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 17

In A Van To The Airport

Through dead grassy fields

And tall dry trees

Through murky lakes

And a hot harsh breeze


It’s not that fun

But I’m thrilled to be here

Because the next step

Is drawing ever near


The airport, the plane

And the whole new continent

Thoughts of the future

Keep me more than content


So I sit in this van

Unaware of my home

My mind across the sea

And my heart in Rome
Apr 17
Evi Q's picture

Autumn's Aging

The Autumn leaves crumble beneath my feet
Easily crushed just like me
Flat on the ground, no life force left
Hope extinguished like myself 

Blown away by gust of wind
Till they're torn and battered
to much to mend
They started off so young, so bright
Then they grew older
while absorbing the light
They grew from young to old
From a child to an adult

I once was a child small and sweet
Now there is no child left in me 

 
Apr 16

A Tree's Memories

I.
The darkness is warm and heavy, comforting almost.
I can feel the sunlight upon my tough shell, so unlike how it felt to drift down, spinning and absolutely uncaring for the world, before settling here at my mothers feet, upon the hearty, green moss.
The tough but gentle hands that intricately selected me off the ground carefully peel back my outer coat, leaving me bare against the open air. Then the hands gingerly close around me, again encasing me in blackness.
When the fingers unfurl once again, I am only free for a second before they dump me into a tiny hole in the soil, and cover me with it.
It was there that I took root, there that I was watered and nurtured.
And it was there that I grew.
Apr 16
Evi Q's picture

Hope

Look to the East as shadows draw near
Despite the dark, there is hope here
Embedded in the stars of twinkling light
With them there, there shall be no fright
Like a comforting hand on a child's shoulder
Stars accompany us as the night gets older
The night stretches on, fading into darkness
The only light, from the stars brightness
Look to the East as shadows draw near
Despite the dark there is hope here.


 
Apr 15
g_rob02's picture

Wild. Crazy.

She was a wild one.
And that's why
I loved her.
           She’d confuse me.
                     She’d enlighten me.
She brought me some of my happiest days,
       and
             Some of my saddest moments.
She was solace
She was chaos
                         She was wild.
And I dug my grave
                      trying to tame her.

I would never take back a single second
      spent with her.
I do not regret one moment
      within her hearts grasp
Some people fear the wild,
                 but I
                        embrace it.
                    For she was Wild.
             And I,
                       Crazy.


 
Apr 15

Boxed in

(Written in response to the challenge "Activist" in the workshop, Poetry with Alexandra Contreras-Montesano)

I am underestimated.

People look at me and see an average white American teenager.
13 years old
With medium length brown hair
With a quick smile and and a quicker tongue.

But people never stick around enough to find out more.
Even my closest friends have yet to scratch the surface of my dreams.

I've heard all my life that I'd better marry a wealthy husband who loves me and I'll have a good life.

But maybe I don't want wealth.
Maybe I'm not looking for a Prince Charming to sweep me off my feet
I'm not some damsel in distress.
I can take care of myself thank you very much.

I want to go to college and meet new people
And have new experiances
And learn new things
Apr 15

Words

“I hate you”
I scream as I run up to my room
I slam the door behind me
“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you”
I say the words over and over again
Words are easy to say when you don’t mean them.....
 
Apr 15
poem 1 comment challenge: Senses

Bed of Butterflies

The drops drip,
heavy and smoothly,
from their weighing leaves.
My tongue stretches
to taste it,
so sweet and fresh.
The sky opens
as the clouds move
and the sun shines through.
There's a smell,
like freshly cut grass
that wafts through my lungs.
The dirt sticks
beneath my toes
and it's cool to the touch.
The blue jays sing,
their wings spreading
and taking onto the wind,
ever so gracefully.
Butterflies like lullabies
weave through flowers
and grant them kisses.
A warm light
fills my eyelids
as I close them and sleep.
The wind moves
and it touches my hair
before we part with sighs.
I awake to stars
and the moon is high
as she shines down on me.
In the moonlight,
my hand feels the grass
and it grazes my skin.
The butterflies sleep,
but the crickets sing
and their lullaby lulls me.
I feel light
Apr 14

Winged Creature

As I walked the abandoned streets alone,
And into the dark, eerie dead of night,
I saw a bird flying up and away,
A black silhouette against the moonlight.

It called out to me—a desperate cry—
Of suffering, of sorrow, and despair.
I saw it had a broken, feathered wing;
It could fly and soar no more through the air.

I understood the poor bird’s anguished call,
For we all are wounded and broken, too.
But once we are healed, we can fly once more—
It is from up high that we see the view. 


We are all fragile and delicate things—
But from our downfalls, we emerge with wings.

 
Apr 13

Blue Eyes. Ocean Eyes.

"I've been watching you all the time. Can't stop staring at your ocean eyes." 
-Billie Eilish


I know it's cliche to compare eyes to an ocean. 
That doesn't mean I'm not going to do it anyway. 
It's too good of an opportunity to miss. 

Your eyes are a deep blue, ocean waters that 
threaten to drown me in the depths. They have 
hidden creatures with names of Grace and Hope 
yet to be classified in scientific journals. 

Your eyes are a teal, a water color masterpiece 
of blue and green. I want to paint with the colors
all day, and create artwork of my own.
I must adorn a smock for fear of absorbing 
too much of the color and being stained 
for far too long. 

Your eyes are so green, they're almost not blue. 
Yet as often as I look at them I can see the specks. 
The blue is hidden like antiques in an attic, 
but you can find it if you search hard enough. 

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