YWP Community Leader Newsletter - 11.4.2019
Motion By Love to Write
If I'm being honest, November is probably my least favorite month. The color is gone from the leaves, the flowers, the fruits...pretty much everything outside is brown. As one of many writers that absorb inspiration from nature, my creativity at this time of year can feel a bit...murky. In November, it can be easy to slip into an apathetic waiting; for the holidays, for snow, for the light to come back (please!), which is exactly why I'm excited to be doing the newsletter this month! This November, I'm going to challenge myself to keep the spark of creativity alight, and what better way than to read some of the incredible work which this community creates, sun or storm. November marks a time of transition - of longer evenings and a growing appreciation of sun and warmth; a time to keep moving forward, and find the beauty in a month so often taken for granted. Let's start this transiton with poems and art that capture an array of movement and change. Luminous, pensive, tempestuous - all are beautiful.
As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP newsletter. 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 works from the past two weeks. 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 and provide our busy members a taste of recent pieces we loved. We hope you become a returning reader! Check out the other newsletters here and share the link with people you know who may enjoy it.
Contributors to this issue: annadauerman, cedar, Dramtic456, gaia_lenox, 15hensandarooster, Inkpaw, knmarcot, Love to Write, Marina2020
Stars
They are stars, glowing from afar on a dimly lit stage
Creating constellations, weaving a story of old
Rolling across the sky to reach for another
To hold each other
To lift each other
To become one with each other
If dance is the ink this story is written in
Then emotion is the pages it is written on
The underlying aspect that holds everything together
Arguments are held
Love confessions are made
Difficult times are powered through
And all without the use of a single word
With sharp turns
And dramatic gestures
And emphatic expressions
A language that transcends the rest
Every action is matched with another
Though not every action tells the same story
A lift of the arms can mean angry defiance
Or wholehearted acceptance
And every move is choreographed to synchronized perfection
By these experts in their craft
Who use every part of their bodies
Faces, arms, wheelchairs
To tell the story in a truly unique way
They are liquid puzzle pieces
Fitting and flowing together
Until you can barely see the edges
The music that guides them assists where words cannot
Swells for triumph and reconnection
Corrupted, jerky notes for panic
Thin, drawn-out pieces for tension
Placing a golden frame around an already beautiful painting
A painting of Venus and Andromeda
Arms tight around each other
In their descent
(Art credit: Inkpaw)
I can't wait for winter,
for the time when I wake up
and I hear my Mom tell me
that it's a snow day,
when I can charge down the hallway,
and practically slam down
my sister's door.
"Wanna cross-country ski?"
But, I'm just wondering
which winter will be our last
good year of skiing?
Which will be the year,
where by the time that we
wake up the snow will be slushy?
I'm just wondering
if I have a kid, whether or not
they will be able to learn
to cross-country ski in the same
backyard that I learned from.
The backyard that I grew up
watching my sisters sled down hills,
make paths to ski on,
and making forts in the snow.
I'm just wondering
how it'll feel when I have kids,
the moment when they
look me straight in my eyes
and ask me whatever happened
to the beautiful woods.
I'm just wondering
why isn't there a mandatory
class about what is happening
to our earth because
of human impact?
I'm just wondering
why there aren't rules and laws
to protect our earth from
the major destruction
we've caused.
My biggest question is,
what if there isn't an answer.
What if there is too much
carbon dioxide already
contained in our earth?
I'm just wondering what you think
I'm supposed to tell the generation
that comes after me?
That I didn't do anything to help?
I don't think so.
But, I'm just wondering.
