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.


Mar 08
2madsmads's picture

Crossing the Continent: The Sun's Journey

From east to west, from sea to sea,  
The sun fans out her rays, 
And touches trees and mountaintops  
Awakening new days. 

The fields were soaked in starlight,  
The valleys masked in night, 
Soon to be awakened  
By her penetrating light. 

Upon the slopes and over peaks 
Her light directs its gaze, 
And melts the freshly fallen snow  
As quick as night’s dark shade. 

And climbing down the other side 
Of sturdy evergreens, 
She hears Niagara’s distant roars, 
So strong, so wild, so free. 

Upon the falls and surfaces  
Of Niagara’s grand facade, 
She adds a touch of sparkling light 
Inducing greater awe. 

Then leaping o’er a hundred miles 
She lands with full force in 
The Mississippi’s running currents 
And rides to the river’s end. 

And jumping out, before the gulf, 
She stretches and she yawns, 
Mar 08

Home Once More

The clicking of keyboards
The murmur of voices
The rustle of paper
The scritching of pencils

Light, shining through windows
Laughter, exchanged between friends
Words, more than one could imagine
Worlds, coming alive in my hands

The library is my safe space
I know it inside and out
No matter which one I enter
I recognize the atmosphere

Of quiet
And peace
And ease
And happiness

I slip into it
As if I am donning a cloak
And smile to myself
For I am home once more
Mar 07

let go

When you look up at the sky
They say you’re supposed to feel small
Well maybe they’re wrong
I feel tall
I feel grand
Standing here
Toes in the sand
With you by my side
Let me take your hand
And I’ll take you high
Up into the sky
We can navigate the atmosphere
We’ll discuss theories, anything you’d like
We could talk about the water, the grass, or that crazy plasma we call fire
But then we’d get tired
I would build you a blanket made of clouds
And we would hunker down for a while
Maybe you’d be lonely
And I’d tell you I’m right here
But you’d say “no”
And call me a coward for not facing my fear
I’d say what fear
But you’d say “you already know”
My greatest fear
Is letting you go

Mar 05
m.fredella's picture


Our basement is wet and cold. I huddle against my sister and brother, their warmth seeps into me and spreads through my body. My parents hold us closer, their arms encircling us in an embrace of love and protection. We can hear the aggressive wind ripping our house apart above our heads. I wonder if our neighbors are safe, our relatives, my friends. What if we are the only survivors? My hands shake uncontrollably with fear. I clench them tightly, until my bony knuckles turn white. We had very little time to prepare. The weathermen said the hurricane was supposed to miss us, but they were wrong. We had a day to prepare. The supermarkets were packed, teeming with frantic people searching for food to last them through the storm. People were fighting over cans of beans and soup. I guess that’s where the old saying “desperate times call for desperate measures” comes from. We spent the night getting the basement ready.
Mar 01
poem 1 comment challenge: Alone
lana.W's picture

You Won't Believe This!

When I came home from school,

I found myself in shock.

The beds all gathered by the pool,

The couches stand round the grandfather clock.

There’s confetti everywhere,

and food all strewn about.

There’s armoires running here and there

until they all pass out.

The toaster’s jumping in the tub

as appliances holler “Stop!”

There’s forks and knives in every shrub

While napkins danced on top.

Though difficult not to double take

I felt a shiver up my bones

I then found myself lying awake.

In my bedroom, all alone.
Mar 01
tobin's picture



A house (also known as a home) is,in a way, like a dog. It cares about you but, if you do not care for it, it can easily turn on you. Each home has a personality; there are angry homes, sad homes and happy homes. Homes also come in all shapes and sizes; some homes are tall and skinny, some are fat and short. There are homes that are built high in the air and homes built far underground. The one thing that all homes have in common is that they care about the people that live in them.  
Let me tell you about my home. My house is very, very old. In fact,  it is 166 years old. Being such an old home it has a long history. When it was first built in 1853 it was a church. As a church it was very happy, it was the center of the community and made many people’s lives better.
Feb 26

Why I Did It

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
Feb 25
humor 1 comment challenge: Alone
Kyle A Emerson's picture

I Think We're Alone Now

The door closes

The teenager is gone

The truck disappears into a cloud of dust

“Hooray!” Screams the chairs

“Party!” Exclaims the teddy bear

“I’ll play the tunes!” Says the record player

Tiffany’s voice echoes through the house

“I think we’re alone now! There doesn’t seem to be anyone around”

The lamps flicker in excitement

The pictures come to life

The toys throw the living hats around the house

The living hats cheered in glee

Blankets and chairs make forts

Mr. Fridge falls over, again

Everyone is having fun

Then there’s a teenager at the door, shocked

Everyone stops and stares

The record scratches

Teddy bear approaches

There’s silence

“Wanna party with us?”

Feb 25
fiction 0 comments challenge: Alone
Eloise Silver Van Meter's picture


We wait like teenagers for our owners’ car to leave the driveway. All day has been spent reading the notes back in my head, turning the humans’ nonsense words into lyrics of my song, catching their absent-minded humming in my cracks. Sometimes I find Esperanza looking at me with pity, thinking,That wall must be lonely, all of its art being stripped from it.

The humans wonder if inanimate objects get lonely. We wear emotionless expressions. They think we are simple “its” painted only to please their own eye. However, we are complicated beings: punctured by tacks, coated over with a soft ivory and then suddenly changed to a harsh blue. We are told by our owners what we should look like. We have little choice in our appearance.

So as our owners’ car leaves the driveway, we sigh in relief of the expectations imposed upon us and sing the song of their sorrows.

Feb 24
mind_reader's picture

A Lesson

This is a short story from after my trip to New York City: