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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 Susan Reid.

 

 
Apr 27

Wandering

'Wander' They said.
'Wander the world.'
'Test the limits.'
'Explore.'
So I do.
So I wander.
And I explore.
In the day:
The grass is strokes from a painter's paintbrush.
The sun is a ball of laughter.
The trees are proof of resilience.
The river is the sky liquified.
The clouds are balls of fluffy cotton.
At night:
The grass is tinged with what looks almost like frost.
The moon is peace.
The trees are guardians against nightmares.
The river is molten silver.
The clouds are but a whisper, a lullaby just for me.
Wandering has showed me the colors of the world.
Wandering has proved worth while.
But next time I wander,
I want a friend, to share the wonder with.
Apr 21
poem 2 comments challenge: Senses
Emilia Perry's picture

A Walk in a Wooded World


In Vermont,
the middle of spring means everything is brown.

The mud that churns and splashes under tires on the dirt roads.
The bark of the newly-budding trees,
Wet with the rain of promised flowers to come.
The grass that remains pale and scratchy,
Newly free of its heavy winter coating.

A walk in the woods brings new life
To this time so devoid of color.
Though, it does not come in the form of visible hues.

It comes from the chirps and songs of birds,
Who have returned and brought with them such pleasant noise,
Breaking the silence of the winter months,
As barren as the cold landscape itself.

It comes from the sticky sweet sap
Oozing from the maple trees,
Collected in metal buckets,
To later coat your tongue and breakfast,
Thick and rich like honey.

It comes from the smell,
That is so strongly the smell of spring,
Apr 21

The Sky of Clouds

Apr 16

NYC

Apr 15

Being human

Maybe we all don't see the same colors
Maybe we all don't have the same fears
Maybe we all don't have the same political veiws
Maybe we all don't have the same color of skin
Maybe we all don't have the same practiced culture
Maybe we all don't have the same beliefs
Maybe we all don't have the same train of thought
Maybe we all don't eat the same food
Maybe we all don't enjoy the same subjects in school
Maybe we all don't like the same TV shows
Maybe we all don't live in the same place
Maybe we all don't wish for riches and fame
But maybe thats just being human.

 
Apr 11

Behind the Flowers

Apr 11

Vacation In Florida

Apr 06
poem 1 comment challenge: Awakening
Zia Smith's picture

The seed and the sun


The seed lies in the soil
It is silent
Covered in a blanket of darkness
It dreams of wriggling and squeezing into the sunlight
Craving the warmth of the mother sun
However, it waits
Hoping that spring is on the way

Spring
It is here
With open arms and a watering can
Spring slowly begins to tend to its gardens
Carefully and patiently
It brings the wind to wake the small seed
The seed is ready

Days
Weeks
The seed’s fingers climb
Pushing the dirt to the side
Gulping down each drop of precious water
Living for the touch of the sun
The beautiful, radiant sun
Her loving embrace, waiting

The seed
It knows it is close
There is ringing,
Of vibrant colors cascading over the earth
The seed’s fingers can feel it now
It is finally free

Eventually,
The fingertips morph into petals
Mar 29
poem 1 comment challenge: Frost
laurenwwright's picture

Flower Garden

A field mixed with sage and poppy.
Four legs hide between the trees 
but their faded white spots. 
Scoping out the landscape, 
sniffing through the weeds.
They tiptoe through the tall 
green grass, extend their pointed head
toward the ground and tear the color
from the weeds. 

Lifts their face towards the sky
whenever something shuffles by,
and stands like a statue till' sure there's 
nothing left in sight. 

For now when you look past the trees,
you might catch of glimpse of red poppies
poking through it's uneaten leaves. 
Or feel the dirty mint smell of sage. 
But from this distance you can not see
the tiny lines that hold a leaf a different way,
or the contrast of color from the sunshine of day. 
For the details far too small from this far,
which the deer will not see before eating them all. 
Mar 22

Home

Because I am graduating this year it finally hit me that I'd have to leave and I had a crisis about it, so I wrote this.

I used to be embarrassed to say that I am from Winooski. 
I would lie, hide, do whatever I could to disguise it.
And point out every flaw I could to try to distance myself if I was ever found out. 
Now,
As we are honing in on these last few months,
Where soon I will actually have to leave,
I don't want to. 
It has recently dawned upon me how much this school and community has had an impact on who I am and who I will become once my tassel goes right to left and I exit these doors once and for all.
So I suppose I'm writing this as a thank you. 
Thank you to the student body, teachers, administration, everybody that has seen me cry and heard me say hundreds of times that all I want to do is fail and drop out, but then taking me over and over, and helping me succeed. 
Mar 18

prove me wrong


i pray that you prove me wrong. 

i hate being wrong. 

but what you have,

behind your metallic smile,

is stronger than my impulses to 

always be proven correct. 

please prove me wrong. 

i do trust you, believe me, i do,

but it’s his soul that beat you black and blue.... darling,

he gave you that bruise upon your arm, 

and you let him bandage the marks 

with a piece of scotch tape so 

please my love,  know that it is not you, but it is him that i do not trust. And if i’m standing by you, dressed in that dove colored fabric as you approach him with tears on your plush cheeks, i will smile, as you proved me wrong. I pray that you prove me wrong. 
Mar 18

Beauty

Mar 11
poem 0 comments challenge: Invasive
riverrun's picture

A Plea From an Ash Tree

As a little ash tree, I’m young and very sweet.
I just wish emerald ash borers wouldn’t eat me.
I dream I will live a happy long life,
Don’t let them crawl in and destroy me like a wiggly knife.
They crawl under and up in ash bark, squiggling through the dark,
and to get out they dig a hole like a garden with a mole.
Adults are a pretty emerald green, but they will eat my flesh all clean.
I don’t believe using pesticides will most successfully work, but also don’t want the beetles to continually lurk.
They tend to eat me and my fellow trees, but I’d be nice to them if they were nice to me.
Since that’s not the case, please help keep them in a contained place.
Leave your firewood in it’s space so that my bark doesn’t become lace.
People should protect the trees and fight as one so that in the end the ash trees will overcome.

