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.


Apr 28
poem 1 comment challenge: Senses
Gretta K's picture

Too Much to Sense

One step,

The creak of the door as I step outside.

Another step,

The crunch of the gravel under my sole,

The whistle of a bird talking to his friend.

Another step,

The pattern of a duck’s tracks,

The sting of the light from the sun in my eye,

The smell of the fresh cut grass.

Another step,

The ringing sound of church bells as they take a while to fade out,

The salty taste of my sweat as it drips down my face,

The soft feeling of a dog’s fur as I reach down to pet it,

The sound of a zipper as I take off my sweater.

-Senses are so beautiful.

Step back,

Sound of a zipper,

Feeling of a dog’s fur,

Taste of sweat,

Sound of church bells.

Another step back,

Smell of grass,

Feeling of light,

Sight of tracks.
Apr 27


'Wander' They said.
'Wander the world.'
'Test the limits.'
So I do.
So I wander.
And I explore.
In the day:
The grass is strokes from a painter's paintbrush.
The sun is a ball of laughter.
The trees are proof of resilience.
The river is the sky liquified.
The clouds are balls of fluffy cotton.
At night:
The grass is tinged with what looks almost like frost.
The moon is peace.
The trees are guardians against nightmares.
The river is molten silver.
The clouds are but a whisper, a lullaby just for me.
Wandering has showed me the colors of the world.
Wandering has proved worth while.
But next time I wander,
I want a friend, to share the wonder with.
Apr 25
JordanSara's picture

Are You Leaving?

Why does it always feel
like you are 

I will bathe myself in gold to keep you
learn every language
if it will just let me understand you
but yet it feels as though our continents have shifted
the plates of life beneath us have grinded our hearts
too far

I was always there for you
I cried for you
but who is left to cry
for me?

I am looking into your eyes
and I could reach out and touch your hand
at any instant
but the words spilling out of your lips
no longer make sense to me.

You've put a filter over your face.
Who are you?
What is your name?
Are you happy now?

Why does it always feel 
like you are
leaving- No

I should stop asking questions
I know the answer
know it too well.

I see the door
and now I realize
perhaps I have overstayed my welcome.

Apr 23


This was supposed to be a poem for me.
At least, it was when I started.

Maybe it's a little ironic
to start with how it wasn't supposed to be started
and tell you anyway. 

You've always had a fascinating
way of turning me on my head. 

I thought I knew what I was doing. 
I thought I understood 
leaving and living 
and what makes me human 
and how to feel infinite 
or happy 
or whatever the word is. 

Ectsasy? Elation?

I am so much more than I thought. 
You have persuaded me into noticing 
and once I start I can't stop.

It's like meeting an old friend 
that has been gone for ages 
and suddenly they're everywhere:
in the same parking lot;
searching for the same book in the same library;
opening the silent door of consciousness in my sleep. 

And this is just the start.
This is just the title page

Apr 23
poem 0 comments challenge: Senses
SIrFlood's picture

Walking down an old road

I walk alone
Down this old dirt road
Not a care in my mind
Nothing to see except the moon  
Making the rain sparkle high above
Nothing to hear except my own footsteps
On this hard, packed ground below me
Nothing to smell except the mud beneath the trees
I taste the sweet droplets on my tongue
As I stick it out, protruding from
My lips
The wetness of spring
I won't forget
Apr 23
poem 0 comments challenge: Royalty

The Queen of the sand

Her hair is a glowing golden sea
her eyes as blue as her ocean home
her ruby red lips have been carved from gemstones
and her delicate skin shaped by the waves
She rules her kingdom with beauty and grace
her sand castles streaching high to the sun
her crown adorned with the pastel seashells of the past
her mythical army of carved sand men and women
stand ready for command
their eyes two heartless black stones
their faces as blank as the moon
they are merciless 
but their Queen is not
So she stands on the balcony of her sand palace
looking out to the ocean
thinking of the clouds and the stars
she is the Sand Queen
Apr 23


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Apr 23