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.
YWP Newsletter - 03/25/2019
Hello everyone, and sorry for the delay. I know I'm probably the millionth teenager to say this for the billionth time - but this past weekend was a bit crazy. Those of you - most of us - balancing school with work with family with friends likely know how sometimes, no matter how frantically you weave back and forth, something is bound to fall off that teetering tower. When that happens, the momentary stillness creates an opportunity to restack and strengthen the tower. Today, amid turbulent scrambling, these pieces reminded me that even within chaos, calm and clarity can be found.
As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP Newsletter for new readers. 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 Issue features the creations of: eyesofiris, Fiona Ella, Graceful, LadyMidnight, Love to Write, Roses and Summer Dreams, srublee19, and zazu
YWP HAPPENINGS:
Writing on the Roof: How to Write a Killer College Essay with Denise Shekerjian - Tuesday, March 26, 6 PM - 7:30 PM
Check out YWP Events 2019 for more information on these events and other ongoing opportunities.
An ambulance siren wails through the night,
Its pitch rising and falling in the crisp winter air.
Pedestrians scurry on the sidewalk, many floors below my bedroom window,
And I could wonder:
Where are they going?
What are they thinking?
But I will never know as I sit and gaze out over the city.
The city that never sleeps.
An explosion of light in the darkness,
With shimmering skyscrapers,
And tall buildings, that glow over streets, shedding their light.
I zip up my jacket, and open my apartment door.
My boots tap softly on the hall carpet.
I ride the elevator down to the lobby,
And then go out into the street.
Outside, where the only view is at eye level.
It makes me feel small to know that someone could be looking down at me right now,
The way I looked at them.
The sky is a dark shade of navy blue.
The people are many shades too,
As they blend together into one large crowd,
To make a rainbow at night,
Under the stars.
Luminescent stones leap out to rest under my feet-
candles have no place telling me it's too dark to see.
Asterisks seem like lonely perfectionists, and
my thoughts don't fit me the way I want them to.
Is there a reason why Sundays make me so sad?
The gritty hugs from relatives make me uneasy-
marshmallows armed with stickiness.
Rough magenta crayons barely being held together,
wax is untrustworthy.
(*written using cut-up poetry technique* from the Beat Poets workshop)
(Photo Credit: Graceful)
I relearned today
about Earth's seven layers.
I knew about them in 6th grade
but only in hazy, nondescript detail.
Scientists' knowledge about the Earth
is only based on hypotheses.
We don't actually know for sure
what we are standing on every day.
All these layers of uncertainty
reminded me of myself.
Do I have a mantle?
What's really inside of me?
Could someone tell how solid I am just by holding me?
I cry when something inside me shifts.
Am I all that measurably different from earthquakes?
Are we defined by our core's composition,
or just by the way we feel when we are proven to exist?
(Photo Credit: srublee19)
Tiny Writes Spotlight
I am lost in this world, now.
Taking in its beauty.
I probably spend two to three hours here-only in a day.
Not only writing. But reading,exploring and fussing over beautiful work.
Let me walk through this place, with no guiding hand.
Just me and the screen.
And the big world ahead.
I know this is a place I look forward to.
"I will overflow my cup.
Exceed.
Sail through rough winds.
Let me write.
No need for anything else. Nothing is stopping me.
Let me write.
And explore the big world ahead."
- Roses and Summer Dreams
"If you take the petals off of a rose
It will still be a rose."
- Graceful
"Every time boredom drives me to think about the moment compared to the future, my grasp on the concept of time starts slipping away from me."
- Fiona Ella
YWP Newsletter - 3/18/219
As the sap begins to flow in the March maples, youth across the country are putting their drop in the bucket. This past Friday, students skipped school to demand that their government take urgent climate action. On this so - called "Friday for the Future", my school chose to speak out in a different way. As a member of the Environmental Action Club, I helped to collect nearly seven - hundred and fifty postcards urging key Vermont representatives to support action to protect our deteriorating climate. As I sat down to write my postcards, I was prompted to think of why I specifically care about climate change. I immediately thought of my little sisters. I recalled the times I feel closest to them; sitting on the couch, or just the floor, a book spread across our laps, sharing our love of reading. When I was their age, my favorite was the Lorax. I loved the whimsical verse, and later, how it reminded me of the importance of respecting the planet. A few lines in particular stuck with me: “But now," says the Once-ler, "now that you're here, the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear. UNLESS someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.” Please hold these words in mind as you read the following poems, which illustrate the impacts of action - and inacton.
