ripped out all the pages.
You stole my eyes.
I can no longer open them to reality.
I pry them open daily, only to see that nothing has changed and my life is still in shambles.
Precisely the way you left it.
You stole my touch.
I can no longer feel skin without you stuck in my thoughts, like you were my drug and I was an addict.
Now I'm stuck in rehab.
You stole my soul.
I let you into my heart and you left your mark like a tattoo.
You even stole my name.
Your voice was enslaving, like you were honey and I was a bee.
It plays in my head like a soundtrack to a playlist I can't delete.
I was a mirror.
You smiled at me, and I was shattered.
Now You've left me picking up the broken shards.
(Photo credit: hockeygirlforever)
by Dana1357
I’m sometimes asked if I would want to go out with friends.
Or if I would like to come to this party.
Or if I would just like to hang out with people in general.
I don’t like new people
It’s nothing personal, really it isn’t
I’m socially awkward and being around new people
Physically drains me
I had to talk to new people for a day
During a music festival,
I was utterly exhausted for the rest of the night,
Because I had to go so far out of my comfort zone
Just to talk to a few new people
Unlike mostly everyone else,
Being around people isn’t exhilarating or fun for me
I prefer to be alone
I’m simply not a people person
So, I end up making an excuse
Oh, I have family stuff that day
Oh, I’m sick
Oh, my mom says that I can’t go
Contrary to popular belief,
I’m not lonely,
I just greatly prefer to BE ALONE.
And some people just don’t understand that.
People have tried to change me,
Tried to tell me that I just need to be more outgoing
But those are the people that really don’t understand
Don’t understand that if I could’ve I would’ve changed
Do they think that I’m choosing to have social activities draining?
Do they think I’m choosing to have social anxiety?
Do they think I’m choosing to like being alone?
I would choose feel more comfortable being out
And around other people
But I can’t
I’m just not like that
I’m introverted.
(Photo credit: LadyMidnight)
by dayprovidential
Time is a many-handled shovel, my brain a grave-digger
with hands enough to hold.
Here is the grave of fifteen empty lines
that time's blade splits in dirt;
here are the words that grow from me
to curl into their seeds within the earth
and die in days, unwatered.
I wish an end to burial;
my wishing acts as trowel
and clicks against older bones
where personhood has fled. I lay them down,
a thousand paper flowers by the stone, handwritten pleas
for earth to cover earth. If I dig far
enough into the cold I'll find
with aching fingers that final symphony
of dirt
or so I'm told. Beneath the words,
above my home, ribs piled deep like cairns:
My brain the grave-digger etches in words with time
and draws a lonely rest.
(Photo credit: piper)
Lately, I've been thinking a lot about my future.
It makes me sad that it doesn't involve
the places, the people, the ideas
that it once did.
-k.daigle
YWP Newsletter - 5/21/19
Hi Young Writers Project!! Phew. . .almost to summer. At least, I think. Here in Vermont, it's hard to tell. The weather can't seem to make up its mind. I sure had a hard time making up my mind putting together the newsletter. I wish I could include every single piece of writing out there, I really do. This website is full of incredibly talented artists and each and every one of you deserves credit for that. If you see a writer/photographer doing a particularly great job, leave them a comment! Share the love! Or reply to LadyMidnight's challenge, Got Your Back, to add positivity to someone's day.
Feel free to skip the introduction if you're a regular.
Welcome to the YWP Newsletter! These weekly newsletters are 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, sometimes focusing on a certain theme... we aim for variety in our collection each week to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give the creators of YWP a wider audience, provide the busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some that we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: check out the other newsletters, and share the link with many others who may enjoy it!
This week's featured authors and photographers are: Graceful, Kittykatruff, shadowbird123, ShanRippWriting (on behalf of Jacob Yao), Maisie N, LadyMidnight, shenneljolly, and Fiona Ella.
YWP Happenings:
Poetry with Alexandra Contreras-Montesano is currently happening! Sign up here or join in whenever!
Read YWP's new May edition of our digital magazine, The Voice!
Respond to these prompts for potential inclusion in VT filmmaker Bess O'Brien's Listen Up Project.
