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.




 


 
Nov 19
lolerface's picture

so it is winter

As the water's flow is impeded
and the leaves start falling the weather gets brisk.
You know that snow is near and yet we continue to have fun and ignore the signs then they start falling.
First the leaves, then it stops raining, and is replased with freezing cold air .
But the worst is the snow, it is cold and annoying because at the start is soft then it gets wet.
But fun does not stop we make snow men, and forts but more relevant is sliding down with sleds then you go home and get hot chocolate and marshmellows while you warm up by the fire.
Winter is fun or so they say, but snow is now hear so lets find out.
Nov 17
byamt's picture

A Plead For Help

We need to save the earth. "Why?" you ask Think of it this way Your body is a living being. Your body, however, has a parasite. The parasite is consuming you. It is growing larger everyday. It is becoming harder for you to breathe. You can only manage a harsh breath in and a sharp, pained breath out. You have a fever that rages all day and you are pale and cold at night. You have anger from the pain and it builds up. You frequently lash out against those who you love. This is how our precious earth feels - although we don't seem to treat her like she is precious - the earth is a living being. It is becoming hard for the earth to breathe. She breathes in the sunlight but somehow struggles to push it out. She is being consumed by a parasite named, "humans" in the summer she is hot and is always burning and in the winter she is cold and bitter. There is never an in-between moment of that just-right-temperature, she is always hot or cold.
Nov 17
poem 6 comments challenge: General

The Little Things

In our society we’re consumed by the number of likes we receive,
It’s assumed if you don’t have pages, and pages of friends you’re lonely,
But only, this media we call social is anything but,
Driving us further and further away from communication,
Take a break from your phone,
Appreciate the life around you,
Don’t let it slip away,
Don’t let social media control you,
Look at the beautiful trees that surround you,
Listen to the spectacular sounds that are around you,
Appreciate the little things in life,
The most simple of them all,
Maybe someone said “Hi,”
Maybe someone said “Bye,”
Maybe someone held the door,
Maybe someone did more,
Don’t ignore these little things in life,
Because in our society,
We will not be consumed by the number of likes we receive.
Nov 17
Dylan Kotlowitz's picture

You


I can feel and hear the scratching of your leaking pen, scraping in its tormented recordings on the dry paper, building and building in intensity, crawling across the blank sheet writhing through my mind, twisting into convoluted shapes of mutated thought, scraping itself together in a fantastic wave of overwhelming black ink rushing over the fore of my mind, splashing into my eyes, pulling them shut, and then washing away the sandcastles of my thoughts.
Nov 16

The Lamppost

By: Amica Lansigan
 
As I strolled along an abandoned lane
I came upon a lamppost
That cast a shadow in the rain
An imitation, like a ghost

The fog uplifted, the moon revealed
The stars emerged a molten-gold
The lamppost stood, unconcealed
A remnant of the old

The lamppost crackled, but did not light 
An emblem of life that used to be
A deserted town, not a soul in sight
The remains of humanity



 
Nov 16
Sydney's picture

A Blackberry Pie

Nov 16

Repetitive

Repetitive
That's what my life is
Repetative
When someone picks up the book,
I begin a journey that ends the same way every time
No matter how hard I try to influence it
I'm a puppet on strings
Following the control of my master,
The writer
I was created and put through tests
I was changed and edited until I was fit for the public.
And then I was used,
Over and over
Forced to live the same life again and again,
With no way out
Repetitive
That's what my life is
Repetative
After all,
I'm only a figment of your imagination
Nov 15
jessie.p's picture

Blackberry Pie


At the top of the hill, are the blackberry bushes. Momma and I use to go up there and pick them until there were none left in sight. We'd go there every other day of the very short season, and get scratches all over our legs. We'd freeze the blackberries so we could make pies all year long. When the time came to actually make pies, we both had the recipe memorized. Now, I couldn't remember it if I tried. Making pies with her were the best days of my life. When I smell a blackberry pie, I am transported. Back to when we'd make pie crust from scratch, and make it perfectly every time. To when she'd let me make the classic knife holes on the top, and always told me it looked good. To putting on the aprons my Grandma made for us, even though we never made a mess. 

This is my recipe for happiness. 
Nov 15
jessie.p's picture

Blackberry Pie


At the top of the hill, are the blackberry bushes. Momma and I use to go up there and pick them until there were none left in sight. We'd go there every other day of the very short season, and get scratches all over our legs. We'd freeze the blackberries so we could make pies all year long. When the time came to actually make pies, we both had the recipe memorized. Now, I couldn't remember it if I tried. Making pies with her were the best days of my life. When I smell a blackberry pie, I am transported. Back to when we'd make pie crust from scratch, and make it perfectly every time. To when she'd let me make the classic knife holes on the top, and always told me it looked good. To putting on the aprons my Grandma made for us, even though we never made a mess. 

This is my recipe for happiness. 
Nov 15

Favorite Scents

The air held the aroma of fall scents. The scent of caramel filled one part of the room, while another had the scent of apple cinnamon. Men and women rushed around in the kitchen, sometimes yelling for something. Sounds of pans crashing together, sizzling fryers, boiling pots, and most of all, the chatter of the patrons. Regulars, critics, and newcomers were all welcome to the warm and inviting reds and yellows of the restaurant. You could hear some customers compliment the food, saying that it tasted like their mother had made it. Others were downright picky about every little on their plate. No matter, the warm and sweet scents around the brought a calm and relaxing setting even with all the craziness. The smell of fall is truly wonderful.
 

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