As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP Newsletter for new readers. 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 Issue features the creations of: Adelle M. Brunstad, beautiful, LadyMidnight, PeachesMalone, Rovva, srublee19, and willow tree.
YWP HAPPENINGS:
Special SoundCheck on Social Justice led by YWP's Charlotte Hughes, Rebecca Orten, and Rajnii Eddins - THIS THURSDAY! March 21, 6 PM - 8 PM (there's pizza!)
Writing on the Roof: How to Write a Killer College Essay with Denise Shekerjian - Tuesday, March 26, 6 PM - 7:30 PM (there's pizza!)
Check out YWP Events 2019 for more information on these events and other ongoing opportunities.
(Heading Photo Credit: willow tree)
Today I cried.
I cried because my teacher sat down my class and made us watch a documentary on how we are killing coral reefs.
It showed pictures of beautiful plants and animals thirty years ago
Then showed us pictures of dead coral skeletons that were white against the murky ocean.
They told us that we could fix it and make the coral come back alive
But it still won't be the same.
Did you know that if it were not for the ocean
Our daily tempratures would be over 100 degress Farenheit?
I teared up at a photo of nothing.
The coral was just dead.
It looked like someone had thrown litter there and never taken it out.
Climate change.
That's what's causing this.
Our oceans are warming because of all the carbon in the air
And we are killing animals.
It is highly frowned upon in our society to kill thousands of people.
But the ironic thing is that humans are killing animals and plants every day.
So much destruction.
Does this make me a murderer?
A bad person?
Maybe.
But at least I recognize the problems.
Thinking about it now
I don't think I was crying that the reefs are dying.
I was crying because we are not working hard enough to save them.
(Photo Credit: srublee19)
Energy doesn't have to hurt people
Energy doesn't have to cause people to leave the land
That they grew up on
That their parents grew up on
It's not worth it
Methane popping up in people's water
Lighting on fire by the touch of a match
This is not a natural occurrence
A pocked landscape
Covered with places cleared from bushes and trees
For wells
Of oil
I just learned that solar, wind power and hydro electricity could cover all the energy demands of the world
What are we waiting for?
Are we waiting for corporations to realize
That their money is not worth the fate of the earth
The fate of all the young people who didn't start
This
Enormous
Mess?
What are we waiting for?
Are we waiting
For the government
The oil companies
The coal companies
To understand that their money
Their lobbying
Their non-disclosure agreements
Are not worth the suffering
The pain
And the frustration of all the people not old enough to vote
This is the only world we have
If we hurt it
There will be nothing left
There are so many problems
Issues
Ideas
Wishes
Movements
That we can fix
That we can fight for
But if we dobn't have a healthy planet that we can call home
We won't be able to fight for anything else
(Photo Credit: beautiful)
to live with purpose is
to see the world in singing starlight
a beguiling black canvas
studded with moments of
existential ecstacy
a star to every time
we have raised our voices
against the thunder
and became the vein
of light which shot
into the hearts of darkness
a moon to every minute
we listened
so that every word dropped
into our wellsprings
of knowledge
or so the speaker
could rest with the knowledge
that somebody listened.
(Photo Credit: LadyMidnight)
Tiny Writes Spotlight
I had a dream last night
that was someone was tattooing over my scars
with lines that looked like scars
as a way of tracing them and making them apparent.
It was like my brain was trying to tell me
to make pain into art.
