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.




 


 
Sep 11
poem 2 comments challenge: Five

I Wish

I wish that I could go back in time to when I was five.

I wish that I could advise myself when I was a decade younger,

When I had no idea what it meant to be a grownup.

I wish that I could have told myself to enjoy every minute,

To enjoy not having to worry about the future,

And to stop complaining and start listening.

I wish that I could tell myself all of the things that I know now,

But I can’t.

If only I could rewind the clock.

I wish that I could tell 5-year-old me to hold onto the memories,

And to never let go.

To not forget what it felt like to love everything around you,

And to not forget how it feels to think everything and everyone is perfect.

I wish that I could go back to being little,

Where I didn’t have a weight on my shoulders

Heavier than 50 tons.
Sep 11
Fiona Ella's picture

Not Only


When or if somebody asks me,
"Why do you think we're here?"
I'll probably reply,
Because we're so self-centered
we think we're more important than the rest of the world
and therefore that there has to be a reason for our existence.

If somebody asks me,
"What happens after we die?"
I'll probably say,
"Nothing. The brain stops functioning,
the heart stops beating,
the things that make us
us
become something else.
We become compost."
You might argue that,
because energy cannot be created or destroyed,
the essence of our existence must go somewhere.
I'll give you that, I suppose—
but wherever it goes,
it doesn't go as our consciousness.
I'm not very philosophical, really,
considering that my answers to traditional philosophical questions
is that humanity is so self-centered that they invent existential crises
Sep 10
poem 2 comments challenge: Feet

Fly Free, Little Bird.

I have never felt so alive when I'm with you.
The moment of living that bubbles and blisters,
​charring and smoking as I watch the sun fade away,
​dipping below the horizon as it flees the moon;
​a moment in our lives when we come together
​into one beautiful, broken, desperate thing -
​each of us trying to fix ourselves with the other.
​We are a desperate, wild, untamed love that burns
everything it touches - you and me, and our chains.
Our love will burn us, but our love will free us.
​I wonder what will happen when we find freedom.
​I am scared that you will no longer love me.
I am scared you be able to see past me at the world beyond,
​and realize that there is so much more out there for you.
​Part of me wants you to leave,
because you deserve so much more than I could ever give.
I want to find that your wings have grown powerful
​and that you a free to fly away and see the world.
Sep 09
fiction 0 comments challenge: Feet
23lavie's picture

DayDreaming

DayDreaming
There we sit, the three of us on the old wooden dock staring at the ocean ahead. It was sundown. No one was on the beach at that time. They all went in for dinner or maybe to escape the sun disappearing on the blank horizon. There was no trees near the beach in maine. I look down at my pants. I see a small rip in the front of them near my pocket. It must have been from one of the thorn bushes. I was picking roses from earlier to give to mama for a parting gift. She is going to Vermont for the week. For business of some sort. Since its close to the months of autumn. I can go pick apples soon.
Sep 05
cudneyz's picture

blue jeans

a rip

from climbing over the fence

the one Behind the old playground

where they would sit

on the Little swings

pUmping legs

maybe if they swung their fEet enough

Just a little higher

a littlE closer to the sky

And they’d never seen the ground again
a dot of paiNt

from their bruShed

as they welcomed summer with Blue walls

to match her bLue skies

and then sat

atop the canvas sheet that covered the floor

and sipped maple lemonade
a chocolate stain

from the cookies that crUmbled atop their plates

and sat waiting nExt to coffee cups

filled with bitter brown and swirled with warm milk

inviting conversation and Jokes

confessions and laughter
a wrinklE

from being crumpled in A box

your Name scribbled across the top
Sep 04
fiction 6 comments challenge: Feet

Feet Dangling

Our feet dangled off the edge of the swing as our hands clasped together. I squeezed her hand and she squeezed back as I turned my head to stare into her eyes. The sun was setting and the crumpled leaves below our feet were blown away with the cool evening breeze. Our last day of summer was spent watching the sun set on this exact swing every single year. We never wanted this moment to come to an end and never wanted it to start. And we knew that if we closed our eyes, it would come to an end too quickly, but if we kept our eyes open we wouldn’t want to leave. Our bare feet hung above the grass, and we held our breaths in suspense of the year to come. She had been my friend since the beginning and we promised each other that we wouldn’t forget all of those nights watching the last sunset. We promised that we would be friends after we finished high school and college, but we knew that the chances were slim. We both knew that even the best of friends eventually go their separate ways.
Aug 28
AboutToSnap's picture

Cow

Aug 22

Another Poem About Fall

The season which peeks its head
Through the doors of summer
Then darts back out again
And the wood nearly closes on your fingers
For trying to catch it

The season of jeans and t-shirts
And pajama pants that feel like bliss,
Of the loving evening sun 
Which tucks in the mountains, blankets them
In the perfect mix of light and shadow

Of almosts, hinted promises, of in-betweens,
And of days that pass too fast
Like the wind which swirls by,
Overturning every leaf on the trees
To shuffle a deck of palest green

Of fresh vegatables and dying leaves,
Tire swings, rakes, bare feet,
Backpacks, books, new shoes,
Of childhood and growing up
All at once.

My friend once told me,
"Sometimes I get nostalgic for fall"
And I have that same feeling
Even when fall
Has already arrived.

#summerofstories16
Aug 20

I Don't Want to Fall in Love

I don't want to fall in love.
Everybody always tells me how
wonderfully perfect it is to fall in love.
But I don’t want to fall in love.
Love is not like a Taylor Swift song; 
things don't just somehow, "work out."
my skeleton is composed of bones that can break,
not music notes that get stuck in my head.
I don’t want to fall in love.
Falling into things hurts.
It leaves scars and bruises.
You’re trapped once you fall in,
and after a while you can’t even see the sun anymore.
I don’t want to fall in love.
I want to be in control of my own life,
yet at times I want to just let someone else take over.
When you’re in love, you can’t do that.
I don’t want to fall in love.
I want to slowly wade into love.
I want the rolling waves of love to drag me deeper
until I am over my head, drowning in it.
I want to feel the temperature changing
as the water rises over my body.
Aug 19

Getting Published

My hands tingled in anticipation as I turned the thin, smooth sheets of newspaper.
I searched, my eyes going forth from page to page,
looking for my creation.
My heart jumped when I finally found it. 

There, in black and white.
In real, printed words, confirming that it was good enough to be seen by more people than just me.
I covered my hand over my smile, as my family took their turns looking, oohing and ahhing. 

I have always been a writer, it's in my bones.
Words are what make me who I am. 
But as I saw my words in print,
I realized
how true that was today. 

#summerofstories16
 

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