Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

To live in the moment — to use our senses to ingest our surroundings and find an appreciation for every small felicity, in spite of our challenges — can be, for many, the only worthy purpose of life. For others, fulfillment is found in the promise of posterity. And for a third type, such as this week’s featured writer, Oliver Ellis of Belmont, happiness comes from straddling the two worlds: Experiencing new emotions, discovering new convictions through the process of committing them to the eternal page.

A young poet’s manifesto

Oliver Ellis, 14, Belmont

Anyone

can be a poet.

Anyone

can use their gift.

Anyone

can take a handful of words 

and make someone laugh with them.

The pen is my trigger,

the words my recipe – 

for tears,

for smiles,

for love,

and               

for hate too.

A pen is a search engine

without a filter,

and somehow it seems to know

what your weak spots are.

And every day – every single day – 

I pick up that pen and write. I write all the time, because   

someday there will be nothing left.

I use my words as an

excuse.

An alibi.

It’s who I am.

A conscientious

objector to    

conforming

and

being just like

everyone else.

     I think we need more words. Because at the end of the day, what else will be left? Not our silly paper money, that’s for sure. Not our fancy cars, not our mansions. Not our strict laws or closed-minded biases. 

     But I have a notion that our words and our emotions will always be, as a reminder of what’s at stake in this world: nothing and everything.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘A young poet’s manifesto’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

Whether you’re bobbing on the lake or zipping through the tree line atop skis, there’s nothing quite like that rush of a cool, invigorating breeze on your face. But the lines between the subjective and objective begin to blur when compared to that special wind-whisper at the start of a New England autumn. Nature has an empowering effect, too. This week’s poet, Sela Morgenstein Fuerst of South Burlington, twirls through the falling leaves on a pair of rollerblades, imagining a brighter future for both self and country.

Independence on Rollerblades

Sela Morgenstein Fuerst, 12, South Burlington  

These shoes feel like wings. 

I am

f l y i n g

across the newly grooved pavement, balancing

on pink wheels and scraped knees and a perfect morning,

whispering, You won’t fall. Someday I will glide straight

into the White House and spin around

with my arms out wide as the changing leaves swirl golden

around me. I’ll write my own declaration

right then and there, in my wrist guards and helmet,

my name scrawled at the bottom in big, looping letters,

like the gentle curves of my body as I skate

toward freedom

and f a l l.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Independence on Rollerblades’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

The Girl and the Sky

Fiona Bock, 15, Glover

A little girl looked up to the sky – 

“So big and far away, it’s like that, why? 

I don’t know why you are 

The way that you are,  

But you have far, shining stars 

And I’m but a trying cry.” 

The sky bent down to the ground where she sat

And murmured softly, “You’re but a lass,

So young with such promise,

I’ve seen it go by.

But you’re here right now,

So look at the flowers, 

Don’t cry.”

“Isn’t the world changing so fast?

Haven’t the days we’ve known

Almost wholly gone past?

Where are the bluejays, the startling colors?

Where is the wonder, not thunder, the sunburns of summer?”

“Aye,” cried the sky, now that you say,

“I’m choking on smoke,

I’m beat up and broke,

I’m torn and I’m worn 

And I’m shorn of my hope!”

“But you still are blue, e’en behind the clouds

Your colors are true, your face is so proud!

Your tears give me life. 

I’m sorry your strife

Is cause of my parents and grandparents and human amount!”

“It’s not one, but it’s all,”

Said the sky with a sigh,

“It’s not just one person’s fault,

But the shared blame is the shame

Which prevents us from acting!

You’re worse if you’re silent 

For you’ll find hurt by your neighbor’s violence!”

In the rain that poured down,

The girl wept with the sky, 

The drains drank up the water 

And tears fell from her eye. 

“What now, my sky, where can I go

When the entire earth is 

Sunk to death row?

How can I make fire to feed a starving world

When fire is stolen and used to make gold

That the true people won’t see,

That will kill the honeybees,

And without honey, without sugar,

Without life or love, 

Without wonder we plunder.

I’m so sad, sky, I’ve fallen under!”

“But these are happy tears,

I have not fear 

But hope! 

I will profess my hope

For you!”

So she danced in the rain from the sky,

As a glimpse of sun veined the tear-trodden earth,

And the girl and the sky danced together.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘The Girl and the Sky’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

Rain Running

Eva Lord, 16, Putney  

My watch did not enjoy my run in the rain.

This morning before the other humans had stirred,

I woke to the ringing of an alarm that was not my own,

and saw the irresistible rain.