- Rovva
I am so lucky that my water doesn't light on fire when I stick a match under it. - PeachesMalone
YWP Newsletter - 03/10/2019
As the late - winter sun begins to reluctantly give us just a few more degrees of warmth, the slowly inching spring brings with it both obligation and celebration, one of the most recent of which being International Women's Day. Throughout that day, I saw many posts on social media recognizing inspiring women from all places and proffesions. This seems to be a wonderful, far reaching way to honor amazing women, but impossible for me to join in, as I could never choose who to recognize. There are so many incredible women out in the world, and in my life, who I admire, that it was hard to know where to start. Of course, I found inspiration in writing. While reading the posts over the past week, a few stood out to me in the way the expressed a strength in their purpose - though their topics are quite different. I realized that I admired all the women who came to mind for their strength in their chosen purpose; whether it be strength shown in love, dedication, work, art, sacrifice, or one of the myriad of other manifestations. These pieces reminded me that we all - individuals, families, trees...- have the spark to light this strength, and with much work and care, we may someday hope to be as dedicated, creative, or selfless; as strong as those we most admire.
As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP Newsletter for new readers. 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 Issue features the creations of: Adelle M. Brunstad, beautiful, Graceful, LadyMidnight, lana.W, and My Perpetual Wednesday.
YWP HAPPENINGS:
Writing on the Roof #4 : Writing Like the Beat Poets with Angela Palm - Saturday, March 16th, 10am - 11:30am
Special SoundCheck on Social Justice lead by YWP's Charlotte Hughes, Rebecca Orten, and Rajnii Eddins - March 21
6 - 8pm
Check out YWP Events 2019 for more information on these events and other ongoing opportunities
(Heading Photo Credit: beautiful )
Listen to the wind.
Like a man who has sinned,
It thrashes and screams and shouts.
Our hopes may have thinned
but it's only the wind.
Let go now of any and all doubts.
The heavens now cry,
As trees and leaves fly.
But children are calmed and regaled.
So worry not why,
Just let the clouds cry.
You're safe now, the doors have been nailed.
Sam put that down!
Sweet Emma don't frown.
This storm will be all over soon
We’re all safe for now.
Then we’ll all go lay down
Beneath the pale light of the moon.
It’s just one more hour
Till we don’t have to cower.
And the sun is shining again.
The earth will then flower,
In this short, golden hour.
There's no need to fret, my friend.
(Photo credit: Graceful)
I am 237 years old today,
the oldest tree in this forest. I am
a living measurement of time, a history book in
its most natural form. Wizened by decades of observation
witness to catastrophes and wonders you will never know
but there is one tradgety I will tell you. One of every twelve
trees in Vermont are ash trees like me and their wails in the wind warn
of imminent death in the form of an emerald beetle. Their larvae grow under
our bark, feed on our flesh, blocking our transportation of water and
nutrients until our skin becomes brittle and splits, our crowns of
foliage fall and we die of thirst and starvation. These invasive
aliens won't stop until we've all collapsed, returning
to the earth we once arose from. You may
be thinking "Its just
trees, why should
we care?" Our lives
are more intwined
than you realize.
We take your exhales
and turn them into
inhales. We help
make your Green
Mountains green.
If your ancestors had
not used our wood to make
paper what would you know of
the past? If they had no wood to
make shelters, to start fires for warmth,
to cook food, perhaps you would have never existed.
All we ask for in return is for you to not be indifferent.
For as fast as the emerald ash borer spreads, let these words spread faster. Don't let my story die with me.
Because if I fall in the forest and no one is there to hear me, I will not make a sound.
(Photo credit:beautiful )
I am the nobody you taught me to be.
I am the one that seems to disapear before your very eyes.
I could easily get away with many crimes
Because people's eyes glaze right over me
Like they don't want to see me.
And maybe they don't.
Maybe if they see me I'll have power
Choices that they don't want me to make.
I'll be the person that they don't want me to be.
Free
Full of liberty
Laughing at the walls that obstruct me.
We have all been taught to be nobodies
To be silent
To sit down
To be compliant
Because that is how we survive.
But what if stopped trying to survive
And started to thrive?
Become somebodies?
Make eye contact with everyone?
I was the nobody you taught me to be
But now I am the somebody changing expections
And lighting the way.
(Photo credit: LadyMidnight)
Tiny Write Spotlight
"Whenever you get discouraged about your writing and wonder if you'll ever improve just remember that David Bowie went from "The Laughing Gnome" to "Space Oddity" in the space of two years.
Never heard "The Laughing Gnome"?
I guarantee that you've already written many things far, far better than that awkward little piece of history, so technically you're already one step ahead of David Bowie.
