Content published by vtdigger.org



Young Writers Project is grateful to VTDigger.org, a nonprofit news operation in Vermont, for publishing selected YWP writing, art and photos each week. Please support the young writers and artists by going to VTDigger.org and leaving a comment. These pieces are selected for publication by YWP staff, mentors and this site's Community Leaders. If you wish to participate in the selection, contact YWP Executive Director Susan Reid.
 

 
Oct 07
22donam's picture

origami city

lovely, oh it'd be so lovely
if you would come with me
well take a trip you'll see
down to a place so pretty
to origami city--

my fickle hearted friend
it's just around the bend
so won't you come with me--

we can run past white paper houses
as if they'd blow away
and climb the tallest skyscraper
you and I--

oh wouldn't it be pretty
down in origami city
where we can watch the stars 
from our tiny paper cars
as they flicker above--

temperamental pal won't you stick around for a while
I bet I can make you smile
if you trust me 
you will see
we can be--

so wouldnt it be pretty 
down in origami city
just you and me--
Sep 16
sophie.d's picture

Teach Me Climate

The first lab I ever worked in 
Was my backyard. 

I was a self-proclaimed botanist
Taught by the wildflowers in the woods,
And a soil stained flower encyclopedia.
 
I researched the yellow flowers bursting
Along the wood’s edge
And noticed 
The book’s map of North America said 
Their range didn’t extend up to Vermont. 

So why are they here?
I pondered. 
Isn’t it too cold?

At the age of 7, my environmental knowledge
Was built of observation, not explanation
I could see climate change sprouting
Before I learned the word.

Ten years later I can tell you that the earth is warming. 
I understand the news stories of greenhouse gases, 
solar radiation, 
species migration.

But despite the flaming headlines
I know more about slope and Shakespearean Sonnets
Than about the very earth I live on. 
Sep 11

faded memories

Sep 11

Blue-Grey

Blue-grey is the color of the ocean on a stormy day
A day when you can smell the battle of the wind and the water 
Blue-grey is the color of a sad woman's eyes, 
Eyes that haunt your memory for years because you did nothing to help her
Blue-grey is the color of my worn denim jeans 
The ones with the paint splatters and tears in the knees 
Blue-grey is the color of things that used to be wonderful 
That have now faded from use 
Blue-grey is feeling sad on a day when everyone says you should be happy 
It's that last week of winter where the snow is all melted and the air is heavy with hesitation 
Blue-grey is the feeling of finally finding what you need
After months of searching for what you had wanted 
 
Aug 31
mythicalquill's picture

Bliss

Her fingertips drift over the surface of a fallen log—not quite touching, but almost feeling the rutted rhythm of its bark on her skin nonetheless. Her eyes trace the scene before her as if memorizing its depths. They linger on the scant strip of sky visible between the forking branches of a rusty brown maple. As she inhales, the musty scent of decaying wood fills her, and her mind flickers briefly with recognition. The forest smells like old growth and thriving life, an aroma she can almost recall from her long-ago past. Dawn lets the breath slip out in a sigh of contentment.

This place is beautiful and familiar, like the first chapter of a favorite book. She peruses its pages with reverence, giving each petal and fallen leaf its due. 
Aug 30
poem 1 comment challenge: Nonverbal
JordanSara's picture

Dear Friend,

I used to hate silence
the unending weight
spiraling into the abyss
with no aim
no goal
and nothing to be gained.
For years I filled my life with sound
music and meaningless conversations,
all to fill the hole
and yet I felt empty,
knew that my existence was silent.
 I continued on with the same uncaring voices to give me...
something to feel less alone.
But like all false things, those voices
eventually slithered away in the night and
 I feared I was destined to
live
in the emptiness.

When I met you,
I thought it would be the same
that I had to fill the empty air
for you to care.
But one day we fell into silence,
conversation a burden to our tired minds,
so we simply lounged together.
Yet I didn't feel you slipping away into the chasm,
I didn't feel that I had to say
one breath-filled 
word.
For once, the silence was good
Aug 27

Brand New Friend

I always have trouble talking to a stranger
It's something that's just not in my nature
But this is a new school and new year
Might as well try, I have nothing to fear
So I got the courage to ask him his name
Then I saw the book in his hand and knew we were the same
We shared our interests on various books and stories
finding out that we love the same categories
And before I could think and comprehend
I ended up having a brand new friend
Aug 17

Oh, the places we'll go

1.    The crash of waves on a hidden beach somewhere lost in France. The cliffs rising high around us, so much so they appear to touch the clouds. The sky clear, a mirror of the forever ocean in front of us. The waves taste of salt and possibility, and the air smells fresh and sweet. And fishy.

2.    A rocky scrabble. A final climb to the top of Africa. A pounding in my veins, of the altitude and the oxygen. A bead of sweat, stealthy climbing down your forehead. We stand straight, for the first time in hours. Still. Swaying like the grasses so far below, and the waves on a hidden beach. Our breathing slows. And the world goes on. And on.
Aug 12
eulusivepurplepanda's picture

A Love Letter To My Bedroom

My dearest darling, 
My most beloved chamber, how my heart aches at the words that I have to say to you now. I am behind a veil of tears as I think of our nearing separation. It is you that have been close by my side all these long eight years, you who hath raised me alone in the comfort of your insulated embrace. I still remember when I first met you, a child of seven years, eyeing your vintage 50's floral wallpaper and sea-foam green carpet. Stuck to your hardy, pale walls and auburn floorboards since birth. 
Aug 05
Eloise Silver Van Meter's picture

My Desires

Here is what I know:
When I feel something personal and meaningful,
my belly bubbles up inside
My mind begins to expand
and explore,
pondering future possibilities.
I become ensure of what to do with the swirling
and my flushed cheeks––
all my past knowings are turned to
grains of salt
and I begin to consider all of the other perspectives.

