YWP Newsletter 10/21/19
Almost November... wow. There's snow on some of the mountains in Vermont already. I'm not sure I'm ready for winter yet!
Fall is a very poetic time, the natural world is so vivid this time of year and the cool temperatures are perfect for favorite sweaters and woodstoves and tea. It's a pain to have homework when all I want to do is write and explore the forest. Submit all of your fall (and otherwise inspired) work to YWP! We all love to read it.
As usual, the following is an intro to the YWP newsletter. Feel free to skip ahead if you're a regular.
Welcome to the YWP newsletter: 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 works from the past two weeks. We aim for variety to reflect and engage that of the many writers, artists, photographers, and musicians of YWP. We, as the editors, hope to give these creators a wider audience and provide our busy members a taste of recent pieces we loved. Please become a returning reader! Check out the other newsletters here and share the link with people you know who may enjoy it.
Contributors to this week's newsletter are: shadowpaw, fire girl, cedar, LadyMidnight, Graceful, and Dramatic456.
by fire girl
Colors split ways and tumble among trees.
Spilling their poetry onto the frosty ground.
Their words dance on the wind,
twirling and finally coming to cover the bare ground.
Puddles of poetry, don't step in it.
It is the breath of time, passing clouds whisper of the trees'
scandalous stripping as they make their way across the day.
Light leaves us in a flurry of cold we savor this time of year.
I smell it just as rain smells, purifying, and quenching the
the parched tongue of sunshine, the trees are very generous
giving their coats and scarves to cover Earth instead,
she is thankful and gives them back in spring.
Sometimes I wonder who you are
and who I would be if you were not.
Photo by cedar
cracked stone, boiling blood
water won't burn me from your hands
you never see me
I'm frozen in time
a world like a cold marble
sky is parched by clouds
somehow I'm still here
but the worlds clock is ticking
somewhere there's someone
rockets shatter the thick glass
a soundless indent
tell me your false lies
what's this thing that you call love?
blink and you'll miss it.
be lonely with me
I won't shrink into myself
don't laugh at silence
tears trickle down their stone mask
ink is a loud cry
Photo by Graceful
Your cheap red nail polish leaves streaks on the paper we pass back and forth
Two different styles of handwriting, fitting together perfectly
A type of poetry, though I misspell every other word
And your grammar is atrocious
We talk about anything and everything
Except, of course, for the classwork we’re supposed to be doing
We talk about sports, and how I hope you’ll come to my game next week
We talk about the school play, and what parts you’ll try out for
And how I know you’ll get the lead role
We talk about the school dance, and how
For a few hours
I let the weight of the world fall off my shoulders
And how you saw, and pulled me into the center of the circle
A smile on your face and a laugh on your lips
But you want to talk about the boys
Which ones noticed you, which ones danced with you
And which ones were dying to talk to you but too shy to approach
I was too busy staring at you to notice a single one of them
Photo by shadowpaw