You're one step ahead of David Bowie.
Guys... you've got this."
- My Perpetual Wednesday
YWP Newsletter - 03/04/2019
Hello again everyone, I'm excited to be back and editing this month! Like the previous editor, I was inspired by Alexandra Contreras - Montesano's Poetry Workshop . I was fortunate to be able to attend and write at this workshop, where I was struck by the strength and beauty of the poetry shared there; that of other writers, and the participants. Alexandra spoke of the power of writing from personal experience to create a rich poem that connects with its readers. For this issue, I have chosen poems that I feel emulate at least an aspect of that aim, whether they bring a personal honesty, emotional poignancy, or a strong self awareness, these pieces are beautifully powerful.
As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP Newsletter for new readers. 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 Issue features the creations of: eyesofiris, Graceful, Harper the Lee, k.daigle, Lady Midnight, Nathanial Steele, Rovva, and Rubber Soul
YWP HAPPENINGS:
Writing on the Roof #4 : Writing Like the Beat Poets with Angela Palm - Saturday, March 16th, 10am - 11:30am
Special SoundCheck on Social Justice lead by YWP's Charlotte Hughes, Rebecca Orten, and Rajnii Eddins - March 21
6 - 8pm
Check out YWP Events 2019 for more information on these events and other ongoing opportunities
(Heading Art Credit: Tim S. )
I love with my hands
When my heart has nothing left to give.
I reach out to those flailing on the edge of a distant darkness
That threatens to swallow them up.
My scarred hands hold them
And my calluses mold their memories
Into hope and possibilities.
I love with my head
When my hands have slipped away.
I love thoughts and odd little quirks that bubble to the surface of the world.
I love crafting words into their shapes
And spilling thousands of ideas into the unprinted universe
Only to have them inked there forever.
I love with my spirit
When my thoughts become muddled.
My passion loves the world and tendrils of my dreams drift into depression.
I love without question because everything deserves a chance
To show its magic and beauty.
But you say I do not love you.
I did love you once long ago.
But you broke my heart into a thousand shimmering pieces with your harsh words.
And now a new love is growing
(Photo Credit: Graceful )
You stood by my side.
I held your hand,
Clutching it like a small child.
A drumming echoed in my
fingertips. The same
Drumming I felt when
We stepped on that rollercoaster.
When we walked into the first
Day of middle school.
And as we stepped onto
The dock, the old, withered,
worn out dock
Something felt.
Different.
We had been there
A million times.
Our footprints had left
Traces, on the history
Of that old time dock.
History.
A boat in the distance.
I was ready to get on that
Boat with you.
It neared us, an unfamilar
But welcomed prescence.
Unfamiliar.
I was excited. You were excited.
There was a connection,
A tie, a rope
That pulled us closer
And closer to that loan
Sailboat in the distance.
Little did you know, my friend,
That that rope was tied
Around myself as well.
I suppose the feeling wasn't
Mutual.
And you, my friend, weren't
Ready to get on that sailboat.
With me.
So you took it upon yourself
To untie that rope.
But in order for you to get
On that boat without me,
I had to help you untie it.
You asked me for that sacrifice.
And I wasn't ready.
But our history, our
Bond.
My love.
So, alas, I helped you untie
That wretched rope.
And you thanked me.
But nothing could heal
My resent for you,
Other than you coming back
And retying that rope.
You seemed happy.
I watched you skip away
As the sailboat pulled into
The dock.
And you got on that sailboat.
I could feel your fingers slipping
Away, although you had already let
Go.
I missed you.
And maybe you missed me.
But in a way, you were the one
Who untied that rope.
And it's okay.
You didn't even say goodbye...
(Photo Credit: Rubber Soul)
Because sometimes
I get this feeling
in my chest,
as if my heart is
in a locked drawer,
and no one in
the world has a key.
Because I've wished
on every eyelash and
flickering flame
that one day
I might hear
your voice say my name.
Because I spend my nights
scribbling half-full poetry
into faded notebooks
that are too quiet
for me to share any secrets with.
Because 4 is my lucky number-
I was born on the 4th in '04,
there are 4 other people in
my family, I write 4 poems
about you every day.
I think about college every
4 minutes,
and there are 4 letters
in my name.