(Photo credit: knmarcot)
Last night I fell asleep listening to the
rain hit my window
the wind blew so hard
that the house tipped over
and I slept on the walls
the heavy drops shattered the glass panes
and filled up my room
with their seeds of change
and new ideas
so I closed my eyes and
pretended the world
was not so backwards
once someone asked me
how I fell in love with lightning
why I sat at my window every night
wishing for the sky to break in half
I never told them the answer
instead I broke all the glass in my house
hoping without mirrors I wouldn’t have to worry
sometimes I dream of far away places
but with the storm beyond the glass
I dream of nothing at all
instead I wonder
if lightning ever gets self conscious
about how loud she is
I wonder if she wishes she was a sunflower
beautiful and quiet
she shatters the world in half
and opens up the sky
so I can see all the stars
I never told you how I feel like lightening
how I feel like sometimes I take up too much space
I never told you
how I love sunflowers
because I wish I could be them
I never told you
how I sing words to the stars
wishing I could sprout wings and fly
but I am the daughter of Icarus
I was not made to fly
I was made to break in half
and pour words into different colors vases
and then throw them at brick walls
just to see what happens
I tumble backwards through time
digging through the thousands of beautiful faces
to find myself
All my freckles have changed
so has my heart
I am no longer made of soft fabric and silk strings
I am made of crumpled paper
and pencil shavings and blue sky
I am made of the boy
with the square windowpanes
that keep his world from tipping over
and who smells like rain
I am made of sandboxes
and love for the ocean
I am made of a thousand different books and
nervous breaths and
carnivorous butterflies and
everything is going to be fine
Because I am the daughter of Icarus
and the walls are a good place to sleep
(Photo credit: Marina2020)
YWP Newsletter 10/21/19
Almost November... wow. There's snow on some of the mountains in Vermont already. I'm not sure I'm ready for winter yet!
Fall is a very poetic time, the natural world is so vivid this time of year and the cool temperatures are perfect for favorite sweaters and woodstoves and tea. It's a pain to have homework when all I want to do is write and explore the forest. Submit all of your fall (and otherwise inspired) work to YWP! We all love to read it.
As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP newsletter. 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 works from the past two weeks. 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 and provide our busy members a taste of recent pieces we loved. Please become a returning reader! Check out the other newsletters here and share the link with people you know who may enjoy it.
Contributors to this week's newsletter are: shadowpaw, fire girl, cedar, LadyMidnight, Graceful, and Dramatic456.
by fire girl
Colors split ways and tumble among trees.
Spilling their poetry onto the frosty ground.
Their words dance on the wind,
twirling and finally coming to cover the bare ground.
Puddles of poetry, don't step in it.
It is the breath of time, passing clouds whisper of the trees'
scandalous stripping as they make their way across the day.
Light leaves us in a flurry of cold we savor this time of year.
I smell it just as rain smells, purifying, and quenching the
the parched tongue of sunshine, the trees are very generous
giving their coats and scarves to cover Earth instead,
she is thankful and gives them back in spring.
Sometimes I wonder who you are
and who I would be if you were not.
Photo by cedar
by LadyMidnight
cracked stone, boiling blood
water won't burn me from your hands
you never see me
I'm frozen in time
a world like a cold marble
sky is parched by clouds
somehow I'm still here
but the worlds clock is ticking
somewhere there's someone
Construction paper
rockets shatter the thick glass
a soundless indent
tell me your false lies
what's this thing that you call love?
blink and you'll miss it.
be lonely with me
I won't shrink into myself
outward expansion
don't laugh at silence
tears trickle down their stone mask
ink is a loud cry
Photo by Graceful
by Dramatic456
Your cheap red nail polish leaves streaks on the paper we pass back and forth
Two different styles of handwriting, fitting together perfectly
A type of poetry, though I misspell every other word
And your grammar is atrocious
We talk about anything and everything
Except, of course, for the classwork we’re supposed to be doing
We talk about sports, and how I hope you’ll come to my game next week
We talk about the school play, and what parts you’ll try out for
And how I know you’ll get the lead role
We talk about the school dance, and how
For a few hours
I let the weight of the world fall off my shoulders
And how you saw, and pulled me into the center of the circle
A smile on your face and a laugh on your lips
But you want to talk about the boys
Which ones noticed you, which ones danced with you
And which ones were dying to talk to you but too shy to approach
I was too busy staring at you to notice a single one of them
Photo by shadowpaw
YWP Newsletter 10/6/19
Hello YWP and welcome to the first of the October newsletters. First of all, congratulations to all of the YWPers who were published in this year's anthology! The celebration this past weekend was incredible and it was inspiring to hear people perform their work.