Now my watch doesn’t tell the date.

The hidden world of the rain

Belongs to me alone this morning,

Belongs to every majestic thing that is more than me.

As I jog past my neighbors’ gardens

I am bathed in a gluttony of green,

and my hungry winter eyes feast.

The streets are deserted, except for the busy car,

the inevitable machinery of sleepwalkers.

My body moves to the hum of the world this morning;  

water fractures off my head.

And I know there is nothing better

than the smell of locust blossoms,

than the patience of the rain

to cleanse me of this human yearning

for something I can never be.

Adam and Eve created a species

who clamor to become — for the power of gods.

All the fine rugs of the world,

Designer panchos,

Sports cars,

Will not wash away makeup like spring rain,

Will not steady an organ, pumping sunlit energy to a body,

Will not remind us that we, too, are waterproof.

We, too, belong to

The wild and pristine wetland

That harbors the waters from flooding the town.

We, too, belong to  

The windy last day of May,

Shivering through the trees.

I return to the burrow of my house,

soaked,

smiling.

There is nothing

like rain running

to save a human soul.

My watch flashes, beeping an anguished protest,

and then goes blank,

beads of water clinging to the inside panel of glass.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Rain Running’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

The Garden Prince’s Freckles

Maelyn Slavik, 15, Burlington  

Spring is blooming

around me,

the trees flushing pink,

the wildflower-shaped freckles  

scattered throughout the grass  

growing darker, brighter

with the sun;

The little boy next door,

our Garden Prince,

wanders through the daffodils,

waist-high on him,

smile like the sun,

liquid glass on the lake.

I want to hand him the crown

I’ve woven from fallen twigs,

the cascading tears

of the weeping willow,

adorned with palm-sized clusters

of apple blossoms

and forget-me-nots;

I want to gift him a cluster of freckles

for him to wear atop his smiling face,

because his joy

is one with the spring,

always growing brighter.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘The Garden Prince’s Freckles’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

Dear Canada

Abigail Balon, 14, Panton

Dear Canada,

You do not belong to us. You never have.

And I really, really hope you never will.

You are your own country, but I know I don’t have to tell you that.

You already know it.

On behalf of many, many Americans (ugh, do I really even want to be an American?),

We’re sorry this has happened.

This makes up for nothing that has been said, done, and proposed,

But we wish this had never happened.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Dear Canada’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

Growing Up

Astrid Longstreth, 15, West Bolton

She used to listen to the snow and think about how beautiful the world was, how magical.

How perfect, pristine, like a flower curled in a tiny fist.

She would gaze with wonder at the sunsets and cry about the things that didn’t matter.

But eventually she would realize that in plucking the beautiful little flower that she had held in her once-tiny fist, she had killed it.

She realized the world wasn’t always perfect, wasn’t always kind to girls lost in ignorant bliss.

She saw that there were real problems worth crying about, and she would hold in her tears —

But some days she would still let them go when the problems and the things that didn’t really matter still overwhelmed her.

Because she never let go of the little girl inside her, and she would feel her breaking free as she listened to the snow falling down in the silent woods. She would briefly wonder if the world really did have some magic in it, before chastising herself for holding on to hope. She wouldn’t always notice the flowers still blooming in the spring and realize that hope does exist. But someday, she would. Someday.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Growing Up’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

Jaquira and Bradee’s works are in response to YWP’s Tomorrow Project, a civic engagement initiative on display until May 31 at Burlington City Hall, in partnership with Champlain Valley Office of Economic Opportunity.

Home, community, inclusion

Jaquira Earley, 17, West Rutland

 Home is where the heart finds rest, 

 A place where dreams and memories nest. 

 In walls of love, in every glance, 

 We find the comfort, and soul’s dance. 

 Community stands with open arms, 

 A gathering of many, safe from harm. 

 We share our burdens, joys, and fears, 

 Working together over the years. 

 Inclusion weaves through every thread, 

 Where all are welcome, arms outspread. 

 No walls to divide, no space too wide, 

 In unity, we stand side by side.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Home, community, inclusion’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

If you’ve ever heard someone make a flippant joke about not wanting their headstone to read that “she kept a clean house,” it may have gotten you thinking. You probably never have, on visits to a loved one’s monument, found references to a person’s career, hobbies or habits. Instead, it’s the human qualities within us that are cherished and remembered. This week’s featured poet, Ev Tower-Pierce of East Burke, celebrates the everyday moments of kindness, rather than the grand gestures, that bring us all together.