Because my clock is always
off a minute,
can never get the answer right,
has slight antisocial issues,
can sometimes be passive aggressive,
and might
be my soul as an object.
Because words
can be measured,
because their weight is so delighfully solid,
because they'll never let me
down, because they always murmur
your name,
because they catch me when
I trip or fall or skip or
land face down in muddy puddles.
Because I'm writing
this poem, because somewhere
in the world,
another little girl
is dreaming.
(Art Credit: Nathanial Steele)
Tiny Write Spotlight
YWP NEWSLETTER - 2/26/19
Hello writers, artists, and readers to the Newsletter! This week's writing features Abecedarian-style writing, introduced in Alexandra Contreras-Montesano's Writing on the Roof workshop Feb. 23. Check the upcoming events for more great opportunites to grow as a writer!
Skip this next part if you're a YWP newsletter 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: LadyMidnight, abartell, angelaweasley, Graceful, eyesofIris, beautiful, Hazel. C., SodaPop, and futurefemalepitcher.
YWP Happenings:
Coming up! Writing on the Roof Workshops!! 4th workshop: "Writing Like the Beat Poets" with Angela Palm! March 16th, 10:00 - 11:30 am, rooftop conference room, Karma Bird House, 47 Maple Street, Burlington. Learn more and SIGN UP workshop #4 here.
Next month- YWP's SoundCheck!! Explore social justice on Thursday, March 21 from 6-8 pm at Burlington City Arts, 135 Church St., Burlington, VT!
Read YWP's digital magazine, The Voice!
by angelaweasley
Airports feel like slipping
beneath security lines and
constantly losing purchase on people.
Darting over connected seats to glass windows,
everywhere is somewhere to watch you leave.
Finding which plane to track
gets difficult as
horizons blur
into shapes of you.
Just another few years to
kill waiting for you in the
lobby of departures.
Maybe next time you’ll get me a
new apology from the airport gift shop. I keep the last
one with me at night
pretending I’m still the child you bought it for. Sometimes I
question if you
remember me.
Sometimes I question if I lost you in
the sky or if it was on the
underground train to terminal C. I don’t remember
very well. But I can’t seem to forget
why we say goodbye in front of the full body
x-ray machine. I always hope the security line is long because
you have to hug me for longer, before you
zip up your suitcase, wave, and slip away.
(Photo credit: abartell)
by eyesofIris
age 5, standing
before a cloudy mirror,
can't decide between purple or
dark red hair bows.
eleven minutes pass,
finally time to leave.
go on, let's
hurry, hurry,
Iris,
jagged stickers are still my favorite
keepsakes, love is twirling around in a tutu.
liquid dreams fill up my bones,
marshmallow melodies play in my mind.
nudges from reality sneak past
over meadows of thoughts.
purple bows rule over my hair,
queens of the umber waves.
resting on my wrist are
seven bracelets, a pinkbluegreenyelloworange
titanic monstrosity, all the color in the world.
uncloaked, my soul shows a thousand
vivid candles, all on fire and
waiting to be wished upon.
xylophone lullabies, blow out
your candles, darling girl, watch as your wish
zips into the cloudless sky.
(Photo credit: Graceful)
by Hazel. C.
All it takes is one fly in the web
beckoning the stabbing spider who
carries a cacophony of
deadly jaws and
electric yellow warnings of
fiery venom that liquifies me in a single
gaping bite.
Her window - wide eyes reflected mine,
intricately cracked and mended in a pattern
just clean enough to hold.
Kin are the stitches to an embroidered
love: stiches fray as
moths gnaw at any bright perfection.
Never take pearly bindings as an end
on which to balance your happiness;
perhaps dove wings shall spread,
quitely pumping the blood that
reddens in an instant
soaking the web of doily - lace.
Tangled in the glimmering silks of
unfulfilled whispers between wings,
venom beats with the reverberations of a failing heart.
(Photo credit: beautiful)
a celestial trio
Where does the Sun go on a rainy day? Does it run and hide, finding somewhere else to play? Maybe it goes to hang out with the moon. Or maybe it sleeps, waiting till noon. When the clouds part and the shower ceases. And back is our wonderful warm playful sun.