 
Mar 08
lana.W's picture

Tales From a Storm Shelter

Listen to the wind.
Like a man who has sinned,
It thrashes and screams and shouts.
Our hopes may have thinned
but it's only the wind.
Let go now of any and all doubts.

The heavens now cry,
As trees and leaves fly.
But children are calmed and regaled.
So worry not why,
Just let the clouds cry.
You're safe now, the doors have been nailed.

Sam put that down!
Sweet Emma don't frown.
This storm will be all over soon
We’re all safe for now.
Then we’ll all go lay down
Beneath the pale light of the moon.

It’s just one more hour
Till we don’t have to cower.
And the sun is shining again.
The earth will then flower,
In this short, golden hour.
There's no need to fret, my friend.

 
Mar 01
fiction 2 comments challenge: Alone

House of Life

         The house was quiet, devoid of human life. It had been an hour since the humans had left to go on a road trip. The house began to stir, quite literally. The books perched upon the bookshelf yawned and came to life. The dishes in the cupboard carefully climbed out and began to roam around. The small, unlit candles jumped from their table and rolled into the living room. The reclining chairs and couch remained stagnant but alive now nonetheless. Every small, mobile object made its way into the living room. They seemed to be hosting a meeting, only talking amongst themselves. The pet cats that were roaming about saw the previously inanimate objects now moving around and speaking, and they yowled in confusion, scrambling to hide downstairs, dodging some small cat toys ironically hopping up the stairs.
Feb 18

A Dream of Broken Promises

 They say that when we dream, it’s caused by slow brain waves creating narratives that are a mixture of the days events and our imaginations. That these fancy imagines, designed for mental recovery, are of our own creation. But if that is true, somebody tell me why every time my head falls to it’s pillow and my eyes flutter shut, I see it. And why every time I wake up, my mind is full of memories of something that never was.
 I see an old, run-down, wooden shelter, held together by a few nails and planks of wood, glowing in golden afternoon light. I see long, silky, grass and soaring mountains off in the distance. I am confused, always confused, for this is a place I know not, I have never set foot on the ground here.
Feb 15
H20.hollym's picture

On the Anniversary of Parkland

On the one-year anniversary of the shooting at Parkland High,
I think about big things:
of love and trust, peace and courage,
of fear, violence, and hatred.
I think of problems, solutions. 
Institutions.
I think about humans-
our motivations, wants, needs. 
Our weaknesses
our challenges
our strengths.
And I think about lives bled out by bullet wounds
administered by weapons of mass destruction.

We have all heard of numerous tragedies
that continue to be repeated.
We all have some sort of tally in our minds.
And despite a lot of people's stances on gun control,
I don't think a great number of people exist
who are far from hurtened 
when these homicides are committed.
Yet overwhelmingly some semblance of a solution
has not been secured
and largely because, I think, 
of a lack of trust in our government.
A gun is an instrument of power.
Feb 10
megabaker's picture

Today the Baby Crawled on Me

by Toby Baker-Rouse

Today the baby crawled on me 
With kisses and with drool
My mother brought him up the stairs
To get me up for school

Today the dog, she jumped on me
She sat upon my head
My mother brought her up the stairs 
To get me out of bed

Today my sister woke me up
With stomping and a yell
She thumped her way down all the stairs
Louder than alarm bells

Today my brother jumped on me
My blankets he did take
My mother sent him up the stairs 
To see I was awake

Today my mother sang to me
As she is apt to do
It's very loud and all off key
But gets me up for school.

Today nobody woke me up
I slept till almost noon
I wore pajamas, read and played
But Monday comes too soon.
Feb 06
MaggieClark's picture

Choices

I stare at the young puppy. His eyes reflect the light, and his tongue wags freely about his mouth. “I’ll think about it” I whisper, the puppy paws at  the cage and its face fills with dread, as I turn in the other direction. I look back and the puppy, it has already forgotten my face. He chases his tail, never once thinking about the maybe home, that he maybe had.
Jan 27

Icy Silence, Water and Sight

Everything is icy when you dive underwater
It leaves you no time to think, to wonder whether you made the right choice
It leaps into your skeleton
You are suspended in what only you can feel 
Opening your eyes
Everything is blurry 
Green and blue
Your eyes sting, and are closed once again
Blind, you propel yourself through the bubbles that dance all over your skin
They waltz with the goosebumps that cover you

Water 
Smooth and silky, wanders and caresses you
You hear nothing
You are alone
You are singular, you are infinite
You are beautiful
Any sound is muffled
Stifled
Silenced
As your hair floats around
It haloes your face
Brushes your cheek
Your eyelashes

Your toes brush the rough mush of the bottom
Stretching, you descend
Kneeling, you listen
These are the last moments
That you will hear
Nothing