Secondly, fall. It always amazes me how extrodinary the fall foliage is and how graceful the change from hot summer to chilly fall comes about. In my house it's a celebrated milestone when we pull out the fall sweaters and socks.
As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP newsletter. 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 works from the past two weeks. We aim for variety to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers, and musiscians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give these creators a wider audience and provide our busy members a taste of recent pieces we loved. Please become a returning reader! Check out the other newsletters here and share the link with people you know who may enjoy it.
Contributers to this week's newsletter are: LadyMidnight, It's the cat, lemondaydreams, shadowpaw, haileychase, Graceful, and Dramatic456
by It's the cat
When I first met you,
You hid behind your dad.
I stood in front of my mom,
And we stared at eachother.
Flash forward a month or so,
And we're in my bedroom,
Playing with my dollhouse and kicking all the dolls out so the animals could live there instead.
For the next three years,
Making up different imaginary games,
All so complex we forgot half of it before we started actually playing.
We would drive your older brother crazy,
And pull pranks on his friends.
Do you remember our prank war?
I do.
We would dress up in dresses that were way to big,
Or take down all the curtains in the house (much to my mom's frustration)
Just so we could play goddes girls and wear chitons.
But we pronounced them shitons. (Mentally laughing at that)
We would make really random videos about nothing in particular.
And find them funny for no good reason.
We would get into huge fights about who got to be Anna and who got to be Elsa, Who got to be the big sister and who got to be the baby.
And it was everything to us.
We saw eachother literally everyday.
I'm not even kidding.
You would help me with my spelling and I would help you with your math.
And we both loved to dance and sing,
But were just as happy to sit on the couch and do nothing.
And our favorite snack was apples and cheese,
And our favorite meal was mac and cheese.
Why am I writing all this?
So I remember.
Because then I moved away.
And we saw eachother less and less.
And we grew up apart.
And now your a sporty girl who desprately tries to be popular,
But at the same time wants to be origanal and doesn't care about boys at all.
Who still tries to dress up your cat.
And I have become a semi gothic, theatre fanatic, who doesn't like to excersize,
Unless it's dancing.
Who is original and popular and has a boyfriend she talks about way to much.
And you don't like dance anymore.
And all we do when we hang out is watch youtube.
And I haven't seem you for months.
But looking through boxes of random stuff in my room recently,
I found all my animals that we used to play with.
A card you sent me when you went away for more than forty eight hours.
The dolls we used to have fashion shows with.
The pictures and videos we took.
And all the dresses that don't fit us anymore.
And now we're both teenagers.
And we met when we were eight.
So we're drifting apart,
And it's really sad.
But I have a new best friend,
And so do you.
And we don't invite eachother to our birthday parties anymore.
So I guess this is goodbye.
A goodbye you'll never see.
Goodbye my best friend for longer than I've ever had one,
My twin who's name also starts with a G,
Goodbye.
Photo credit: lemondaydreams
by shadowpaw
dark purple is the color of secrets
and stories whispered by candlelight
dark purple was the color of our friendship
before I left
dark purple is the color of forgotten dreams
and sleepless nights spent tossing around in bed
dark purple is the color of lost memories
and dark bruises you cant recall getting
dark purple is missing what you had
long after you lost it
dark purple is the color of the world before the sun rises
still shrouded in mystery and blanketed in stars
dark purple is a heart full of regret
and a mind full of dreams.
Photo credit: shadowpaw
by haileychase
I dangle my feet off the wood dock,
my body warm from the sun.
The sun forms stars on the top of the lake,
flat and untouched by anyone.
The sun feeds the trees,
and invites the birds to sing.
The air is still, perfect, silent,
no phone around to ring.
A dragonfly passes my side,
it says hello and resumes its day.
