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.




 


 
Feb 01
poem 1 comment challenge: Elves
layla.h's picture

Departing


don’t say we didn’t warn you

is your farewell

as the forest

swallows you up.

it’s not as if you didn’t know about the elves

about their tricks

their lures

but the forest has always called to you

louder than your family’s cautionings.

they’ll take you

and they won’t let you go


is what they said

to try to tame your curiosity.

but instead you thought

i wouldn’t mind a bit.

you walk deeper into the shadows

and you don’t look back.
Feb 01
fiction 5 comments challenge: Elves

elves


the brilliant blue color of the sky stretches out above me, flecked with clouds. The wind whips the bright green leaves around behind me and the sturdy branches that hold me up wobble only the slightest as I crouch above them. The golden sunlight fills the air around me with bright colors. I have lived in the trees all my life, and I have never known anything else but forest. I have known nothing but the sweet bird songs and bitter winters. I have known nothing but the frozen lakes of winter and warm breezes of spring. I have known nothing but the multicolored leaves gracefully fluttering down to greet me. I have known nothing but this forest. I have known nothing but these trees. I have known nothing but these animals. I have known nothing but the wind. I have known nothing but the wild.
Jan 31
Zia Smith's picture

A Ship's Journey

Her skeleton warped and bruised by the waves
But never wanting to stop
Her wings torn in the wind, guiding her home
Her body worn and grateful, for the sea
That had pushed her along
The sea urchins cried as she went by
And she sent them a silent thank you
Her ropes unwinding and old, but willing to hold

The water sang and bowed
She passed through the treacherous sea
And only once, almost tumbling down
As she saw her home in the distance
A smile rose with the sun
Her body sighed and creaked
As she settled down to sleep
She was beautiful, but in a different sort of way

 
Jan 31
Emilia Perry's picture

Earthly Beauty

She was beautiful, but in a different sort of way.

Her hair, frozen white wisps,
Stark against a clear blue sky.

Her eyelashes flash in blurs of color,
Petals falling with each careful blink.

Her eyes a stormy, unfathomable gray,
As easy to get lost in,
As the choppy sea itself.

Her limbs, fragile twigs,
Bend and sway in the slightest wind.

Hidden inside,
A steely will,
Strengthened by a rough skin of bark,
Yet with a force so gentle,
It mirrors a mother’s loving touch.

Her freckles, innumerable dots of light.
Multitudes of stars,
Sprayed over her cheeks and nose.

Her brain is the sun,
Holding thoughts that are bright, clear,
And glowing.

Her heart an incandescent orb.
Love as uncharted, mysterious, and desired,
As the dark side of the moon.

For she is the earth.
The air,
The wind,
The sea,
Jan 30

You are still here

Next to my shadow I see yours,
for a second.
We were here,
this beach,
just one year ago.
Feels like yesterday.

You are still here.

I can hear your laugh as gulls screech above.
You always hated the way your laugh sounded.

I can hear your voice,
calling for me,
in the cold spray throwing itself onto the sand.

I can hear you whisper
carried in the wind that whipped our hair into tangles
and left salty spray on our dry lips.

I can feel you next to me,
huddled, snug in each other's arms,
like we were when the sun was just about to go down,
just barely heating our bare, freckled shoulders
and covering the earth with a soft orange-pink glow.

And as the waves draw back,
pulling soft sand out from under my bare feet,
battered from hours of play we'd have here when we refused to wear shoes,
I can feel you slip away.

But yet,
Jan 30
abartell's picture

Faces


Student work.
Destiny-Rose Chery, grade 10.
Danville school.
Ink on paper.
Jan 29
alma-elspeth's picture

How to be Bold

Brush away fear 
Escape all insecurities 

Belive in your being
Observe your weaknesses and strengths 
Love yourself 
Dare the unknown 
 
Jan 29

The Well

There is a well 
At the end of my road
No one knows 
How deep the water goes
Inside the bottomless well

There are legends and rumors
Of queens and their suitors
And poison black frogs
And magic blue fogs
But I've never believed it
For no one has seen it
Inside the mysterious well

The walls are marble
But the rotting's just partial
And it seems very old
So many stories untold
And callings from under
The murky black waters
Of the 
Old
Mysterious
Bottomless
Well
 
Jan 28
sophie.d's picture

King of the Sky

A bird plays hopscotch on the horizon
and traces the sea with her wings.

Just close enough to flick up
holy droplets and alluring spray
but far enough that she wonders
what lies beneath the turbulent surface.

She sees her delicate feathers
mirrored on sun-tipped waves
and extends her beak down 
in search of companionship.

The bird meets the mirage
of outward beauty.

Beak full of water not feathers
With desperation lighting her eyes
She befriends the sea.

The bird squeezes through the iron bars
of Sky's Cage.

Plunges into screaming waves
and surfaces with her own dinner
handsome ruffled feathers
and a soul feeding off the tides.

She emerges
King of the sky
and Queen of the sea. 
 
Jan 28
Molly's picture

Perspective

She was beautiful, but in a different sort of way.
Her branches dead, her leaves gone.
Her roots bare, yet still strong.
The ground was dry, no water at all,
but she, oh did she, towered tall.
The weight she carried was far too much,
but she still stood and didn't budge.
From the outside, you would call her weak,
but that would be uneducated and far wrong.
For you, special fella will soon be informed of how strong
she can be.

Her branches were snapped, cracked and stole,
by many young youthful souls.
She cried that day, her sap dripped away.
Then they used and bought her tears every fall day.
All this poor girl had left, was her roots.
Even then, they were trampled on,
Snowed on,
Covered by leaves,
Shivered bare in the breeze,
Lonely they stood against green,
but not long would this scene,
last.

For this horrid past, will be used to teach

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