YWP Content Published in Newspapers

Young Writers Project is grateful to these newspaper partners who publish your work on a regular basis. Weekly: Burlington Free Press and Valley News. Monthly: Addison Independent, Bradford Journal-Opinion, Brattleboro Reformer, Charlotte News, Essex Reporter, Milton Independent, Rutland Herald (and Reader), St. Albans Messenger, Times Argus (and Extra), Williston Observer. These papers are read by more than 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 Executive Director Susan Reid.


Oct 21
poem 2 comments challenge: General



Take me back to dreamland, take me back to greenland
Wake me up when reality has all blown away.
The world that we knew best, got broken and distressed, the truth that we knew next was at rest.
I awake unknowing where my body is
My mind so far into wanting this- Brain focused on haunting bliss.
Where does my heart leap, when I start to sleep?
Where do I go, when i'm just brain and so. When will I die, if i've never been alive?
So am I asleep or daydreaming, A reality so far from reaching
A whole new life inside of death, Didnt you know that's coming next?
Oct 21
Liam's picture

A Forest of Unthinkable Things

          During summer when I want to go swimming at North Beach I usually take a longer way by going down Depot St. onto the bike path or going down a road near Burlington High School but when I need to get there in a hurry I take a shortcut through a forest behind Cambian Rise. It is quicker but more dangerous. Sometimes there are people and cults camping and living hidden off the trail. You never know if they are going to chase after you. The trail is not maintained so you have to be careful of roots sticking out of the ground, loose rocks and bloody glass shards that cover the ground. One time when I was walking on the trail I found a shrine with creepy dolls inside of a tree. There were blankets and brushes for them, one of the dolls was missing an eye and the other a leg. There were coins scattered everywhere on the ground surrounding the tree. Ever since then I try to stay away from that place.
Oct 21
poem 1 comment challenge: Alive

Alive in a Dead Life

     I feel alive when the sky breathes, when the mountains I ascend hug the horizon and fill every crevasse in my fractured heart, when the smell of decaying leaves shoves it way up my nose, when I feel the mud beneath my feet as I sprint through waterlogged fields barefoot, when the rough bark scrapes my hands as I climb the highest trees in the forest, when the water in the lake splashes my face and onto my boat, when the rock I step on in the river rolls and topples me into the freezing water, when I say screw expectations because nature doesn’t care who I am.
Oct 20
poem 0 comments challenge: Perfect
abby.egner's picture

Looking at the Sky

A perfect day for some,
would be spending it with the one they love,
but for me,
a perfect day is all in the sky.

The sun would rise, 
creating a canvas of pastel pinks and purples,
and as the day went on, 
it would turn a Carolina blue.

The gentle pitter-patter of the rain,
on a warm summer day,
falling all around me
almost completes my idea of the perfect day.

To finish it off, 
the sky turns an almost black,
as stars twinkle as they begin to appear,
I can’t help but wish for another day like this.
Oct 16
mccaffre1's picture

Ode to the smartest mosquito

Hello Mr. M

I would just like to say, at my own expense,  that you are the smartest mosquito I have ever met.

Every night I see you on my ceiling, out of my reach

And don’t think I haven’t tried… because I have

Every time I stand up on that chair you manage to fly out of grasp

When I’m about to turn off the lights and go to sleep I see you in the corner, getting more fat every day.

And when I wake up I never fail to find a new red bump on my arm that itches like the rest

I wouldn’t call you a stalker, just a frenemy 

So props to you Mr. M

It wouldn’t be such a bad thing if I was as smart as you when I grow up 
-Your designated snack (for now)
Oct 15
Emily Van Dyke's picture

Winters breath

I feel her sigh to me in the morning,
as the trees reflect the bitter cold air.
I wait for the air to sting my face, 
and the tips of my fingers.
i reflect back,
to the days of the sun melting
to my now stinging face.
i beg for her to come back,
her hair is now falling from the trees,
her eyes of water, shifting to hard ice.
She tells me to wait, to hush my bitter.
she will be back,
but for now we must let
winters hair cover the trees,
let her grab your coat, allow 
her breath to make the air cold and new,
because that is what hot cocoas for.

Oct 14


Fragments of the earth
twirling in the wind,

asking to dance;
dance with them as they tell stories

of times that only they remember.

The brightest star,
casting an orange glow

setting over this land
that we have claimed as ours

but is the work of a million tiny hands
sculpting this earth as we know it.

And the scent of the air
sweet, crisp, raw,

the same as 
every year.

I carry you home,
tuck you into bed,

and you say you've wished on a star,
the first one you saw.

I follow your little finger out the window,
into the inky black of what's above

and I too see your star,
and the moon caught in the branches of the oak.

I love you,

and all now are asleep in this little town.
Oct 13


Who are you to say that the skies are grey
When beyond is a universe filled with stars.
Who are you to say
Those terrible things, to push away
Those of us that are different,
Because doing so you are
Shutting out the light so it's dark,
Taking away the rainbows so it's on dull color,
Casting away the ocean so it's just water,
Pushing the hearts of the innocent over the edge
So it's one last person you have to look at.
Who are you to sit there and say that I am ugly
When I am standing here trying to move past 
The daggers that have been thrown.
Oct 11


Green fades to brown as frost nips at life’s fingers.
Leaves dance through the air as they sway down to freedom.

Out come the hats, the jackets and gloves.
On turns the stove, eager for tea pot and mugs.

Down burrows the hare, safe from the whipping winds of the moor.
Insects bore through soft earthen floor.

Take out the shovels, the skis and the sleds.
 Pack away summer in the back of your head.
Oct 11
poem 0 comments challenge: Shoes
Jarod's picture

Quiet Hallways

Looming hush, breath softens.
Stepping to the mops rhythm
I push the bucket 
shoe’s splattered
chemical fragrances on my lungs.


One hallway 
Carrying the weight of supplies 
room to room.
Arms soreI push back and forth
Disinfecting the earth for tomorrow.