I smile at its presence,
then watch it fly away.
The sky is bright blue sapphire,
laced with frosted white clouds.
The world is transparent and simple,
unharmed by the crowds.
Photo credit: Graceful
Tiny Write:
Is there a word for the type of love you’re not sure if you ever felt?
-Dramatic456
(the comments on this one are great)
YWP Newsletter -9/9/19
Happy Monday everyone! I hope you haven't had too much homework over the weekend. Teachers always tend to get a little enthusiastic about giving out assignments right after summer break.
Recently I found a good quote from spiritual author turned political candidate Marianne Williamson that I thought you might like to keep in mind over the next week as school keeps coming.
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our Light, not our Darkness, that most frightens us."
YWP News:
- The Community Journalism Project is here! Thanks to the grant that YWP received, there will be a lot of new challenges and ideas to help get you out in your community. Check out this special issue of the Voice for more information!
- The Writing on the Roof series is continuing! The first one this school year is the Listen Up project. Bess O'Brien is traveling Vermont looking for young adults to help her write a musical about being a teenager! I would highly suggest attending. It is on September 14 from 10 to noon at the Karma Bird House in Burlington.
- As part of the Voices for Change program, Hazel Civalier and Sophie Dauerman will be hosting a Soundcheck about Climate Justice at Burlington City Arts on the 19th of September from 6-8 pm. This is in preparation for the September 20 Global Climate Strike.
- Check out the new weekly writing challenges from YWP!
- The 2019-2020 Community Leader list has been announced! Check it out here.
- Come to the Anthology 10 celebration on October 6! It is a great event full of wonderful writing and friends. If you plan on coming, please RSVP!
- On September 24, make sure to stop by American Flatbread in Burlington VT for a benefit bake for YWP!
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 Abriatis, PeachesMalone, firegirl, Leah.W, irishjayne, Treblemaker, k.daigle, Emalie Rosamae and firegirl
By PeachesMalone
Young Writers Project is
Itself
A spell
Cast by people
With beautiful sentences
Shards of paragraphs
Revolving under a chandelier
Inside their heads
A spell
That lasts
As long as you want it to
Young Writers Project is
A night sky
Unblemished
Utterly perfected
Sculpted by words
And love
Love for human mistakes
And potential
Lovely ideas
And lovely people
Young Writers Project
Is a miracle
That we don't always appreciate
Young Writers Project is
Something
You wish you could hold
Like a pet you can cradle
In your arms
Keeping you warm
And listening
Whenever you have something to say
Young Writers Project is
Forever
Infinite
Perfect
By firegirl
Freedom has no color,
Rights own no gender,
Respect sees no age
and love knows no religion.
A perfect world.
a one we can work to,
the one that’s at the
back of everyone’s minds.
a Noticeable Fact:
all of a person’s heart
can win over hatred.
Love is a tangled garden
reaching for the stars.
The stars know no hate.
why not us?
Beauty.
The heat of a heart,
so hot sometimes it burns,
a passion deep inside you
from a holy place.
You are a feather.
A flimsy piece of cloth
blowing away on the wind.
Washing away in the current of life.
Gently warm the pieces of your heart,
no, put them in the coals.
Let them catch fire.
A flame possesses no fear of no or hate.
and what of Death?
Death has no color,
Death knows no sex or religion,
no age, wealth or ability.
I know what we are.
A rainbow.
a spectrum of color
spilling over the world.
There is no “bad” color,
no “wrong” sex or “hateful” faith.
But freedom...
Freedom is my religion.
(photo credit by Leah W.)
By Treblemaker
can you please hear more quietly
can you taste with no spice.
can you please hear my smell
can you lie down upright?
I don't ask for much,
just taste all around
breath in all the noise
and talk without sound.
can you smell all the colors
and see without sight
just hear when its quite
and touch the sunlight
please stand up while sitting
bend down while upright
can you switch right and left
and then shrink to new hight.
Of course you can! You know I am right...
now look without seeing, and lie down upright.
