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.

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Oct 22

Thoughtful

*Snap* The camera clicks away, and after what seems like forever and evermore,
"That's a rap!" he calls.
I release the breath I was holding, and stretch my stiff face. 
 
~~~~~ 5 Hours Earlier ~~~~
 
Powder, cream, lipstick, mascara, my real face doesn't show through.
This dress is to tight, suck it in, suck it in.
Don't show your true form.

Sequins, glitter, bright and dark.
Getting it on is only half the battle.
Sit like this, hold like that, UGH!

The man says look thoughtful, humored.
Just smile, frown, and stare.
Sit up look left, right, and down.

The pictures start flo​wing, I should be glowing.
Proud of who I've become.

But I wonder, why am I doing this?
Oct 22
poem 0 comments challenge: Run

Escape

I am running
running away
from my home
from my family
from my country
because
my country
was unfair to woman
like me
and I only just
became the woman
I am today
I turned 18 last week
My country 
favored men
over woman
like a dog
eager to please its master
and this dogs master
is my leader
the leader
I am running from
 
Oct 21

She, Herself, and Her

I drew a picture of somebody I loved. It was simple, clean, and elegant. Someone about 15. The strokes were dignified and bold. The eyes kind but determined. A sort of...Hazle color. There is a smirk; a sort of taunt on the lips. And the hair is perfect. Shortcut, simple and elegant. The jaw soft but sturdy.
If she saw the drawing she wouldn't recognize it. She would shrug and mistake herself for someone else.
I guess that's what looking in a mirror for too long does to you.
Oct 21
zazu's picture

storm girl

A small girl stands in an open field on a clear day. Her dark hair pulled into two long braids down her back. She's wearing a pair of pink cordoroy overalls with a striped T-shirt underneath, and is intently staring at the sky. Her face is turned upwards, while her body holds itself stiff as if waiting for somthing to happen. Suddenly, out of nowere, the sky opens up, and rain brakes loose, the raindrops pelting the little girl's face. But, instead of squealing with pleasure or surprise, or the sound of being frightend, the girl just stands there. More dark clouds roll in with the howl of the wind, as a man comes out onto the back porch. "Summer, come in before the lightning starts," he calls. Summer slowly turns on the spot, her braids flipping in the wind, until they're falling straight out behind her. Her eyes meet the man's and they're filled with anger, as if lightning is snapping inside of them.
Oct 21
Kittykatruff's picture

By The Fire

(Editor's Note: This is one of the winning submissions for Winter Tales and will be performed by Vermont Stage on Dec. 12. Find out more here!)

Winter is my favorite season.
I stay warm by the fire
With a cup of cocoa, and watch
The snowflakes fall gracefully, dancing
With the flames. 

Sometimes Nature holds her breath
And all is still; when I step outside, the silence
Is only broken by the crunch of snow 
Under my feet.

Other times, the winds howls as a lonely wolf
Lamenting the forlorn expression of the moon,
Tearing at braches, scouring houses with sharp 
Icy crystals, whipping across my face, 
Stinging my eyes, slashing ears and fingertips, 
As I hurry home to safety from the storm.

The best time of all is when 
The world pauses for a moment, though not
In anticipation, simply to ponder 
Its own existence.

Oct 21
poem 0 comments challenge: Here
kiran.black's picture

Ramen

It had been a long time, but now he was here, in his kitchen.
He was consumed by hunger.
The pantry was empty, except for a small orange packet noodles.
He couldn't wait for it to be done.

Steel pot, black handel, browned with age.
Running water, bubbles forming, ready to boil.
Click click click, flames envelop the pot.
Plop, a square brick of noodles drop into the water.
Half way done.

3 minutes pass, it's nearly done.
The flame is extinguished.
A plastic packet of M.S.G. is opened.
Then it is poured into the steaming pot.
He stirs it for a couple seconds.
It's done.
 
Oct 19
katharina's picture

every year

every year

family celebration
grandma decorated the house
grandpa lit the stone fireplace
red noses gradually enter the heated home
dressed up as beautifully as the glowing Christmas tree

         warm hugs, wet kisses, tracks of lipgloss on my cheeks

seductive fragrances from the kitchen flatter the senses
parents hectically sprint around the massive oak table
bibs are put on
food gets cut into tiny bites
a quick “thank god”
and the huge banquet is opened
give me the beans, I would like to have the potatoes, no I asked for them first
son-in-law compliments the casserole
father and son discuss about the stock market
aunts share latest gossip
food is shoveled into mouths

         meanwhile in the children’s world
         the air is tense to tear by excitement
         short fidgety legs wiggle under the table
         big pleading eyes - can we get up?
Oct 19
poem 0 comments challenge: General
joseph.deffner's picture

​Wishing from a leaf

The leaves swirl from the trees

Waiting to be caught

For when a leaf is caught

You can wish for a great many things

The leaves wait and swirl slowly

To the ground

If they are not found

They cannot be wished upon

Their colors indicate

How they might

Bring happiness to one's heart

Yellow, for the joy of play

Green, for the strength of health

Red, for the hope in passion

And orange, for the gift of faith

Which one will swirl

Into your hand

The next time

You make a wish?
 
Oct 19
Alaina.J_27's picture

Stars and Snowflakes

The sky was clear,
​revealing billions of stars.
The moon was out in its
full glory.
​Shinning bright and casting its light
on the snow below,
making it glitter and sparkle,
it seemed as if it glowed.

I got out of the car,
​boots sinking in the snow,
​greeted by the crisp and cold
​winter night air.

"Put on your jacket,
​you're going to get cold," you said,
​for I was wearing only
​my basketball uniform.
"No I won't," was my reply.
You sighed and went inside.

​All around me,
​snowflakes fell.
​But these weren't normal snowflakes.
​They weren't normal at all.

​Huge snowflakes fell,
like little upside down
umbrellas.
​I reach out a hand,
​letting one land gracefully
​onto my awaiting palm.

​Upon closer inspection,
​it wasn't just one big snowflake.
​It was hundreds of little snowflakes
Oct 19

Snow Dawn

Waking up
To the silent sound 
Of snowflakes twirling 
To the ground.
It's barely dawn
With the sun rising 
from its chambers 
beneath the mountains,
The stars unwilling to dim 
their short-lived light.
Yet the snowflakes mirror them,
Drifting to fill the valleys
In a cold, crisp carpet.
Walking out
To the half-darkness of winter,
The beauty within the ice,
The sword within the stone.
Sensing the danger in the snow,
Yet unable to pull away
From trees that seem to glow.
No one has ever been able to resist Winter.
It's the right time for wonder.
If you're going to take a plunge into mystery,
Then waking up to snowflakes
Falling outside your window
Is, perhaps, the best way to do it. 
 

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