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Oct 14
rant/rave 0 comments challenge: Climate-1
isabelle.rb's picture
isabelle.rb

A Message from a Teenage Girl

Dear President Obama,

     Over the past decade, the climate movement has gained significant momentum as the effects of climate change worsen and more organizations working to raise awareness on this issue form. People everywhere are trying to make a difference in their own ways, both big and small. In 2008 for example, Bill McKibben founded 350.org a non-profit organizing days of action. Today, they have campaigns all over the world. In 2012, Mothers Out Front was started with a small group of mothers hoping to start a grassroots movement. They are now working in Virginia, New York, and Massachusetts, and have engaged hundred of mothers who otherwise would not have become involved.
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Posted: 10.14.15
Oct 14
ywp info 0 comments
gg

Philly School tries out one of our Daily Challenges

A story ... When we switched over to the new site in late August, 2015, we were quite surprised by all the emails from teachers around the country who said they couldn't find this or that which they used quite a bit in their classrooms -- challenges (or prompts as we used to call them), examples of great student work, resources, etc...

And that's when we began realizing that this little Vermont project was ALREADY having an impact around the country.

So now that we've opened this site up to kids all over, we're excited to see, too, when those folks use what we offer to have fun while writing. So this school in Philadelphia tried out one of our prompts -- OWL  They used pencils (yay) and their journal books, but we look forward to their posting their creations here soon.

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Posted: 10.14.15
Oct 14
fiction 0 comments challenge: Spooky
JoyceKe2002's picture
JoyceKe2002

That One Place

Sometimes I wonder what lies behind that old rickety door that leads to the one place I have never entered. The door that shows the way down into complete darkness. With it's squeaky steps that seem like it's about to callapse with anymore weight than what it's already carrying, air. The one place that no one has ever entered, The Basement. The basement has always been a dark scary place that I have never dreamed of entering but now I find myself standing in front of the entrance. I have been standing still for about five minutes gathering up any courage I have left when I here a soft moan coming from the midst of the darkness below me like it was waiting for me to find it. Then the sound of the moan came again but louder and sounded like it was calling my name and pulling me into a trance. But before I know it my feet are already carring me down the steps leading me into the one place I have never wished to enter.
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Posted: 10.14.15
Oct 14
non-fiction 0 comments challenge: Winter Tales 15
hajif's picture
hajif

My Winter Tale

My Winter Tale

It was our first winter in Vermont. In fact, it was our first winter ever. My family and I had come from Kenya, Africa. We’ve been here for almost a year now, but this is our first winter. My older brother and I were getting ready to go to school. I was dressed head to toe, wearing many layers of clothing. I was very hot, I wondered what all this clothing was for. My mother told my brother to put on his gloves. He refused.

“It’s snowing. Your hands will freeze. “ said my mother
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Posted: 10.14.15
Oct 14
poem 0 comments
Ben Maksym

Peace

Sometimes, I want to bleed.

To see the flush blossom and broil,
to have my fluids reassure me,
that we are all human.
That blood and flesh aren't monochromatic,
but a seeping, festering flame of crimson.

To have my fluids cry for help,
to the onlookers, to whom my plight
is mute, and silent.

And to have my fluids embody my hate,
my desperation,
my stress,
and my problems.

To wish they would leave me in
bloody,
butchered,
blistering,
baptizing,
bellicose,
broken,
pieces.
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Posted: 10.14.15
Oct 14
fiction 0 comments challenge: Spooky
Oceania

Scritch Scratch

    Mama doesn’t believe me when I say I can hear them. “Fourteen year olds don’t believe in monsters” she says. But they’re still there. Even when I’m with people. They blame the wind or the dog or the pipes. I blame monsters and then they leave.

    “Jessie when you’re at the table eat!” Daddy hollers at me. He gets mad when I sit at the table and stare into space.

    I look at my plate. Daddy gets mad when I try to explain why I won’t eat.

    “Elijah let her eat when she wants to eat!” Mama defends me. But she puts more meatloaf on my plate. Because I like Mama I shovel some into my mouth.

    Daddy glares at me because he knows I did it for Mama. I don’t do anything for him unless Mama’s away for work.

    “Sweetie how was school?” she asks sweetly. Normal family topics are good. They don’t make Mama and Daddy fight.
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Posted: 10.14.15
Oct 14
poem 0 comments
lowryc1's picture
lowryc1

Life is a Shoe


Life is a pair of shoes,
They start as brand new,
They are lost and found,
They get dirty, ripped, and smudged,
They get washed and altered,
A choice of color,
A hard outside,
A soft inside,
Sometimes you don’t like what kind of shoe you have,
But you have to accept the shoes,
No matter the color,
The size,
Or the fit,
You are you,
And a shoe is a shoe.
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Posted: 10.14.15
Oct 14
fiction 0 comments
Usagi

Dragons, Page 3

You must hike to the rocky spires that rise high above the town, above even the hilltop mansions of the court. There only birds live. They build their nests in the cracks of the stone spires and steal fish from the harbor fishermen. Crows live there and peck out the eyes of the sheep. The land around the spires is cheap, and any shepherd foolish enough to graze his sheep there will soon realize the necessity of strong wire nets overhead.