(photo credit by irishjayne)
It still blows my mind that the 2010's will be over in three months.
-k.daigle
I just got a puppy, her name is Maple, she says hello
-Emalie Rosamae
“When the whole world is silent, even one voice becomes powerful.”
- Malala Yousafzai
-firegirl
YWP Newsletter -9/2/19
Hello everyone! I hope that you have all had a great summer! Though school has started for many of us, keep in mind that there will be a lot of new and exciting things on YWP this fall! Enjoy the warmth while it lasts and have a great start to your school year!
YWP News:
- The Community Journalism Project is starting! Thanks to the grant that YWP received, there will be a lot of new challenges and ideas to help get you out in your community. Check out this special issue of the Voice for more information!
- The Writing on the Rooftop series is continuing! The first one this school year is the Listen Up project. Bess O'Brien is traveling Vermont looking for young adults to help her write a musical about being a teenager! I would highly suggest attending. It is on September 14 from 10 to noon at the Karma Bird House in Burlington.
- As part of the Voices for Change program, Hazel Civalier and Sophie Dauerman will be hosting a Soundcheck about Climate Justice at Burlington City Arts on the 19 of September from 6-8 pm. This is in preparation of the September 20 Global Climate Strike.
- Check out the new weekly writing challenges from YWP!
- The 2019-2020 Community Leader list has been announced! Check it out here.
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, dogpoet, Icarus Blackmore, firegirl, Graceful, Abriatis, Marina2020 and The-Unknown-Poet
By dogpoet
When you
Divide the mile you need to walk
By the number of times you’ll take breath
And move forward that one step
You’ll get a lot
A daunting number that is not
Encouraging you to walk.
But when you divide your mile by a lot
You’ll get that one step
That you need to take to walk.
(photo credit by Icarus Blackmore)
By firegirl
The sky is a painting our
eyes adjust to every morning.
Sometimes we fight all night.
but the stars turn theirs back and
watch spiteful and dead.
the rain can try and bring us back
together but it will last for only a moment.
our waters are slowly poisoned,
our trees burning,
our land spoiled.
the sky will try and please us,
in hopes that we will spare it.
but breathers are very hard to please.
still the sky does its best.
sometimes picnic in the meadow,
sometimes hide under blankets.
we fall, our bodies broken.
no stars to reignite our fire.
our bodies settle
yours upon mine,
mine upon the millions of
droplets.
each a poem made
and forgotten.
breathed once
and left out in the rain.
(photo credit by Graceful)
By Abriatis
lingering scent of chamomile
washing over everything, a gentle wave
goodbye
a sip of tea
warming the mouth,
the soul
rocking of the chair
back and forth, back and forth
again
shooting stars up above
a careful wish, a quiet
plea
to who-knows-what,
for who-knows-what, but
a wish nonetheless.
(photo credit by Marina2020)
Everything is new
New location
New faces
New air
I think I like it
-Marina2020
I want to write, I swear I do. But I can't. I think I'm facing down writer's block. Again...
-The-Unknown-Poet
YWP Newsletter -6/24/19
Happy Summer YWP! I am really excited that summer has arrived because it's my favorite season but also because it has been a crazy winter/spring! I'm happy that the world has waken up and the days are warm and sunny. Speaking of summer, this week has some of my favorite June national holidays! National Pralines Day, National Strawberry Parfait day and National Ice Cream Cake day are all coming up this week. Mmmm... Anyway, I hope you enjoy this week's newsletter and have a wonderful week full of love, laughter and joy!
YWP Happenings:
Read the June issue of the Voice!
Write using the prompts from the Summer of Stories contest!
Contribute to sophie d.'s Good Thoughts project!
Sign up to write with Jennifer Cohen at her Vermont Commons based writing workshop!
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 lia.chien, Love to Write, LadyMidnight, fire girl, lila woodward, shenneljolly, Abriatis, futurefemalepitcher and k.diagle
(Photo credit by lia.chien)
By Love to Write
This morning the sun,
beyond the birch grove,
ripened like a summer peach.