-SodaPop
I begged the moon to stay, but it kept on getting smaller
Before one day it was gone.
Then it came back and my smile was almost as bright as
The moon its self.
-Graceful
The sun and moon are siblings.
And the stars are the blanket that keeps them inside the warm family bed.
-futurefemalepitcher
YWP NEWSLETTER - 2/18/19
Happy February, everyone! We'll make it through 2019 somehow! Let's savor our last beautiful Vermont winter weeks. . .until the dreaded mud season. Has anyone been celebrating those fun little holidays? ;) See the last newsletter for a list of them.
Skip this next part if you're a YWP newsletter 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: fran.cesca, Rovva, beautiful, mythicalquill, adalet, abartell, irishjayne, Love to Write, hmseymour, and InezL
YWP Happenings:
Coming up! Writing on the Roof Workshops!! 3rd workshop: "Exploring Poetry" with Alexandra Contreras-Montesano! Febuary 23rd, 10:00 - 11:30 am, rooftop conference room, Karma Bird House, 47 Maple Street, Burlington. Learn more and SIGN UP workshop #3 here.
Next month- YWP's SoundCheck!! Explore social justice on Thursday, March 21 from 6-8 pm at Burlington City Arts, 135 Church St., Burlington, VT!
Read YWP's digital magazine, The Voice!
by Rovva
I am not a robot.
You would believe the opposite,
but I devour the humanity you leave behind.
The world outside of our cages is cruel
and condescending.
Mom and Dad don't know how to tell their kids
that we won't live forever,
so they make us feel as though we are invincible
even though our fragile minds are defeated with repetition
again and again
and again...and again...
Ah, tell me about it.
They tell us that one day,
we’ll become just as great,
but we don’t want to become great,
we just want to become something.
Many want to become anything other than Mom and Dad
and that’s the sad truth.
They’re supposed to set a prime example,
But their artificial minds have been permanently wired.
There’s no change in circuit.
It’s just the same old dialogue.
Our brains are being ground by the media
and the program is forced down our throats.
We are given half-truths
and if not that,
then lies piled onto a spoon and chugga-chugga-choo-choo!
Here comes the lie train!
Open wide!
Chomp!
We gobble it down because we're all just children
and we are the children of children.
How could any of us know better
when our young minds are taught by those feeding us
who are the better liars
and those that criticize us
who are the better judgement?
We are programmed like robots
to do what we were born to do;
make money,
follow the rules,
stay in line,
make a change,
but keep your mouth shut,
wear a tie if you’re a boy,
wear a skirt if you’re a girl,
and if you’re a boy, pull up your sleeves.
if you’re a girl, pull up your stockings.
Don’t show your legs too much.
You look like a hooker.
Don’t wear makeup.
You look like a girl.
Our parents scowl when they see us
because they keep thinking we’re caught on overdrive,
but how could we be okay?
Our metal minds are melding
and we’re beginning to think that it’s all wrong.
The system is corrupted
and we’ve been told to just fall in line,
but we know so well that it won’t change for us.
We know what you did.
There's an error in your data,
but you have chosen corruption
over correction.
We are surrounded by machines driving machines.
Oh, the disbelief and horror,
but they leave it to us to repair ourselves.
How can we know better
when they refuse to let us know
and their regrets are passed down
through their most deadly lie,
love.
What kind of love is so unempathetic?
Could it really be unconditional
when the children of children
are playing in a dollhouse together
and the moment one steps out from behind the plastic doors,
the other shuts them in.
I’m not a robot.
I’m as close to a human as I want to be.
I may not be fully mature,
but I know what I want.
I would rather live in blood and flesh
than be tangled in wires and code,
so I implore you,
check ‘yes’ if you’re not a robot.
Metal hearts may be durable,
but can they really ache?
(Photo credit: beautiful)
Writing and art by mythicalquill
Colin’s jacket is dark, heavy, sturdy—although there’s barely a hint of a chill in the thick summer’s night air. Its many pockets are full, almost as jam-packed as the tattered suitcase that lays beside him on the dented metal bench. But despite his preparedness, his head echoes with the taunting notion that something has been forgotten, something left behind unnoticed in his rush to leave home that morning. Reaching into his jeans, he grabs the remains of a dry granola bar, half-eaten on a bus ride that seems ages ago.
