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.




 


 
Dec 21

Moon Love

The moon drifts above the sea
Its light melts into the water and beyond,
The clouds roll like dark blue waves
Across the night sky.
A blur crosses the water
The black bird carries out the night,
It’s wings flap to the second hand
Ticking the time away,
A countdown until the bright sun returns.
My gaze is cast over the black water
While alone I stand,
The gentle wind playing with my hair.
As my heart aches
For the love that keeps on fading from the world.
The hour glass spills further
As the moon moves along,
A traveler of the sky.
 
Dec 21
tobin's picture

Winter

Winter. 10 degrees Fahrenheit. To most people it is too cold to do anything. To me it is the perfect temperature. A cold, clear day. The ski trail is perfectly groomed, not an alpine ski trail, a cross-country ski trail. It is 6:30 and the sun is just coming up, making the snow-covered trees look like they are hung with miniature Christmas lights.
I lay my skis on the trail and clip in. I could stay and just stand there in the woods taking in the beauty, but my muscles are ready to go and I am starting to get cold. I strap on my poles and push off. As I move down the trail it feels as though it is completely effortless.

The freezing cold air feels as though it is burning my lungs and the hairs in my nose feel like they are starting to freeze so I pull my buff up until it is right under my eyes. For the next couple of hours I just ski and let the corduroy pattern of the trail sliding under my skis mesmerize me.
Dec 20
m.fredella's picture

Heights


She tells herself every day that she’ll conquer her fear. When she gets a muffin at the small coffee shop on the corner and stares up while she takes a bite. Not at the sky, but at the tall glass building that blocks out the sun. It’s almost a tradition for her. Passerby stare at the strange girl that stops and stares at the skyscraper. And she takes a step, towards where the towering building was built from the solid earth, where it’s safe. She walks with determination to the double doors that grant access to her biggest fear. She only pauses to throw out her half eaten muffin in a small trash can. Large heavy doors are pushed open to reveal a vast room full of bustling strangers. She makes her way over to the elevator doors, and hits the up button. The shiny silver doors open quickly and after a slight hesitation she steps in. The top floor button lights up as her shaky fingers press it. The doors close and she’s alone. She closes her eyes. The elevator rises.
Dec 20

The City That's Alive

I stand at the backbone of the arching neon city, the whole world spread at the tips of my fingers. Cryptic buildings soar from the ground, sleek seamless spires of silver rooted in the ground like the gnarled ribs of a herculean beast. The trembling energy that weaves throughout this city like a plait of pure euphory charges through my blood, through my muscles, ever fiber and cell in my body united. The heartbeats thunder through my ears, echoing across every fragmented nuance of my mind. Tremors convulse inside the ceramic sculpture of my bones, hairline fractures spiraling downward, downward, downward, towards my curled toes pressing against my sneakers. Indeed, this city howls and growls, its humid, clammy breath pressing against my flushed skin. Cerulean swirls wisp through the thick air like heavy curtains flowing down from a tall, elegant glass window in a regal palace. The people, like the city, dance with a flowing, graceful energy that I can only wish to possess.
Dec 18
JEFF's picture

unique


Each snowflake is unique.
Yet when one falls,
for the first and final time,
no one mourns it.
Why is this?
Each human is unique,
But the same
Rules do not apply.
 
Dec 16
poem 0 comments challenge: Snow
Darth Nyan's picture

My Vermont


Pitch black but for the moon
Cold, silver light reflects on the field
That is now a white waste.

I exhale.
My breath becomes the only cloud in this
Otherwise clear night.

The big dipper glows brightly,
As if to say:
“Follow, and ye shall freeze.”

But I do not heed its warning
And I follow it across the field
To a cabin with an orange glow
And firewood piled high

This is my home
My womb and my tomb
This is my Vermont
 
Dec 15

Kindred Soul

golden light slipping, dancing through your fingers
a halo of sunlight
the soft padding of feet early in the morning
slouch your back
into the warm dependable shoulder
that's never more than an arm's length away
laughter bubbling out of the fountain of joy
that is seemingly endless
tears sometimes fall, but what of it?
i know they will fade quickly and without a trace
flushed cheeks and a red nose
an anchor, teasing eyes and peeling plaster
a kindred soul in a meaningless world

 
Dec 15

La Luna

she used to be amorphous,
she used to pour herself like wine 
into a glass and become a new shape. 
she used to cascade down rocks and leave 
bits of her soul in between crevices and cracks. 
she used to be inexorable, ineffable. 
but now i see her and i am overcome 
with the feeling of loss. 
like she’s gone somewhere without telling me. 
and i shake in my bed, under ten comforters but still somehow cold, just wishing i could grasp her warmth in my own hands and whisper to her as she sleeps
’please don’t ever grow up without me’
Dec 14
fiction 0 comments challenge: Power
m.fredella's picture

The Good Old Days


7.6 billion people granted a superpower, but none can be the same. If I were given this opportunity, I don't know what I would choose. All the good ones like mind reading, invisibility, happiness, power, smartness, success, ect. would be taken. I mean I would love to be super smart and never have to worry about not succeeding in life, but I wouldn't be able to choose those things. I guess If I was granted one superpower that had to be different from everybody else's, I would choose the ability to know when I'm in the good old days before I am no longer in them. I am afraid my life is going to pass me by, and I won't take advantage of what I was given. I wish that I could know which moments were going to change my life, so I can pay more attention. Now that would be a superpower.
Dec 12
poem 1 comment challenge: Location

Stage Fright

I found it!
That's my line.
That's all it takes.
I just have to say that and hand the cup to Tommy.
I have done it a thousand times before.
But this is different! This is in front of people. They are judging us!
Shut up brain
Not helping.
One line then the next.
Closer and closer to my scene.
Then
Where is the cup?
My cue.
I am about to go up onto the stage and stutter out my line,
When
A flash of light illuminates the theater for a few seconds
Then all is quiet 
The calm before the storm.
My teacher steps on stage and tells everyone the lights went out because of the storm.
I smile at my good fortune
The audience groans and heads home.

In the car ride back,
My mom tells me how unfortunate it is about my line.
I nod along
But in my head
I'm thinking
Nailed it!
 

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