Kindness, accidentally

Ev Tower-Pierce, 17, East Burke

I did not know kindness isn’t always loud,

not the grand gestures, not the

throw-the-coat-over-a-puddle –

because sometimes

it is simply someone sitting on the ground 

just because you did, even though 

there’s a perfectly good chair

and they’re wearing white pants.

Sometimes,

it’s the way they swing your hand while walking, no rhythm,

just something they can’t help, or it’s the way 

someone grabs your arm mid-laugh, 

like the joke was too big for one body,

like joy needed somewhere else to go.

Someone spinning while they’re waiting for the microwave,

skipping stairs just to feel a second of flight,

swaying in the kitchen with you,

arms around your ribs, like there’s music

only you can hear.

It’s

the breath someone takes at an open window,

like the sky has said their name.

The way they pull their chair closer to yours,

not because they can’t hear you,

but because they want to.

Someone waiting for your laugh before they keep talking,

letting you hum, letting you be,

someone asking if you’re okay

when you’re crying on the phone

in the middle of the street,

reminding you you’re not invisible.

It’s no big deal, just a hundred tiny things

that say, I see you, I see you, I see you,

without making it a thing.

And maybe you don’t notice at first,

maybe you’re still unlearning how to flinch –

but something in you

starts to relax.

And suddenly,

you’re laughing with your whole body,

spinning in hallways,

breathing deeper at windows,

pulling your chair closer too.

Maybe that’s the point.

Maybe kindness isn’t the starring role –

just the reason

the story gets to keep going.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Kindness, accidentally’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

When we encounter a setback or challenge, or even merely stagnation, it can be necessary to reflect on where our recent attentions and efforts have led us: toward a significant goal we have set, or away from it? Sometimes, we learn, we must make sacrifices for that aspiration, or discard it altogether for something that better aligns with our evolving values. But that spark that keeps us reaching skyward is ever-important – whatever our dream may be. This week’s featured poet, Quinn Brubaker of Shelburne, conveys the not-a-sprint-but-a-marathon that is the path toward achievement of her ambitions.

Chasing onward

Quinn Brubaker, 13, Shelburne

I chase this dream

with everything I have.

I want to be with it

every step of the way.

From the moment I first touched it

to where my fingertips grazed actual possibility,

to where my heart broke

into a million shards

at the edge of the end of the song.

I have felt

a lot of things.

I have loved

a lot of things.

A lot of people.

But nothing touches this.

I run after this

with my heart on my sleeve.

I chase it down with everything I have.

I race it,

follow it,

wander after it.

I dash for it,

I collide with it,

egged on by the briefest, sweetest hint

I taste

when I do this.

There is a moment

of thrill.

There is a moment

where I am in the sky.

There is a moment where I can’t stop smiling and

this is what I want to do,

where I want to be.

This is my passion.

I will fight for it.

I will do anything for it.

Dreams don’t chase you back.

Mine certainly doesn’t.

But I will prove I deserve this.

I will prove I can do this.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Chasing onward’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

“It’s the thought that counts” is rooted in the idea that we give freely and with affection, even if the receiver of our gift is ultimately nonchalant toward it. But when we use our precious time and energy to create, craft – bring into being – the special baubles or baked goods or artworks we present to our loved ones, that phrase takes on a whole new meaning. This week’s featured poet, Rachel Brassard of Montpelier, reveals that she stashes a sliver of her heart in everything she makes for others.

Where I keep my heart

Rachel Brassard, 15, Montpelier

In my attic I keep my heart. 

I hold it there, safe among pillows, blankets, and childhood stuffed animals. 

When I make things, I break off a piece of my heart, 

and sew it into pillows, 

hide it in sunsets, 

pour it into inky words. 

Then I gift it to the people I love. 

I keep my heart in the attic, 

but I always leave bits of it in my art –  

so my loved ones always have a piece.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Where I keep my heart’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

To proclaim that you enjoy long walks on the beach may be to take the risk of sounding like a walking personals ad, but in truth, who doesn’t enjoy a meditative stroll among the rolling waves, with the screech of gulls in the ear and sand between the toes? And all the better if that’s with a partner — platonic or romantic or familial. This week’s featured poet, Jillian Fein of Thetford Center, enjoys a whole-souled promenade along the shore with her much-missed Sister.

The simplicity of the walk-and-talk

Jillian Fein, 15, Thetford Center

Taking a walk along the beach with my sister.

We took the evening to ourselves 

to drive to the beach and watch the sunset.

It’s rare that we get to spend this time alone together.

So, 

we walk 

as the sun gets lower and 

the sky shifts from the bright blue of the day 

into the warm orange and red of the evening. 

And as we walk, we talk,

or more accurately,

I talk.

I talk about school, boring things like what classes I’m taking in the fall.

I talk about friends, how sometimes friendship can hurt.

I talk,

and she listens. 

She offers me the experiences that she had when she was my age.

She tells me stories about when she was in high school.

She doesn’t butcher her words or act like I can’t handle what she tells me.

So as we walk down the beach,

our eyes covered by sunglasses,

I begin to cry.

We take our strides in silence for a while,

listening to the soft crash of the waves on the shore.

I look into the sky and see a beautiful formation hidden in the clouds.

It almost looks like another world,

like if I could just make it through the picture frame of clouds surrounding it, I would be

somewhere beautiful.

But I’m already somewhere beautiful,

watching the sun set over the water

next to a person I love 

more than I know how to say.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘The simplicity of the walk-and-talk’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

Looking out across the breadth of a bookstore, literature in its totality can feel as expansive as the universe — and within it, we find a thousand universes in miniature. In seeking to educate ourselves or escape the humdrum, we traverse through time and space, across seas and over mountaintops; we visit grand ballrooms and grungy dives. Where do you like to travel, though — and why? This week’s featured poet, Scarlett Cannizzaro of Essex, reveals the word-worlds she tarries in and what they teach her about life and learning.

Life through literature

Scarlett Cannizzaro, 17, Essex

Someone asks me, “What is your favorite book?”

I say, “I do not know.”

How can I choose?

How, in this world of 

thousands upon thousands

of genius letters and 

inimitable phrases,

can I choose but one?

Words thrive in my blood.

They race through my veins,

they battle and suffer

a war for which hold more sway –

a war that will never be won,

as there are simply too many words

to sit still with comfort. 

Words are alive in humans.

Humans ingest words as if 

they are honey to a sore throat.

We read books, but more so,

we think about them,

our minds grasping to keep a hold 

on the complexities

so quick to slip and slither away.

We listen to music,

the dance of literature;

we write poetry,

the passion of literature;

and we argue:

the wit.

At heart, we read to learn. 

We read to learn the value of friendship,

of adventure and imagination.

We read to learn how to be smart 

with our own choices,

our own actions,

our own words.

We read to learn what we love.

Literature is here 

to help me when I am hurt.

It heals, 

it protects,

it comforts.

I bury myself in sentences,

cozying up under the quilt of 

children’s stories

my mother read to me when I was young.

I open creaking doors of paragraphs,

watching dust whirl

and settle around the stories

I wrote in fifth grade.

I sift through essays and speeches 

of someone else’s words

as if I’m searching the archives

of another mind,

bothering not to change anything –

just to look,

just to understand.

Humans consume and create literature

for so many reasons. 

For some, the soft lilt of prose 

offers an escape into sleep each night;

for others, the thrill of a cliffhanger

leaves them hopelessly awaiting more.

For me, literature is about life.

It is here to help me understand the past,

the past that I missed;

to help me cherish the present,

the present that can be so difficult

yet so immensely intriguing.

And it is here to help me imagine the future,

because no one likes traipsing blindly

through an inky-black unknown

and literature lights my way.

Words are more valuable than any item I can think of,

and they say a picture is worth a thousand of them.

So the picture of my life someday,

the one I see when I close my eyes,

the one with drive 

and love

and challenge,

it must be pretty priceless.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Life through literature’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

A note from this week’s poet, Abby English of Burlington, who writes in response to the Tomorrow Project, a new civic engagement initiative at YWP aiming to empower youth voices: “I would like to believe that home is not a place; it is the people, the family in our lives. We have been given the greatest gift of all being born into this world. This world that is full of love and family and hope. We are meant to be in this world. … Our homes are not the places, they are the people and the family that love us unconditionally. Some people are not immediately given this chance at love, and do not have people to call home. I wrote this poem about why it is important to help all those who do not have a home yet in this world.”

Home is more than just a place

Abby English, 14, Burlington

Home. Sparks of insight spring into your mind when you hear the word, 

except, this word has so many meanings.

Some might ignore it, not seeing a happy memory.

Some might light up, knowing that home means safety.

Some might care, knowing that not all people have one.

Whether it be a cozy cottage, a stunning apartment, a wooden condo,

or an urban city,

those are places, not homes.