Summer writing workshop with Jennifer Cohen at Vermont Commons School!
by Kittykatruff
One of my greatest fears
is being lonely.
To have no one
who understands me,
or to listen as I
ponder my deepest thoughts.
I am lucky.
My friends know me.
even if they do not understand
my words, they're always there
to listen.
Yet
the dark has always
made me feel alone.
It's so isolating,
s e p a r a t i n g people,
leaving them wondering blindly
where the world went.
One of my worst nightmares
is being trapped in a dark room,
with no sound but the deafening silence
surrounding me.
The walls close in.
I struggle to breath,
drowning in the darkness—
my fingertips grab desperately
in open air,
and I yearn to make a sound,
any sound,
to bring sweet relief to my ears,
yet the darkness is too overpowering
and whisks my words away
as soon as they form.
Please don't misunderstand me
and conclude that I'm afraid
of being alone.
Solitude can be liberating,
a chance to catch up with yourself:
read a book,
write a poem,
dance to your favorite song
because no one is watching.
Loneliness is very different.
Loneliness is when
you offer a word to the world
and no one answers.
Loneliness is when
you're bursting with things to say
yet no one's there to listen.
Loneliness is when
you long for a friend
but no one takes your outstretched hand.
I've moved twice—I know what it feels like.
Even thieves need a partner in crime
(though I don't support using friendship for theft).
Loneliness is something
I would never wish on anyone,
no matter the morality of their actions.
So when someone says even a simple "hello"
in the hallway at school,
or asks about someone's day,
or compliments them,
it can make all the difference.
(Photo credit: Kittykatruff)
by shadowbird123
There is a refuge here
For all who seek it
And for those that don’t.
The sky outside is fading
The room aglow with voices
Sympathizing, comforting
Saying that they know, they understand.
There is life in this place
A glowing candle, an illuminated door
A solace transmitted through melody and harmony.
Voices fill the air like water
Ethereal, ghostly, and beautiful
And though the light will die
The song will not.
(Photo credit: ShanRippWriting on behalf of Jacob Yao)
by Maisie N
I like you, how unlikely
How sweet, so suddenly slow
I like you, how surprising
I wonder where it will go
I like you, how inconvenient
How difficult to let it show
I like you, now you've seen it
But I'm afraid you will never know.
I will love anyone who hears me screaming
Anyone who will stay and quiet me down
Silence is intolerable, so it seems
So why would you stick around?
Let me listen to your footsteps as I watch you leave
Let me write you a somber chorale
A hymn would be too kind for you and me
We require deep and melancholy sounds.
I have prayed over every note of this song
Every moment of you, every line of this poem
I have slaved away while you have coasted along
You look happy, you do. So tell me what's wrong.
For I know you and I know your love
I know that nothing is what it seems after all.
I am old enough now, to know what I've lost
But it was quite the climb before the painful fall.
Perhaps that is what I felt as I wrote
But who is to say what a writer feels?
In the end, it is truly the messenger
Who decides exactly what is real
Not the composer but the arranger
For you tell what I try and conceal
You’re destroying me. You’re good for me.
You ask me to play you my chorale.
So look away as my hands touch the keys
Look away as you hear for the first time aloud
I put too much of myself into this
So please, don’t you dare turn around
The words I cannot say are hidden here
You make me vulnerable instead of proud
Look away because there is so much I don’t know
And so much I can never tell.
I love you, how lovely
How beautifully irrational
I love you, however predictably
However bizarre and unemotional
I gave in because I wanted to
Because I like to see you smile
I love you, now you’ve heard it
Sweet and somber like a chorale.
(Photo credit: Graceful)
Every time a smile falls
A beautiful flower wilts.
-Graceful
And every time a flower wilts
The earth gathers the others closer
-LadyMidnight
And every time the earth gathers the others closer
The sun smiles back, shining harder
-shenneljolly
For some reason it always makes me happy to see a little old lady driving a pickup truck.
-Fiona Ella
YWP Newsletter - 5/15/19
Hello, YWP writers! We're getting closer still to the end of school. Just think- a whole few months to relax, enjoy the weather, and, of course, write. What are you looking forward to the most?
Feel free to skip the introduction if you're a regular.
Welcome to the YWP Newsletter! These weekly newsletters are 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, sometimes focusing on a certain theme... we aim for variety in our collection each week to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give the creators of YWP a wider audience, provide the busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some that we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: check out the other newsletters, and share the link with many others who may enjoy it!
This week's featured authors and photographers are: beautiful, My Perperual We..., Marina2020, LadyMidnight, k.daigle, little elephants, and Abriatis.
YWP Happenings:
Poetry with Alexandra Contreras-Montesano is currently happening! Sign up here or join in whenever!
Read YWP's new May edition of our digital magazine, The Voice!
Respond to these prompts for potential inclusion in VT filmmaker Bess O'Brien's Listen Up Project.
Summer writing workshop with Jennifer Cohen at Vermont Commons School!
by My Perpetual We...
Make myself a new messiah,
"Trust me," I say- they know I'm a liar;
some good old-fashioned bloodletting,
you take it back- I'm not forgetting
that time they told me I was dirty-
dirty?
Little birdie,
far too wordy,
quite upsetting.
It wasn't long before it worsened,
hateful, pithy little person-
can't explain why my shows are all booked;
you say they're mad- I say they're hooked
and maybe just a little crazy-
crazy?
Slightly lazy,
eyes are hazy
since I first looked.
Burn this copy; new revision-
tripping on my tunnel vision;
dark and gritty, avant-garde,
cannot swallow- much too hard
if you've ever stopped to listen-
listen?
Twisted vixen,
pavement glistens
with glass shards.
The shades are drawn; the light is darkened
in some Kabuki cat's apartment-
a leather glove, a cigarette,
don't ask for more- that's all you get;
until you someday stop and wonder-
wonder?
Going under,
loot and plunder,
though we've never met.
Dirty velvet used for masking;
time's a bitch- though no one's asking;
pour diamonds down the kitchen sink,
I bet you've never stopped to think
about the blood those diamonds spilled-
spilled?
Nearly killed,
rather thrilled,
pen and ink.
(Photo credit: Marina2020)
by LadyMidnight
I believe in watching sunsets
And reaching your fingers up
Until you brush the sky
And have color stained fingers.
I believe in laughing and smiling
And being happy
To be alive in this moment.
I believe in spontaneous hugs
When you run up behind your friends
And just breathe them in
Holding them like you never want to let go
(you don't)
I believe in rain clouds
That stream across your fingers
As you stare at yourself in ripples of puddles
As your boots slowly fill
Until they overflow.
I believe in speaking out
Until your voice croaks from over use
And the world is a peaceful place
And equality is expected.
I believe in writing.
Putting pen to paper
Until your hand is cramping
But the waterfall of words spilling from your mouth
Is not slowing.
I believe in you.
Chances are I've never met you
But I believe that you want the best for this world and the people in it.
I know that you want change
And I know that you'll step up in the name of equality.
I believe in you.
I believe in myself
And the change that I create.
I believe in my wits
And my smile
To put me in the right place
In the right time period.
I agree with you.
I have no interest in being forgotten.
So please
Believe in me and yourself.
(Photo credit: LadyMidnight)
by k.daigle
I’ve always had trouble with words.
My whole life, they have gotten stuck in my throat,
my mind whispering to shove them back down,
where they get locked in my heart,
never to be heard.
I don’t know why my mind does it,
why it has trained me to think that
no one wants to hear my words,
my thoughts and opinions.
The only time that the lock is opened
is when I write. For whatever reason,
once I have a pencil and a piece of paper,
all those words are set free.
From there, they spill out, dance along the page,
poured from my inner self until they are their
own being. They roam where they wish,
and my heart is finally light once more.
This is my reason for writing.
I cannot speak and be who I am
without my ability to write.
What is your reason?
(Photo credit: little elephants)
asleep we stay
under the awning
of rotten boughs
and dying leaves
we're killing the planet
why aren't we doing anything?
we are
but
is it too late?
-Abriatis
Sometimes I wish I could stop time,
but then nothing would matter anymore.
Time is the essence of being alive.
Are we really born just to die?
No, we are born to use the time we are given,
and not waste it wishing we could stop it.
