YWP Newsletter - 5/15/19
Hello, YWP writers! We're getting closer still to the end of school. Just think- a whole few months to relax, enjoy the weather, and, of course, write. What are you looking forward to the most?
Feel free to skip the introduction if you're a regular.
Welcome to the YWP Newsletter! These weekly newsletters are curated and created by a team of Community Leaders, who, along with many others, recommend work for publication, create challenges, give feedback, and do some writing of our own! This newsletter is a highlight of our favorite work from each week, creative, insightful, entertaining, sometimes focusing on a certain theme... we aim for variety in our collection each week to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give the creators of YWP a wider audience, provide the busy members a taste of each week's pieces, and share some that we particularly loved with you. Please become a returning reader: check out the other newsletters, and share the link with many others who may enjoy it!
This week's featured authors and photographers are: beautiful, My Perperual We..., Marina2020, LadyMidnight, k.daigle, little elephants, and Abriatis.
Poetry with Alexandra Contreras-Montesano is currently happening! Sign up here or join in whenever!
Read YWP's new May edition of our digital magazine, The Voice!
Respond to these prompts for potential inclusion in VT filmmaker Bess O'Brien's Listen Up Project.
Summer writing workshop with Jennifer Cohen at Vermont Commons School!
by My Perpetual We...
Make myself a new messiah,
"Trust me," I say- they know I'm a liar;
some good old-fashioned bloodletting,
you take it back- I'm not forgetting
that time they told me I was dirty-
far too wordy,
It wasn't long before it worsened,
hateful, pithy little person-
can't explain why my shows are all booked;
you say they're mad- I say they're hooked
and maybe just a little crazy-
eyes are hazy
since I first looked.
Burn this copy; new revision-
tripping on my tunnel vision;
dark and gritty, avant-garde,
cannot swallow- much too hard
if you've ever stopped to listen-
with glass shards.
The shades are drawn; the light is darkened
in some Kabuki cat's apartment-
a leather glove, a cigarette,
don't ask for more- that's all you get;
until you someday stop and wonder-
loot and plunder,
though we've never met.
Dirty velvet used for masking;
time's a bitch- though no one's asking;
pour diamonds down the kitchen sink,
I bet you've never stopped to think
about the blood those diamonds spilled-
pen and ink.
(Photo credit: Marina2020)
I believe in watching sunsets
And reaching your fingers up
Until you brush the sky
And have color stained fingers.
I believe in laughing and smiling
And being happy
To be alive in this moment.
I believe in spontaneous hugs
When you run up behind your friends
And just breathe them in
Holding them like you never want to let go
I believe in rain clouds
That stream across your fingers
As you stare at yourself in ripples of puddles
As your boots slowly fill
Until they overflow.
I believe in speaking out
Until your voice croaks from over use
And the world is a peaceful place
And equality is expected.
I believe in writing.
Putting pen to paper
Until your hand is cramping
But the waterfall of words spilling from your mouth
Is not slowing.
I believe in you.
Chances are I've never met you
But I believe that you want the best for this world and the people in it.
I know that you want change
And I know that you'll step up in the name of equality.
I believe in you.
I believe in myself
And the change that I create.
I believe in my wits
And my smile
To put me in the right place
In the right time period.
I agree with you.
I have no interest in being forgotten.
Believe in me and yourself.
(Photo credit: LadyMidnight)
I’ve always had trouble with words.
My whole life, they have gotten stuck in my throat,
my mind whispering to shove them back down,
where they get locked in my heart,
never to be heard.
I don’t know why my mind does it,
why it has trained me to think that
no one wants to hear my words,
my thoughts and opinions.
The only time that the lock is opened
is when I write. For whatever reason,
once I have a pencil and a piece of paper,
all those words are set free.
From there, they spill out, dance along the page,
poured from my inner self until they are their
own being. They roam where they wish,
and my heart is finally light once more.
This is my reason for writing.
I cannot speak and be who I am
without my ability to write.
What is your reason?
(Photo credit: little elephants)
asleep we stay
under the awning
of rotten boughs
and dying leaves
we're killing the planet
why aren't we doing anything?
is it too late?
Sometimes I wish I could stop time,
but then nothing would matter anymore.
Time is the essence of being alive.
Are we really born just to die?
No, we are born to use the time we are given,
and not waste it wishing we could stop it.