Whatever it was he’d forgotten, it’s not snacks.
Munching away, Colin scruffs his boot against the grainy concrete as the music in his ears attempts to soothe his nervous, tapping fingers. The last bus has long since come and gone from this stop, the streetlamp to his left flickering tiredly against the sky. The moon, like his mind and his pockets, is full—it does much more to light the fields around him than its synthetic counterpart.
With its help, the earth is visible for miles. But his eyes are fixed at the horizon, where the sky is still painted a slowly deepening shade of violet. It’s there that the faint silhouette of a secluded city is visible, its tiny lit windows up in arms against the darkness and surrounding nothingness.
“The edge of nowhere’s such a beautiful place,” croons the melody in his ears, and as he picks up his case and takes his first steps away from familiarity, Colin can’t help but agree.
by adalet
why do we romanticize dependency,
obsession, feeling incomplete?
why not celebrate
strength, independence,
being there for yourself?
is it because
our idea of the perfect romance
relies on insecurity?
if everyone believed
that they're enough,
that they don't need
someone else to complete them,
how many multi-million dollar
industries would collapse?
why does our world
revolve around insecurity?
will we ever be
satisfied with ourselves?
will we ever be enough?
(Photo credit: abartell, art credit Katelyn Brown)
by irishjayne
(ode to wednesday mornings)
one
I wake up at
six o’clock
and the sun hits my ceiling
and clings to my
eyelashes
so hard I have to blink it away
two
I stand in the majesty
of the same sun
streaming through the bathroom window
and it is
better, less of a sadness
and more of a heavy appreciation
as I spit foamy mint in the sink
let myself remember
you are in pajamas
the house is quiet
school is hours
away
and you miss your mother
three
an odd feeling of
motherliness
towards little piggy/little simon
and their unfortunately youthful faces
with the milkweed hair of
children
and the impending sense of doom
that surrounds them
reminding me why I hate movies
(lord of the flies)
four
a glowing
reward far off in the distance
the setting sun
of a western movie
after the battle is over/bandits stopped/conflicts resolved
and 3 days in nyc is this reward
playing music
and we can’t make it work
my heart sinks like a stone
five
music that rubs
salve into my aching heart
the majesty of wednesday mornings fades
into biology homework
an empty stomach
unwanted responsibilities and a torn sense of self
six
I wasn’t here friday
I have no idea what we’re doing
as I’m torn from my pedestal
torn away from preparedness
less like crying, more like I’m going to be sick.
I cover it well
seven
going to get a cough drop from the
nurse as my sickness lingers
in the back of my throat
and a friend makes me hold his posters/water-bottle/tape
when he sees me
I’m not mad,
just hurt,
but not hurt anymore
I say
but why didn’t I get invited to your
new year’s party?
and I’m a liar because it still hurts
because it’s confirmation of my suspicion
because it’s just. so. different.
and the explanation
makes sense in the way
geometry makes sense to me
I put the work in and ask for help and practice until it’s clear
eight
working working working
being alone in class again
I don’t normally mind
I have acquaintances/4 volumes of poetry/my writing
to keep me company.
but I’m still feeling raw.
nine
play rehearsal and the theatre company
after school
two hours/30 minutes
I sing amazing grace and then leave.
ten
school still in session, and the sky is clear.
tomorrow is thursday, and
thursdays don’t hold the same
promise/pain of wednesdays
(today did)
nothing is cancelled,
nothing is delayed.
I would appreciate a pause, a respite.
I would appreciate waking up on thursday to the same feeling of wednesday.
(Photo credit: Love to Write)
silence is deafening in a creative mind.
--hmseymour
one small act of kindness, like saying hello to a stranger on the street, can change someone's day, It can change their lives. So try little random acts of kindness whenever you get the chance.
--InezL
YWP NEWSLETTER - 1/28/19
Almost a month into 2019...wow! Time flies!
