Jan 20

President Joe Biden

These are more photos from November 7th.
 
Jan 16

Smoke Signal

Jan 10

Photos (random and not connected)

Jan 08
Ada123's picture

Oak Tree

I walked past a crumbling stone wall; it was covered in moss, and acorn shells littered between the rocks showed that squirrels had once been there. The stone wall ended, leaving a gap between where the wall would start up again. I walked through the gap, following the path that had been made by the numerous times animals had trampled on the tall grass to get to the other side of the field.

    I followed the path, feeling the grass graze against my legs. I kept my head down low, not wanting to see what was ahead before I reached my destination. I knew what was ahead; I had come to this spot time and time again, but I kept my head low anyways, navigating my way through the tall grass and chirping crickets. I reached the clearing on the other side of the field.

Ice Fishing


“Time to get up,” said Dad. Half awake, I had almost forgotten that we would be going ice fishing today. We get ready to go by packing all of our gear, checking the tip-ups and loading up the truck. We need extra warm clothes today since we’ll  be out on the cold ice all day. 

We drive to Lake St. Catherine and once we get there, we unload the truck. Today is going to be a good day out on the ice, I think to myself. We walk around on the ice until we think we have found a good place to fish. We use the auger to drill holes in the ice and get the tip ups in.  Now all we need to do is wait until a fish bites.

    I like to jig while we wait. Jigging is when you have a little pole and bait and you drill a hole in the ice and fish with your jig pole. You usually want a lot of holes. I only jig a few minutes in every hole. It is better to have a portable fish finder so you know where to fish. You usually will catch panfish but I've caught others. 
Jan 07
Alaina Cimonetti's picture

Moments

 
Flying free beyond the shimmering shore, 

Riding where no being has gone before,

Flowing, skipping steps on the darkened grass, 

Hoping that the moment will always last.

Trying to flee from all that cursed past, 

Feelings, freeing but what that feeling cast, 

And leaving the last shards from what has crashed,

Knowing that the moment will always last.
 
Horses neighing and the horses braying, 

Trying to escape the feelings attack, 

Riding, crying, while fleeing on his back, 

All for hope that the moment will not pass. 

All is trying, hope relying one day, 

those magical, beautiful moments last. 
 
Jan 06

Matar (to kill)

I am doing history homework 
when I watch the Capitol fall. 
                  (Ironic, isn't it? History always repeats itself.) 

We were trying to watch the 
electoral votes being counted and suddenly 
a push           no a wave 
of red, exclamations about gas masks 
and armed rioters and for a second 
I thought we had been transported 
right back to where we came from.
                  (God! my mother exclaims. It reminds me of Iran!
Please tell me what to do.
I am fifteen years old and I am watching 
democracy burning, burning. 
I am fifteen and I am watching a red man sprawled over
the vice-president's seat, confident. 
                  (It's funny, the smoke kind of smells like spit & passion, 
                   like hurt & tears, like treason & smashed glass.) 
There are pictures, guns drawn 
and I watch the news anchors repeating 
Dec 25
Icestorm's picture

Erasure

i. dremel uvula
we are girls. to hope is to expect. to revert back
to sticky hands, to beg between tantrum sobs
for lullabies. we are girls, we polish
our sentiments (with sandpaper tongues)
down to shining minimums
before bending at the waist to spit them
onto the kitchen table, beside the clay vase
of cut carnations. we girls wipe away excess saliva, knowing
nothing tastes as cloying as an apology. we girls dance
to the clatter of amethyst
on expectant dinner plate. to the fine china shards
we tape to brick walls. girls, girls
almost as demanding as
the word pretty.

ii. gardeneress
the gardeneress twists submission from silence
like warm bathwater from a washcloth
& hangs them both up to dry. looking at bookshelves
the same way she yanked out her son's teeth
in the dull living room bulblight. he watches as she
Dec 23
Francis.Kautzman's picture

Say their names - a photo series

This is a series of photographs that were taken in the summer of 2020 during a Black Lives Matter protest taking place on Church Street in Burlington, Vermont. The photos capture the expression and passion of the crowd marching through Burlington. These photos were shot on a digital camera in color and converted to black and white in post production. In this work I tried my best to capture close up portraits of people's expressions as well as their signs. They are showing the people's reaction to the mistreatment of Black Americans across the nation. It made me feel hopeful that so many Vermonters were willing to show up to protest.                            
Dec 17

Cat on the windowsill

Coiled on the windowsill
watching as the snow falls down
from a leak in the clouds

a tail like an old grandfather clock
swish, swish, swish
giving the occasional thump on the wall

someone splattered the unwanted colors
and she was caught in the mix –
she is only black, brown and white now

small breaths fog the glass
steam like the hot cocoa being
passed around the table

nose pressed against the cold window
almost as though she can touch the feathery frost
that lines the windowsill

satellites sit atop her fluffy head
twitching at the smallest sound
always listening

collar purple like the old wrapping paper in the basement
or the dried out flowers on the counter
or the little girl's coat, except it is not speckled in snowflakes

still, on the windowsill
stomach rising up and down
gentle, calm.

The messenger

Pen and watercolor.
 
Dec 12

Eve

Dec 02

Let's hope it stays

Many times,
I have taken a look 
out of my living room window. 
Just a simple glance.
And what I keep seeing,
keep watching,
is the snow.
The white spots of
winter,
of cold,
that dot the sky.
I will watch them in awe and
go to sleep that night with 
happy thoughts,
marvelous thoughts.
But then the next morning,
as I jump off my bed
and race to the glass,
watching my breath fog up
in front of me,
I see no white,
I see no crystals of ice.
Instead,
I see dull grass,
with leaves of brown
scattered around.
It isn't that the world around me is dull,
it is simply that I 
love the white,
I love the cold,
the coziness of a blanket wrapped 
around me,
the tastiness of the cocoa on my tongue. 
But I see no snow.
I see no ice.
And it is now December,
the month of snow,
of cheers,
of songs,
Nov 30

Snowy Trees

Nov 28

Christmas Trees

Nov 25

My Letter To Santa

Dear Santa,

I’m writing to you today in a moment of childish aspiration. My Christmas wishes this year are primarily impossible for you to grant. However I’ve decided to take a chance and tell you anyway. Now I’ve heard some compelling stories of magic so strong that reindeer can fly way up high in the sky. Also tales of a man named Kris Kringle who travels around the entire world in one night on a sleigh filled with toys for good girls and good boys. I’ve learned through the years that you’re always watching me and you know if I’m naughty or nice. I’ve got to say this year I’ve been very nice;) With magic that powerful I want to at least share with you what I want for Christmas. Maybe a Christmas miracle will find its way into my life…..

My Christmas List:

1. I want for hate to dissipate and love to thrive
2. I want everyone everywhere to have a plentiful meal on their table at least for the holidays.
Nov 20
fiction 0 comments challenge: Tune

Survivor


This story was inspired by the song “Safe Place to Land” by Sara Bareilles, featuring John Legend. This song has a very sad tone to it. For most of the song Sara and John are singing a story about bad things happening, but then right at the end it changes to a more hopeful tone about how people can make a difference in the lives of others. I drew from that and told the story of a woman who had really been struggling in life and had gone through some tough times, but was then okay after getting a little help, and then went on to make a difference and speak about her life.


    “You can be a light for someone in a time of darkness like my friend Peter was for me. You can have a huge impact on someone’s life just by taking the time to notice them. I am a survivor. But I wouldn’t have been unless someone had taken the time to notice me.” Alicia paused, sweeping her eyes over the crowd. 

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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.