-k.daigle
YWP Newsletter - 5/7/19
Spring has, at last, sprung. And this spring really reminds us why we say "sprung", doesn't it? It seems as though the flowers and summer grass has bounced at us out of this still-muddy earth. I, personally, am very ready for school to end so we can enjoy this gorgeous weather. Some pieces in this week's newsletter pay tribute to the changing season. Enjoy!
Feel free to skip the introduction if you're a regular.
Welcome to the YWP Newsletter! These weekly newsletters are 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, sometimes focusing on a certain theme... we aim for variety in our collection each week to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give the creators of YWP a wider audience, provide the busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some that we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: check out the other newsletters, and share the link with many others who may enjoy it!
This week's featured authors and photographers are: Love to Write, Graceful, Rovva, DarkTruths, beautiful, shadowbird123, LadyMidnight, and adalet.
YWP Happenings:
Poetry with Alexandra Contreras-Montesano is currently happening! Sign up here or join in whenever!
Read YWP's new May edition of our digital magazine, The Voice!
by Rovva
Do you ever feel like a flower in the sun?
You’re sitting in water, your leaves soaked,
your face is to the sky, and your petals stretch.
You feel it on your face like a warm kiss
and let it hit you like rain falling from a cloud.
Does it ever occur to you that there’s dust
sitting on your desk back at home?
Did you ever realize that the paint is chipped?
Does it bother you that life is a hole
that keeps going further and further
and darker and darker
until you hit the bottom?
Did you ever notice that the bottom,
that unbreakable, cold, and dark ground,
is not the end of everything?
While you may be tempted to look down
and scratch at the bottom like a cat
scratching at the front door for a welcoming,
your life is up there waiting for you
and there’s always a rope around you,
leading you back up,
keeping you steady,
and all you have to do is give it a tug,
pull yourself up, and cling to it
because as long as you’re holding on,
it won’t let you fall.
When the sun hits your face
and you soak it in
and you’re sitting there at the top,
waiting to jump down again and start over,
do you ever feel like a flower?
(Photo credit: Graceful)
by DarkTruths
Pluto is a planet to me.
It's a small one, but a planet just like the rest.
I relate to pluto more than the average girl.
Some people would describe me as "vanilla".
Not the first choice, but still a decent flavor.
I don't want to be vanilla.
I want to be a flavor that's a first pick, not a backup when there are no other flavors.
Pluto is vanilla too.
So insignificant that even though it fits in the solar system, you almost forget it's there.
I'm so insignificant that even though I fit into social groups, you almost forget I'm there.
Pluto is so unimportant that people truly removed it's title of "planet".
But I know what it feels like Pluto.
I believe in you.
(Photo credit: beautiful)
by shadowbird123
Earth is awakening from its bitter cocoon,
Flowers unfurling like dancers,
Stems and stamens to the sun.
Life is tantalized by the novice breeze
And the promise of better days
All made by one who may not keep it.
Is spring new life or death to winter?
We bid farewell to arctic winds.
Snow and ice merging into ground
Stone warming rather than stone cold.
Green shoots appear, a nemesis to frozen earth
And warm breezes a boast to frosty gales.
That sapphire sky, so blue and clear,
Covered by thick blankets of cloud,
And woven through with rays of particulate light.
Is it a just prank, a joke of Nature?
A gift given and then revoked?
We know not.
And yet, we cannot help but enjoy it;
We’re human, after all.
Gifted in finding delight in such simple processes
As the rotation of the earth in space
And the radiation of the sun
Into the cold of the universe.
(Photo credit: beautiful)
Our currency as teenagers is peer approval.
Think about someone you envy
Then think about someone who envies you.
The second part was harder right?
Tell someone you see them
And think that they're beautiful inside and out
If everyone did this once a day
The depression rate would go way, way down
-LadyMidnight
how can i ever
hope to return home
when i know that
it has deteriorated beyond
all recognition, that
if i were to return
i'd find nothing but
a hollow shell of
who i used to be?
-adalet
YWP Newsletter- 4/29/19
Last week of April! Wow... it feels like it has gone by really quickly. The last few months of school will be over in no time. Get ready everyone.
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 eyesofIrirs, CecyRavenclawFireheart, Emilia Perry, Brooke Fontaine, Forever young, Adelle M. Brunstad, madge, James Boldosser, and hockeygirlforever.