That is how I want to feel every day.

I want my perceived ideas to be challenged
and my ideals to be questioned.
I want to wonder why I think what I think
and why you think what you think.

I should be curious about all things:
How the happenings in my small community reflect those of a larger state.
Why certain pigments look so incredibly pleasing together.
Why the vision of the earth which nurtures all life is so surreal.
Why I have been conditioned to view unnatural even harmful things as beautiful.
Aug 03
poem 1 comment challenge: Legacy

The persistence of memory

Legacy.

On my notebook, nestled in the corner
among glued-on stars, are the words
second law of thermodynamics.

It means, literally, that entropy always increases.
It implies that one day, the very last star will run out of
nuclear fuel and everything, anything,
will cease to exist.

I chose to have those words there as a
reminder of my impermanence,
that simple scientific law
turns the pages back to sun-drinking trees in my hands, my
hands back to dust.

What I’m trying to say is I don’t need a legacy.

I don’t need my name up in lights.
But I would like it in the wind and seasalt and dandelions, so
burn me when I die.

I don’t need my name to go down in history.
the infinity before and the infinity after anyone said it
will all be the same to me.

Legacy.
What a distracting concept.
Jul 29

Tear yourself apart

Tell her that she’s beautiful, 
and watch her smile before 
she devours the compliment up 
lapping at every last honey drop 
at her fingers because she’s 
been starved for so long, 
and what is a girl without 
other people to tell her  
the value that she has? 

Tell her that she’s skinny 
and she will beam before 
looking in the mirror and tracing 
the outline of her ribs with 
her paper fingers, half human 
half ghost, so thin she’s almost gone
hunger was never beautiful, 
this animal eating her up from inside. 

Tell her that she’s hot and 
look at her short skirt like it’s 
the only part of her that matters and she’ll 
shoot you a grin before tugging down 
her dress as a sense of anxiety creeps 
in her mind because everyone knows 
what happens to girls with too-short dresses
walking alone at night, 
grips her keys between her fingers and 
Jul 25

Montana

This place is absolutely beautiful. 
Our rental house is right next to the Yellowstone river. :)

P.S.  
why would anyone use explosives to procure fish???
Takes all the fun out of it.
Jul 24

Monochrome Photos

I explored black and white photography today! 
 
Jul 20
serenamae2020's picture

Monopoly

Happy. 
When everyone is on an equal playing field. 
The same amount of money is around the board,
all of the properties belong to the bank, 
and the only thing holding you back 
is a roll of the dice. 

Excited. 
You start to move around the board. 
People start to buy a place or two,  
chance cards are read, 
it's less equal but who cares 
because you're having fun? 

Competitive. 
Someone has a property you want, 
and you go to the edge of the earth
to get it because
you NEED that last orange
to start building your empire. 

Agitated. 
You keep landing on the only hotel on the board, 
and the owner is getting cocky, 
flush with money, 
and the $900 you spent on houses
just isn't panning out like you hoped. 

Desperate. 
In a last-ditch effort to save yourself, 
you try to make a deal for extra cash
Jul 11
Monster_T_02's picture

My Soul Is Returning

I know I may not be the best,
Nor is my mind the greatest,
But I do know my heart still beats,
With the  purest of intent.

My mind may still weep,
My soul may still cry,
But I will not allow myself,
To lay down,
And die.

My hope is slowly returning,
My garden I will replant,
Self love I am still learning,
And strengthening like an ant.

My path is very shaky,
And monsters still jump out,
But seven years is all I need,
to clean my skeltons out.

Seven year in cells,
I will be a new being,
And my body will be cleansed,
From all their wrongdoings.

Your body is renewed,
After seven years,
Every cell is replaced;
The thought brings me to tears.

One day they will not touch me,
My body will not be their's,
I will be a new person,
Without all these trivial fears.

My mind my still be shifts,
Jul 06
sophie.d's picture

The Good Thoughts Project

Hi YWP writers! I’m Sophie Dauerman (sophie.d on YWP). I started the initiative Good Thoughts, which is a project supported by Young Writers Project and designed to share your inspiring words with the Vermont community.
Jul 04

Depth

Jun 18

Don't forget

some days I feel like a painting
flung against the wall.
sometimes I forget my worth and
feel like nothing at all.
but we all have our ups and downs,
we all have our rainy days,
the times that we feel lonely and
the sun is covered in haze.
but do not forget your patience,
do not forget your home,
do not forget to free yourself and
let your confidence roam.
so do not forget your passions,
do not forget your heart,
do not forget your ending and
you'll always know where to start.
Jun 17

Proud to Be a Muslim Woman

Judge us, because we're Muslim.
Call us "terrorists," because we're Muslim.
Think we dress like clowns, because we're Muslim.
Scared of us, because we're Muslim.
Treat us like animals, because we're Muslim.
Think we are violent, because we're Muslim.

But all of these negative thoughts and hate won't destroy us --
because we are faithful, strong, and loving.

Don't judge us because we're Muslim.
We are not "terrorists" because we're Muslim.
We dress beautifully because we're Muslim.
We are not scary because we're Muslim.
We are not animals because we're Muslim.
We are peaceful because we're Muslim.

I'm proud to be a Muslim woman.

- Dalya Almogalli, Edmunds Middle School