You're wearing your pack, and you swing it over your shoulder and rummage around one-handed, keeping an eye aimed up at the tallest point, a flat-topped jut of craggy rock. Iron spikes hammered into the cracks suspend nets that glitter in the afternoon sunshine. You know from experience that the wire is sharp enough to cut, but you have gloves, and you can wrap your coat around your forearms to shield them. Or-- the hand inside your pack touches curved metal-- you could use your grappling hook. 

Which do you choose?
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Posted: 10.14.15
Oct 13
poem 0 comments
Ben Maksym

Loss (Dual Haikus)

Someone left today.
I'm not sure how to react;
feel tired and numb.

They have gone away.
I am glad, but also wracked;
guilt, my friend, has come.

 
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Posted: 10.13.15
Oct 13
poem 0 comments challenge: If Only
JasmineSanville's picture
JasmineSanville

If only... A poem. By Me!

If only I knew where heaven was,
I would take a day to say hello to my once lost family,
If only I knew love,
I would hold it close and remember the ones who gave it,
If only I could cry,
I would take these tears and cherish them for the feelings they drip,
If only I knew your name,
I would travel the world to find where you stayed,
If only I was not trapped in my own terror,
I would of cherished my life,
If only I had these things and a strong heart,
I wouldn't be dead due to suicide my heart would still pump the vital fulids.
If only you heard the words I said.
"If only............"

 
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Posted: 10.13.15
Oct 13
poem 1 comment challenge: Tweet
doug.demaio's picture
doug.demaio

Tweet Poem

One hundred and forty characters
is not enough
for someone
who spells things out.
It would only fit
"I love you"
twelve times.
 
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Posted: 10.13.15
Oct 13
poem 0 comments
doug.demaio's picture
doug.demaio

I am From -- Quick Write

I am from

My grandmother the nurse

and my grandfather the tree surgeon

     Whom I never met

I am from long runs on cool evenings

     with my mother

and late nights plowing snow

     with my dad

I was born through the snow

      on a January evening

somehow snow always felt like home

"Hurry up Audrey, there's snow

    I need to plow!"

I am from tongue in cheek.

I am from tough love and

     long hugs

I am from strong personalities

    and even stronger wills

I am from my brothers

     smart, funny, and bold

I am from trying too hard

     and coming up too short

I am from standing up

     one more time

          than I've fallen down.

I am from passsion,

pain,
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Posted: 10.13.15
Oct 13
poem 2 comments
doug.demaio's picture
doug.demaio

Always Beautiful

I knew a girl once,

who beauty killed.

She knew more about

looking, than feeling.

She'd been fat,

she'd been beautiful,

she'd been wanted,

she'd been scorned.

She bloomed like a flower,

and when the vase dried up,

she wilted.

A tenth grader who already felt

past her prime.

A tenth grader who was made to feel

ugly again.

Sucking on a malboro red,

windows down,

hair a mess.

Never ugly.

I remember the yearbook pictures,

reading like an age progression

for a girl who wandered off years ago.

She was called fat,

she was called beautiful,

she was wanted,

she was scorned.

She was beautiful.

If she could only see,

that she still is.

She still would be.
 
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Posted: 10.13.15
Oct 13
poem 0 comments
doug.demaio's picture
doug.demaio

Splitting My Head Apart

I'm stubbornly resisting

with my eyes intently misting

voice baritone and vibrato laced

a purposeful scowl on my face

 

you're splitting my head apart, though

I don't know if it's started to show

you're cracking my stony cold frown

until what you're looking for's found

 

Finally my face can't relent

and my scowl is slowly bent

as you speak, and I hear

and we pull each other near

a grin splits my head ear to ear.
 
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Posted: 10.13.15
Oct 13
fiction 0 comments
doug.demaio's picture
doug.demaio

Harper Lee--Collaborative Story

Editor's note: This story was the result of multiple Edmunds Middle School students contributing one sentence at a time.

 

I was sitting on my bed, reading To Kill a Mockingbird for the second time, when I felt a strange jolt, and my various possessions were knocked onto the floor. At first I thought it was an earth quake, but then I noticed a strange light coming through my window. It was Harper Lee, the book's author, shing a flashlight in my face.

"Cut that out!" I shouted and threw my book at him.

"It''s a her, and thank you very much." She sneered and threw the book back at me--but it was in the form of a knife!

So that was it, I thought. One of my favroite authors is about to kill me. But then, something amazing happened. When the knife was about to impale me, a life-sized figure of a little girl in overalls appeared, and grabbed the knife a second before it hit me.
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Posted: 10.13.15

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About Recommended

These posts are singled out by the community.

Here's the tricky part: We at YWP's Intergalactic HQ have chosen which users have the power to make recommendations by certain actions they take on the site. Whoa. That's mysterious.

You are right. But there is a reason for our mystery. We believe -- and practice has shown this to be true -- that if a user knows that their actions result in a piece being recommended, they will become self-conscious about it. And they will change their behavior.

We want these users -- who've been selected on the basis of the quality of their work -- and, particularly, commenting -- to take their actions based on instinct and gut reaction, not on a more cerebral decision-making process. And we like the fact that each of the selectors are different -- and have their own personal criteria -- and we think that gives this listing an interesting complexity.

So enjoy these pieces. The community has chosen these as exceptional. And, maybe, you've had a part in that.
 

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