Photo above is by Jaylin Seaman from Essex High School
YWP Happenings:
Join Alexandra Contreras-Montesano for an online poetry workshop. Learn more here.
by eyesofIris
Lying under
starchy white comforters,
listening to the
air conditioner hum
its own sweet
melody.
My mom
fiddling with the
chunky black radio,
turning and turning
the knob
until
the clinky static
gives way to
soft music.
Unfamiliar voices
filter through like
dust particles,
gently, almost
invisibly,
and then
the light shines
on them and
they're all you
can see.
Soft, kind words,
from an unknown
mouth,
whispered and
murmured as the
neon numbers
grow higher,
climbing the
ferris wheel
until they
reach the peak:
Midnight.
There's something
so sacred and
treasured about
midnight in hotel rooms.
The moon is
kissing the dark-dark
sky,
the stars are aglow.
Maybe a door or
two slam shut on
your floor,
people hurriedly
trying to get
to their rooms
and go to sleep.
They've traveled
for hours-
days, maybe.
Far from home,
they can't
wait to lie
down under the
starchy white comforter
and listen to
unfamiliar voices
murmur about
tuning in to 90.5
for more classical music.
It's what hotel rooms
are for,
after all.
Photo by CecyRavenclawFireheart
by Emilia Perry
In Vermont,
the middle of spring means everything is brown.
The mud that churns and splashes under tires on the dirt roads.
The bark of the newly-budding trees,
Wet with the rain of promised flowers to come.
The grass that remains pale and scratchy,
Newly free of its heavy winter coating.
A walk in the woods brings new life
To this time so devoid of color.
Though, it does not come in the form of visible hues.
It comes from the chirps and songs of birds,
Who have returned and brought with them such pleasant noise,
Breaking the silence of the winter months,
As barren as the cold landscape itself.
It comes from the sticky sweet sap
Oozing from the maple trees,
Collected in metal buckets,
To later coat your tongue and breakfast,
Thick and rich like honey.
It comes from the smell,
That is so strongly the smell of spring,
It’s difficult to articulate,
But emotes the new life emerging before your eyes.
It makes you appreciate the brown even more,
Because it’s evolved to be a promise,
Of the flowers' painted faces,
Soon to bloom and greet the sun.
The lush green grass,
Rolling over the hills and fields,
Like a soft, new carpet.
You’re now content to wait for the visible color,
Already feeling it swirling in the air,
Through the trees, around you.
In the form of a pleasant breeze,
Lifting the hairs on the back of your neck.
Photo by Brooke Fontaine from Essex High School
by Forever young
I’m sorry
I’m sorry for the broken heart you have tucked away
I’m sorry for your sunken soul and saddened face
I’ll stand beside you anyways
Even if you want to be locked away for forever
Even if you are convinced you are never going to get better
Because you will
My pain could never account to the heartbreak you have felt
Even if it was multiplied by a million
I can’t even imagine
But I will stand by you, your faithful friend
Who will be the crutch for your blackened heart
Because if you fill your scars with ashes
It will just tear you apart
And the tears I have cried could never account to the weight of your secrets
The weight of your pain
The weight of your emptiness
I’m sorry for your loss
But we are only 12, aren’t we?
Our whole life ahead of us
Wear your scars on your sleeve
Because sometimes they can fuel your triumphs
Look beyond your pain
I know you can do it.
Photo by Adelle M. Brunstad
Photos and Art Gallery
YWP Newsletter- 4/22/19
Welcome again to the April newsletter! Spring break is amazing. Especailly when it starts to get warm I feel deprived of fresh air during the school week. It's so refreshing and exciting to get outside this time of year.
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 Maisie N, LadyMidnight, Cate, Lodestoa1, Evi Q, and CecyRavenclawFireheart
Photo above is by Graceful
by Maisie N
Once, in Paris, when you were very young
You realized you had nowhere to go
So you took yourself to Notre Dame
Attracted by the stained glass windows
With little to nothing for you to live on
You found you were no longer alone
Now all of that may be gone
But you are still here. What do you know?