A recent Tiny Write of PeachesMalone's was this: "The world kind of sucks, but at least we have books and chocolate chip muffins." It's totally true, and a great perspective to have. So it got me thinking. What can we look forward to upcoming in February? What books and chocolate chip muffins do we have to excitedly anticipate in the future? I looked up some fun February hoildays, and here's what I found:
Feb. 2 - Eat Ice Cream for Breakfast Day
Feb. 7 - Wave All Your Fingers at Your Neighbor Day
Feb. 15 - Singles' Awareness Day
Feb. 17 - Random Acts of Kindness Day
Feb. 22 - International World Thinking Day
Feb. 26 - Tell a Fairy Tale Day
Feb. 28 - Public Sleeping Day
Remember to celebrate these next month ;)
Skip this next part if you're a YWP newsletter 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, lila woodard, Maisie N, abartell, Anna P., Graceful, _Eliza_Be_Ghostly_13, and Abriatis
YWP Happenings:
Coming up! Writing on the Roof Workshops!! 2nd workshop: "How to Write a Killer College Essay" with Denise Shekerjian! Febuary 12th, 6:30-8:00 pm, rooftop conference room, Karma Bird House, 47 Maple Street, Burlington. Learn more and SIGN UP workshop #2 here.
Vermont Writes Day is coming up- Feburary 1! Seven special prompts will be posted on YWP and on a VT Writes Day site -- vermontwritesday.org -- that will be open only on Friday! More information here.
Read YWP's digital magazine, The Voice!
by lila woodard
they can preach at me and scream all they want
but no one will ever convince me
that it is wrong
to love the way that i do.
(Photo credit: lila woodard)
by Maisie N
You want to go out
But I'd rather stay home
You want to get there fast
But I want to take it slow
Make everything last
But still live in the moment
Never give up on the past
Never leave thoughts unspoken.
Because I want to have my cake
And still eat it too
Have a hundred first kisses
Before I settle down with you
Have you stay with me forever
But let me wander as I do
Keep it easy and casual
In a life built for two.
I've got a thirst for adventure
I've got wind in my sails
I want to see the whole world
Search for a holy grail
They say it's rough out there
So I'll ignore those scary details
Because if I never try
Then how can I fail?
Because if you love too much
It might turn to hate
When you never speak
There's no wrong thing to say
And if you never leave home
You can't show up late
But if you never take a chance
You never learn anything.
I'll take a walk on the wild side
As long as you play it cool
And I'll kiss you goodbye
On your walk home from school
Just promise you'll stick by me
Even when I play the fool
And that you'll have my back
Whether I win or I lose.
You remind me of my youth
But just like grandpa always said
You won't get very far
Using your heart and not your head
There is a lot more to love
Than the way people look
And you can't learn what you like
Just by reading a book.
I like you and I like rock songs
I like rolling the dice
I like taking my chances
Without paying the price
They say that variety
Is the spice of life
So promise me you'll never
Step in the same river twice.
So let's grow old together
Let's make a ton of money
Let's always tell the truth
But laugh like it's funny
Let's keep asking questions
Never knowing each other completely
Let some matters remain mysterious
But still love each other deeply.
(Photo credit: abartell)
by Anna P.
There's a rock in my sock,
and a hole in my shoe,
and the sky is too wet,
and the water too blue.
Now my ears feel numb,
and my fingers can't hear,
while my head's speaking nonsense,
and my eyes hold you near.
I think my life's headed south,
where the roses don't grow,
and the ponds shimmer lightly,
where the dark shadows go.
And the light it burns dark
where there's supposed to be day,
but my heart has grown hollow,
and I feel lost in each way.
I feel like a child,
afraid in the park,
and people can't see
that my mind has grown dark.
So here I lay crooked,
broke and misplaced,
while I ponder my thoughts,
imperfections and mistakes.
Maybe someday I'll be better,
fixed up and brand new,
but, until then,
there's a hole in my shoe.
(Photo credit: Graceful)
Are our dreams our future?
That tugging feeling of déjà vu,
when you meet a new person for the first time?
Our minds
are more powerful
asleep then when we are awake.
-_Eliza_Be_Ghostly_13
Helping people makes me happy.
Helping people going through what I went through makes me happy.
Giving them hope and telling them about their future.
We all have potential.
I love telling people that.
Watching them light up
when they realize
there's a rope dangling to them
ready to lift them out of the pit they're in
and show them the world.
-Abriatis