YWP Content Published in Newspapers



Young Writers Project is most grateful to its eight newspaper partners who publish your work on a regular basis. Weekly: Burlington Free Press and The Valley News. Monthly: St. Albans Messenger, Brattleboro Reformer, Rutland Herald (and Reader), Times Argus (and Extra), Bradford Journal Opinion and Charlotte News.

The papers have a combined circulation of nearly 75,000 and the papers are read by well over 150,000 people.

YWP staff, volunteers and Community Leaders from this site help select work.  If you'd like to help with this process, contact Susan Reid.




 


 
May 25

Second Home

May 25

Second Home

May 21

We Writers

We writers usually come from a pile of wet wood and a single spark.

We writers usually have to rewrite our history, our rules, our families.

We writers usually must leave behind the family we have created with our own two hands, and go out, alone, to find our own destinies.

We writers then start to climb the ladder of success, searching on each rung for something special.

And as we climb we write our lives out on ripped-out notebook paper.

Once we have found the giver of our destiny they hand us a pile of cardboard and a roll of duct tape, and with these materials we run to the hills and tell the world what we think of it.

We writers then wright ourselves a scrub brush and clean the world of all grit and grime, and while we work we sing:

Dear Earth, we shall make you more beautiful than you already are. We shall rid the world of all evil.

We writers shall rewrite the world.

 

 
May 20
poem 1 comment challenge: ListenUp

What You've Said, What You've Done

People always tell me
You’re too young, you don’t understand.
You don’t need to hear this.
I’ll explain when you’re older.
Leave it to the adults.

You know what?
I won’t.
I refuse.

I turn eighteen in less than a year.
Do you want me to be uneducated?
Do you want me to be naïve?
Do you want me to make mistakes I could have avoided
If I had only known better?

You throw up the firewalls
But I’m hacking my way through them
Fueled by anger, by determination
To be better
To be smarter
To be more educated

You ask us why we’re addicted to our devices
Tell us they cause depression
Maybe they wouldn’t, you know
If we had anything good to read
In the news
As in, where we read about how you
Are screwing up the world

And we are preparing
For you to hand us this pile of crap
And say, “good luck,
It’s up to you now”
May 20

Storm Drain

The open street smells like a thunderstorm.
I’m not sure where he went
or where I’m going
or why I’m standing here on the damp sidewalk,
watching the sun creep up on us.

It feels good,
like I should’ve done this a long time ago,
like this is what I’ve been missing my whole life.

I want to come back.
And I want it to rain,
even just a little.

I want to see the way it falls
and the way he looks upward
with his mouth wide open. 
 
May 19
Kittykatruff's picture

Lonely

One of my greatest fears
is being lonely.
To have no one 
who understands me,
or to listen as I 
ponder my deepest thoughts.
I am lucky. 
My friends know me.
even if they do not understand
my words, they're always there
to listen.
Yet
the dark has always
made me feel alone.
It's so isolating,
s e p a r a t i n g  people,
leaving them wondering blindly
where the world went.
One of my worst nightmares 
is being trapped in a dark room,
with no sound but the deafening silence
surrounding me.
The walls close in.
I struggle to breath,
drowning in the darkness—
my fingertips grab desperately
in open air,
and I yearn to make a sound,
any sound, 
to bring sweet relief to my ears,
yet the darkness is too overpowering
and whisks my words away
as soon as they form.
Please don't misunderstand me
and conclude that I'm afraid
May 17

How to talk to teenagers

Look us in the eye
We'll look back if we are worth talking to.
If you just see the top of our heads
And our faces lit up by screens
Walk away.
Don't give up though.
Find another one of us who will engage with you.
Don't treat us like we're children,
listen to us as you would listen to someone you respect.
We know what we're talking about
And how to solve your problems
And we'll tell you
If you stop blaming us for what you did.
You think we're frivolous
Depressed
Distant
But we have ideas to change the world.
We are the next generation
Of leaders and thinkers
But we can't lead if you won't hand over the keys to your castle.
The castle we want to rebuild into our home.
 
May 16

Got Me

I am as controlled
as two scoops of ice cream
teetering on top of 
their small cone on
a hot summer night
when I am around you.

I am the quick melting of
the ice cream- 
going, going, gone-
when I see those eyes
and hear those slick-like-honey
words as they tumble out
of your mouth.

Love Potion No. 9,
you've got me in
your hand that
reaches out to hold
mine, as natural as the
sun rising.

You are all sugar,
like maple syrup,
coating everything
in your goey-sweet love
that kept me up
tonight and will
leave me with dreams,
dreams that won't
satisfy until you
relent and agree
that I got you,
and you got me,
got me good.

 
May 15

Solace


There is a refuge here
For all who seek it
And for those that don’t.

The sky outside is fading
The room aglow with voices
Sympathizing, comforting
Saying that they know, they understand.

There is life in this place
A glowing candle, an illuminated door
A solace transmitted through melody and harmony.

Voices fill the air like water
Ethereal, ghostly, and beautiful
And though the light will die
The song will not.
 
May 15

Dreaming of a house in the woods

I want to be surrounded by the woods,
a cool summer breeze flowing through my hair,
caressing my bare cheeks,
a bluejay somewhere in the branches,
a book laying open on the couch
across from the fireplace where I sit
and read and type away at my keyboard,
a rug beneath the coffee table,
a cat curled up beside me,
a dog resting his head by my feet,
my boots by the open door,
the hardwood floor creaking as I step,
candles in the windows,
curtains pulled back to avoid the flame,
a kettle on a hot stove,
a bench beneath the trees
where I sit with my tea
that overlooks the mountains and lake,
and her bare feet walking through grass,
her hair caught in the wind,
and her voice, so sweet and lovely,
calling to me from behind the house.
Our paintings on the walls
drip with passionate warmth
and the butterflies flutter their wings
as the first cricket awakens

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