The river rushed to the ocean.
My body was a core of closet dust.
This morning dark stones on a ledge
descended in handfuls:
slipping into each other,
tumbling like an uptight crowd.
His gaze drops like a feather
to the wilted corner of the vacant bedroom
where a pile of ruffled notebooks
sit slouched, untouched
in over a year.
You promise yourself
not to be static,
not to get stuck,
not to be a moon for someone
else's planet.
The boy behind the blue cash register
at the corner store accidentally
circles you in his sleep.
When you were younger
you revolved around a model
of Pluto, downsized
and jammed into a jar.
Usually, bookshelves
hold people adept to looping
the lip
of sink drains and kissing
Icarus goodbye before leaving
the house in a rainstorm.
This morning I found the boy
from the corner store
with his hand on the nape
of his neck,
holding words like dirt
under his nails,
searching for some kind of delicate love
I didn't know the name for.
(Photo credit by LadyMidnight)
By fire girl
the child closest to you
will change
the world.
life
as we know it
will turn into a dream we
once had and fade like history.
the rain clouds sing.
a pattering song about
the sky.
you watch them.
in this world, you lost.
purely by paying them notice.
decide whether you feel in your chest
the beat you hear through
the rain.
the subtext in your heart.
as if all is right and made of beauty.
the rain calls you
and if you could fly,
you would follow.
and you can't tell when I'm lying,
because you've believed me this far.
(Photo credit by lia.chien)
By lila woodward
my heart sunk
when she told me to
calm down
because
funny enough
freaking out used
to be our thing
over small things
big things
anything.
we were the good ones
the ones untouched by the outer world. the ones with
kind souls
and lawful lips
but now those lips are sealed tight
around a brown
glass bottle
and i am being told to
calm down.
everyone does it.
i’m a city girl now.
calm down, i am told.
funny enough
calming her down
to be my thing
i was the less-anxious-but-still-very-anxious-one.
i would calm her down
over small things.
big things
anything.
push and pull
used to be our thing
but now i think i pull and
she runs away.
(Photo credit by Abriatis)
hey! we’re all writers on here XD cool
-shenneljolly
The older I get, the more I wish for days
where nothing mattered except
watching Spongebob and
what color popsicle I wanted.
Now life is just....
boring adult stuff.
-k.diagle
What is a strawberry?
A fruit.
What is a fruit?
A food.
What is food?
Nourishment.
What is nourishment?
Something to keep us alive.
Everything is to keep us alive.
-futurefemalepitcher
YWP Newsletter -6/17/19
Hello everyone! I am so happy that summer is finally in full swing. Every day is warm and the sun is beautiful! For this week's newsletter, I chose a variety of pieces that made me stop in my tracks and read them over and over again. I hope you will enjoy them as much as I did. Also, congratulations to the administrators of YWP for receiving a national grant! We all thank you for what you have done for us and our work. On a final note, please keep writing and especially keep taking photos. It makes these newsletters and other featured publications all the better! Have a great day :)
YWP Happenings:
Read the June issue of the Voice!
Write using the prompts from the Summer of Stories contest!
Contribute to sophie d.'s Good Thoughts project!
Sign up to write with Jennifer Cohen at her Vermont Commons based writing workshop!
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, Nightheart, Emily Van Dyke, Icestorm, Roses and Summer, little elephants, and Leah W.
(Photo credit above by Graceful)
by Emily Van Dyke
You're 15, scared at a family reunion,
mustering the courage to tell.
It's noon and your plan was to have already told
them what your lips have been dying to say.
Your grandmother and uncle question you on what you've
“learned” in school, but you zone out the moment you start to watch their lips.
Your grandmother steps closer to your white shirt,
jean pants, and pin.
She realigns her eyes to the picture, on the thin metal piece of jewelry
“...a rainbow...” you look into her eyes trying to pry out the words she's about to speak.
“Why a rainbow, does it mean anything?”
