The Voice, YWP's Premiere Publication

Each month, Young Writers Project publishes the best work -- words, images and sound -- of this community. This premiere publication features writing from community members from all over the world and reaches 15,000 individual IP addresses a month, a good deal more than 15,000 humans who spend a lot of time reading AND they come back to finish! Help us get more readers! Spread the word -- and the link: -- on social media, on your email signature, in emails to friends!

The selections for this magazine are made by YWP staff, volunteer professionals, mentors and Community Leaders on the site. If you'd like to participate, contact Susan Reid. 

Feel free to add sound and images to your posts! That will make this magazine even better.  To view it, click here.


Jan 16

The Voice - January 2018

Jan 12
Maisie N's picture


The bass on the radio reminds me
Of your voice on Christmas day
A blues-adjacent harmony
The the trumpet you would play
Our two pairs of green eyes
Watching orange coals in the fireplace
A childhood we left behind
Memories we carry to this day.

This music makes me think of you
The sharp, focused melody
In time with deeper blues
Jazz plays in my head as I walk home alone
Follows me no matter what I do.
Jan 07

i'm sorry, do i know You?

He grits his teeth as he opens his door
it might be 11 am but he thinks it's his time.

The door hasn't been oiled
and he doesn't care because he doesn't open it enough
for it to be something to care about.

Nevertheless the responding creak makes him bite
down harder on his new filling.

He liked sweets too much as a child
and still does as an adult.

In front of him is a stranger,
Jan 03
poem 2 comments challenge: I Like
ZAP's picture

Making lolipops

I like the sweet smell of maple wafting through the house
I like the bubbles, big and small, growing and shrinking
I like waiting for the thermometer to hit 295° F
I like watching the hot maple syrup swirl in the pan
I like the molds, rounded metal concealing delicate designs
I like the syrup trickling into the tiny cracks and crevices
I like waiting until the syrup is thick in the mold
Jan 02

Below the Sea of Blue

Below the sky are the clouds; white as milk
Below the clouds is the sea; soft as silk
But what is below the sea?
Below the sea is a city; gleaming and gold
Below the sea is a monster; fearsome and bold
Below the sea there is something, but maybe just nothing
Dec 28


this morning i sit (alone)
watching the sun crawl
up from behind the mountains.
it's astonishing and makes me
wonder why i don't rise
before the sun every morning. and
it makes me think of you,
still sleeping softly (somewhere
too far away). the thought leaves
a sour missing feeling in my chest and throat
forcing me to look away from the sun
(to hide my tears from his watching eyes)

i've decided that we're to
Dec 28
H20.hollym's picture


I swear I hear voices
beneath the ceaseless clamour
(of a car radio with no off-button)

The announcer jabbers about the most recent
abuse of power (a boy crafted from the earth
shattered by invasions of metal)

Then music explodes without a second's pause,
but in the lead vocalist's voice I hear a mother's wail
(her son was taken for the most unjust reason
of all and she does not have the wings necessary
Dec 22

A Tree

A tree

A maze

with many different branches

and ways to climb.

A home

for thousands upon thousands

of animals

living their day to day life.

A sunset

with so many different oranges

and yellows

against the blues of the sky.

And a  bed

for me to rest my head

After a long day.

Dec 10

Piano and Publication

She was always there.
Short gray hair,
cheerful sweaters,
frameless glasses,
and a kind smile.

Sitting at the piano,
sweetly playing
for us to disregard.

For eight years,
she accompanied our skipping
in small bright feet,
changing to clumsy disrespect and defiance.

Whenever the swooping teacher
spoke abrutly to her
after she played a bit too long,
not being able to hear the request to stop
Dec 05

Nov/Dec 2017 Issue

Dec 04
poem 4 comments challenge: Ask
lodestoa's picture

Sunless Mournings

I thought I was alone in the house,
But your ghostly apparition still haunts me.
Your room now bare and desolate;
Your last moments are forever engraved in my memories.

I thought it would be easier to let you go,
But no light can penetrate this dark enclosed prison.
Our home now an isolated cage
Where I can't escape my own delusions.

I thought summer would be warm,
Nov 27

dancing on a white picket fence

I saw her
when she was
dancing on a white picket fence.

The sunlight dappled her
autumn hair and the freckles on her nose
as she twirled in the breeze.

Closed eyes
while the melody
played on her skin.

Her feet knew the way
like they had been dancing
for a thousand years.

A daisy
flipped behind her left ear
as she swayed, skipped, and jumped.

The world was far away
for her
Nov 26


I lift my chin to the sky
to expose my neck to the unbridled sun
and fall into the ocean back first, belly-up.
It rocks me like a sleeper car, 
holds me in the crook of its arm
and carries me out towards the horizon.

Of course we don't notice the water growing deeper;
we're floating on our backs, after all.

Beneath the pebbled surface
my fourteen-year-old eyes ripple like hot glass,
Audio download:
Nov 26
earleyg's picture

Life With Autism

The autistic mind is a very complex mechanism. Take it from me. I am on the autism spectrum. People with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) see, hear, sense, and process the world in completely different ways than neurotypical people. While I am not an expert on ASD, I am an expert at living with it. I am aware of it every day. People with ASD sense more things than people who don’t have ASD. Smells are heightened to another level, and certain noises irritate our sensitive hearing.
Nov 25

Little Truths

You'd probably like to think you're strong,
You sure try to act like it.
Remember when you dropped that 10 pound weight,
And you said you didn't mean to,
But I knew it was because you couldn't lift it for long?
That should be proof enough.
But the truth is,
You're like my little Charlie Brown tree,
Sad and puny,
But strong enough to hold up one ornament.
Strong enough to me.

You always prounce around,
Nov 24

Reports From the Edge of the World

(tippy top of the freedom tower) 

I never knew I could fly, 
at least not that high.

I never knew that city lights 
could be so many colors at once,
a pulsing, swirling mess of life...
recognizable from thousands of miles away.

No doubt confusion, a simple fact. 

And then there’s the water,
smooth and so flat
that if you sneezed from up here
you could probably see the ripples.
Nov 19
Kittykatruff's picture

Peter Pan

A poem written by my little sister.

I had a dream,
wonderful dream
A dream as magical as fairy dust—
In my dream, I saw Peter Pan
With Tinker Bell by his side.
I dreamed we went to Neverland,
And saw Captain Hook and his maties.
I also saw Native Americans, and
Mermaids, too, with braids.
I felt like I could fly,
With dust that twinkled with a shine.
I went soarin through clouds,
Nov 18

Rainy Soul Sputtering

I wrote a poem, 
with that small red pen you gave me,
ink slipping across the page 
and onto unsuspecting fingertips.  
Just enough to cover 
the parts where 
ink met pen met finger.

I wrote a poem 
on the bench 
outside of the train station,  
people bustling by: 
to busy to stop and look for a moment, 
honking cars 
and the slight 
smell of gasoline 
bubbling from the vents.

I wrote a poem 
Nov 16
AlluraSR's picture

Poem, (sad sad)

I know why the bluebird sings

 why the telephone rings

I know why the bees hum

why the drum beats

But no one cares

About me

A little person

In a tidal wave

Of sea

Nobody notices me

A little forgotten person

In a crowd of people

No comments no concerns

Just burns

From a fire

No hi no hello

Just goodbye