I thought, tonight I would call you up
Meet you in front of some payphone
A quarter could take us nearly anywhere
As long as you don't leave me alone
I'm just trying to keep it together
As wonders and history burn to the ground
It's true, nothing may last forever
I just hope I will always have you around.
Some damage we do cannot be undone
Some hurt, some pain, is irreversible
Sometimes we are the ones in the wrong
And even our best apologies are futile
It doesn't matter if it was 'an accident'
It happened because I wasn't careful
You can't light a flame and leave it unattended
Next to something so priceless and so beautiful.
Maybe it's because now, I'm a little older
Maybe it's wisdom still left in the cathedral
Maybe it's because, with your head on my shoulder
I felt something light up in me, like a candle
They built this city long before me, before you
Yet I think I found hope in something new
We might never be the same as we used to
But the city is buring, and I still love you.
How does one rebuild history?
How does one accept when it is lost?
The truth is, we are shockingly temporary
Outlasted by our stories and ghosts
Change might happen very slowly
But it is an undeniable, constant force
So that one day, I may look about Paris
And realize I have nowhere to go.
Photo by LadyMidnight
by Cate
I looked up from my laptop, my fingers pausing their dance across the keys. The clinking of cups on saucers and aroma of fresh espresso filled the quiet coffee shop, the scent seemingly emitting from the walls. From my quiet and cozy corner, I could see the entirety of the shop. From the local art delicately hung upon the walls, to behind the counter where the worker on shift was swaying slightly to the music playing from his headphones, but I could also see her.
She sat at the far table, right next to the window. The golden afternoon sunlight shown softly through the glass, catching her chocolate colored hair in the light. I felt my vision tranfix on her, hypnotized by the way she carefully flipped each page of her history textbook, and the way her feet, fitted in beat up white converse, tapped the rustic wooden floor, as though to the beat of a song only she could hear.
Read the whole story here!
Photo by Lodestoa1
by Evi Q
Look to the East as shadows draw near
Despite the dark, there is hope here
Embedded in the stars of twinkling light
With them there, there shall be no fright
Like a comforting hand on a child's shoulder
Stars accompany us as the night gets older
The night stretches on, fading into darkness
The only light, from the stars brightness
Look to the East as shadows draw near
Despite the dark there is hope here.
Photo by CecyRavenclawFireheart
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 Icestorm, Graceful, Maisie N, Nathaniel Steele, PeachesMalone, Ice Blink, Nightheart, and k.daigle.
Photo above is by Ice Blink
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
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.
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
YWP Newsletter- 4/8/19
Hello YWP,
It looks like Vermont is finally going to be getting some steady warm weather these next few weeks (knock on wood) so enjoy it! I love to go outside in the spring it feels a little like waking up after the long-sluggish winter. I recommend, if you have a spare minute, to go find a large oak tree on a hill and climb it barefoot- I have first-hand experience that the view is wonderful and it helps with that spring alive feeling. Keep taking beautiful pictures like the one above by LadyMidnight and share them on YWP so your photos can appear next in the Newsletter. Happy April!
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.
Contributors to this week's newsletter: LadyMidnight, Icestorm, Graceful, eyesofIris, Ice Blink, and irishjayne.
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 taken by Graceful
by eyesofIris
Broken rulers have no way to measure, and
I think fragile is another word for scared to fall.
Dusty lemons make me feel sick,
and I take back everything I just said.
Lemon scented letters-
Hands are wild adventurers.
Iris thinks the world should move slower.
Photo taken by Ice Blink
The Inconvenience of Memory
by irishjayne
Easy to forget the important things,
huh?
Brother's birthday,
French verb forms,
doctor's appointments,
the oven you left on.
So why can't I forget
the color of nail polish I was wearing?
Can't forget
my cherry earrings,
how one of my socks was white and
the other was cream (some unimportant Thursday.)
I remember the eye color
of every person I've ever liked
all the words to
camp songs, insurance jingles,
plot points of "Grey's Anatomy," season 8,
who sat next to me our last dinner in Galway,
the worst thing my mother has ever said to me.
Things that don't matter anymore.
Things that never mattered.
Things I'd like to forget.
Things I'd quickly replace with
the equation of a parabola,
or the molecular weight of water.
But my memory has a sense of humor.