You look down as your chest concaves to pressure.
“No,”
you say as you feel your head plummet to what feels like past your knees.
Your heart - your lungs - your knees themselves, so weak.
You’re so mad, you want to tell them about your girlfriend
and how happy she makes you.
But how can you tell them,
when their eyes are so sharp?
Sharper than glass.
Sharper than blades.
(Photo credit by abrieart)
by Graceful
Look up little girl,
See those stars?
They are your future.
Even if the earth wobbles
They will always stand still and strong above you.
Look up little girl,
Don’t look down
That is our past,
We humans have not done our best,
But your generation will change the future.
Look up little girl,
The sky holds the possibilities
The ground is only your cracked base
You have nothing to worry about
So just believe you can save us.
Look up little girl,
Don’t look sad,
Remember those stars?
They will always be there lighting up the night sky.
(photo credit by Graceful)
by Nightheart
it was the most
beautiful shade of
blue,
the flag that
was imprinted on her skin,
right next to her eyes
that shone brown.
and then the
king that had thrown
a revolution of hate
decided that he didn't like the fact
that she wore it so beautifully.
This is the story of
a people's rebellion.
rebellion.
Once upon a time,
the king went throughout the kingdom
and ripped it off people,
one by one,
when he decided that they didn't fit
with what he thought was right.
he looked at the people
whose flags where still slowly
being drawn on,
who had chosen it out of love
or come here out of desperation
and decided that the way that they
clashed a little with the other colors
against their skin was
and abomination and he tore
the newly growing things off.
he looked at the people
whose flags melded with their
deep rich skin and decided
he didn't like how beautiful they looked
in spite of all the pain it had taken
for their flags to paint across their skin
and dumped bleach over
each and every one of them.
he looked at the people
that had the rainbow colors mixed in
with their stars and stripes
and decided that he like it better
when everything was black and white
and we couldn't see the rainbow,
when people were hidden
in secret instead of proud
and he tried to repaint them
and force them to let the rainbow
out of their skin.
he looked at the people
that wore their flags in all different
shapes and sizes and decided
he didn't like that they lived outside
of the stereotypes so he tried
to force their flags into tiny dresses
so he could reach down them easier.
but he didn't remember
that the people had a will
of their own.
that the flag had a will
of it's own, and it was tired
of being drawn on only
one type of person,
one type of body,
the flag was tired of being
wrapped and used as a means
to justify anything.
so when he tried to rip off
the still growing flags of the
immigrants and the refugees
they turned around
and looked him in the eye
and shouted him down in all the
different languages that they
had grown up with,
and their flags melded to their skin
a little tighter.
when he dumped bleach
all over their skin,
he watched in shock as
nothing happened,
because he forgot over the course
of their lives they had tried
so many times to wipe their skin off,
and it never worked,
because this skin was strong,
it was beautiful,
and their flags grew a little
brighter.
when he tried to make everything
black and white again,
it didn't work, because what he
didn't realize was that the rainbow
weaving through their veins was
never a choice,
it defied any that tried to force
it into their definition of normal,
and the rainbow and the flag
weaved a little tighter together.
when he tried to smooth his
hands over the dresses he'd made,
he found that the flag had reformed
itself and was whatever the
women wanted it to be so he fled
in terror as they chased after him
because after decades of smothering
and choking under expectations,
the women wanted to be free,
and the flag wrapped around them
in whatever they wanted it to be.
and the people crowded around him,
their flags brighter than ever,
and they told him that this flag never
belonged to him,
never his right to decide who it was worthy
of or not,
and the people
revolted.
(photo credit by Icestorm)
Below are a few of the beautiful and insightful responses to one of the Summer of Stories challenges, Haiku-form!
Apple tree blossoms,
Growing with each spring shower,
Will become sweet fruit.
-Leah W.
It dives out of the hole.
The bird will return with worms.
Intrigued, I watch.
-Roses and Summer
Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick
I think my clock is broken
Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock
-little elephants
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