YWP Content Published in Newspapers

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Apr 23


Apr 23


Apr 22
Kittykatruff's picture

Can't find the words-time-emotion

I'm sorry I've been gone so long—
I've been so busy, you know time flies.
With work and outside interests
I haven't had any time to rest.
But today as my fingers mechanically typed
I noticed the reflection of the pink, yellow,
orange-streaked sky
in the corner of the computer screen
And saw my forlorn, furrowed brow
And deep-in-thinking, creasing frown
And suddenly remembered how
we used to talk
on the phone,
at night,
a seemingly old form of communication (nowadays),
yet the chatter of two close friends
seemed to light up the room
and warm my heart
every time without fail.
Now, we seldom call except 
to ask a question about homework.

I see you at school every day,
bursting with everything I want to say—
how was your weekend,
here's the story of mine,
did I tell you yet about that time...?
But class starts
and ends
Apr 22

Midnight In Hotel Rooms

Lying under 
starchy white comforters, 
listening to the 
air conditioner hum
its own sweet

My mom
fiddling with the 
chunky black radio,
turning and turning
the knob
the clinky static
gives way to 
soft music. 

Unfamiliar voices 
filter through like
dust particles,
gently, almost
and then
the light shines 
on them and 
they're all you
can see. 

Soft, kind words, 
from an unknown
whispered and 
murmured as the 
neon numbers 
grow higher, 
climbing the 
ferris wheel 
until they 
reach the peak:


There's something
so sacred and 
treasured about
midnight in hotel rooms.

The moon is 
kissing the dark-dark 
the stars are aglow.

Maybe a door or 
two slam shut on
Apr 22


the lullaby plays on
like a river, 
a steady stream of c's
and d's, a sleepy
tune for you and me. 

the branches of the melody droop, 
nice and slow, 
and once again, 
the moon is just for show. 

glistening chords, 
shimmering arpeggios, 
the way you look, 
new york, 
i did it my way, 
drenched in wine. 

the lullaby swings, 
a faint jazzy
and i'm not sure
if the stars hear my voice
or not. 
Apr 21
poem 2 comments challenge: Senses
Emilia Perry's picture

A Walk in a Wooded World

In Vermont,
the middle of spring means everything is brown.

The mud that churns and splashes under tires on the dirt roads.
The bark of the newly-budding trees,
Wet with the rain of promised flowers to come.
The grass that remains pale and scratchy,
Newly free of its heavy winter coating.

A walk in the woods brings new life
To this time so devoid of color.
Though, it does not come in the form of visible hues.

It comes from the chirps and songs of birds,
Who have returned and brought with them such pleasant noise,
Breaking the silence of the winter months,
As barren as the cold landscape itself.

It comes from the sticky sweet sap
Oozing from the maple trees,
Collected in metal buckets,
To later coat your tongue and breakfast,
Thick and rich like honey.

It comes from the smell,
That is so strongly the smell of spring,
Apr 21
wellss's picture

Star Gazing

Up at the sky,

And into the unknown,

We stargaze.

hoping to find,

Beauty, and unsolved mysteries,

And we see stars,

Looking for patterns,

And hoping that we might see them.

we are grounded so we look for specialty for ourselves,

Something that gives us life beyond earth,

And connections to keep us satisfied.

We expect all these things to happen for us,

Because we want to be remembered,

Not just another star in the sky.

We want to be a new galaxy,

A new horescope found,

To know the answers to us.

So we star gaze,

Out into the infinite space.

Apr 21

Spring Blooms

Apr 21

Your Example

Everywhere we go my generation hears, ‘you are the future’

But how are you expecting us to be the future, if we learn by example

If we are supposed to learn by YOUR example

But your example is drilling for oil that will soon run out

Your example is sex offenders getting away without a charge  

Your example is to throw tear gas at mothers
To let innocent children die

Just because they are different from us
We have heard them called ‘aliens’

But maybe we are the outsiders

We are creating a barrier

Between ourselves, and the world

But is the wall to keep other people out

Or us in

What is so dangerous about a little girl in flip flops

What kind of example is being set by discrimination

Just because they have different beliefs

Or love the same gender

Does that give you the right to judge them?
Apr 18


he was my guidance,

the flame that lit my soul.

His slightly tanned hands molded me from a

lump of cold clay.

He shaped me, a linguistic michael angelo,

he carved my mind with his mellifluous words;

each one twisting my spine, vertebrae by vertebrae until I cannot go back to the way I was.

He was my Zeus, mighty and sempiternal, He is the one who drew the map and led me

away from Lost. He is the one that made me lift

a pen and make shapes that freed my mind. He is the one that taught me how to teach.

He is the one that my soul will miss most. He awakened something

in me so real, so alive, that no matter what weapon the monster beneath my bed shoves

into my hands and whispers wickedly ‘do it. do it for real, this time’ I will refuse. I will embrace the