Home is where the people are,

where the love is, where the pets play.

Some are dealt a bad card, and do not have a home. 

They spend their days without that love

that you get when you have a family, a home. 

They might never have the neighborhoods,

the pools, the gardens, the backyard campouts.

That’s why we, as humans, help —

that’s why we can help, 

that’s what we should help, 

so we can give others that home, that love, that joy, that safety.

Because we all have that one gorgeous, beating heart

that connects us all in ways that we cannot even begin to imagine.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Home is more than just a place’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

California may have its scenic coastlines, New York its metropolitan hubs and Utah its stunning rock formations… but if you put it to any Vermonter, they’ll likely tell you all other states pale in comparison. You need only look around you at the autumn leaves aflame, the white-tipped mountains whizzing with skiers, and the small, close-knit neighborhoods that scaffold our lives to understand just how precious our humble realm is. This week’s featured poet, Sela Morgenstein Fuerst of South Burlington, celebrates the composition of our beloved lands and communities in response to the Tomorrow Project, a new civic engagement initiative at YWP aiming to empower the social and political voices of our future.

My true home, Vermont

Sela Morgenstein Fuerst, 11, South Burlington

Being a Vermonter is spending six months of the year wearing a jacket.

Being a Vermonter is running outside in nothing but leggings and a sweater, thinking it’s springtime when it hits 47 degrees.

Being a Vermonter is lying flat on your back in 15 inches of snow, watching the thick flakes tumble down from the sky.

Being a Vermonter is being shocked at the size of all other cities.

Being a Vermonter is knowing three out of seven people you pass on the street.

Being a Vermonter is playing on the University of Vermont Green as a preschooler, already toddling around in a snowsuit.

Being a Vermonter is biking miles and miles with your best friends every weekend, splashing through puddles as the lilacs in your neighborhood bloom.

Being a Vermonter is hiking Camel’s Hump and Mount Philo, and being so used to the Adirondacks in the distance that you forget to take pictures.

Being a Vermonter is going to a stadium and realizing it seats more people than live in Burlington.

Being a Vermonter is baking brownies and crunching through the snow to give them to your neighbors.

Being a Vermonter is reading the newspaper and joining webinars with Becca Balint at school; it’s marching in the Pride Parade while the wind rips through Church Street.

Being a Vermonter is figuring out how to protect Vermont while Vermont figures out how to protect you.

Being a Vermonter is staying at sleepaway Camp Hochelaga, the stars there tinged with sunscreen and waves.

Being a Vermonter is swimming in Lake Champlain every summer, darting through the emerald swathes of pine trees on your best friend’s motorboat.

Being a Vermonter is having to drive to Plattsburgh to go to a decent department store.

Being a Vermonter is not knowing a life without an autumn filled with fire.

Being a Vermonter is shouting the words to “Stick Season” by Noah Kahan out the bus windows as the brown and gray world disappears along the highway.

Being a Vermonter is flying anywhere warmer than here over February break.

Being a Vermonter is still believing in Champ.

Being a Vermonter is so much more than muddy springs and bonfire falls and freezing lakes that feel better than the ocean. 

Being a Vermonter is community and love and beauty all 365 days of the year. 

Being a Vermonter is poetry and nonfiction all in one. 

Being a Vermonter… well, you’re a Vermonter, aren’t you?

Why don’t you tell me.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘My true home, Vermont’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

Time may pass when you’re having fun — but that’s not the only condition under which our fingers feel like a sieve for the hourglass sand. When you’re running late for the bus or lacrosse practice, or watching the moon rise ever-higher above you and your stack of homework, then, too, time becomes slippery. This week’s featured poet, Jane Svindrychova of Norwich, watches the clock with apprehension, facing down the impending reality of the deadlines that follow us throughout our school years.

Time slip

Jane Svindrychova, 16, Norwich

My leisure was over

quicker than expected.

Now I’m back to doing homework,

but keep getting distracted.

Another glance at the clock –

another 30 minutes gone.

And you see, it builds up quickly:

You start off at zero real nicely,

but a few minutes later a quarter’s gone by,

from 15 to 30 to 45,

and in five minutes the hour is practically over,

intervals of 60 slipping right through your fingers.

Now what felt like forever

just couldn’t be shorter.

Oh please, can it all slow down?

I’m afraid I might drown,

crashing 

past each deadline,

falling 

through time.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Time slip’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

Whoever said dogs were man’s best friend never met any but the most wily and cantankerous of cats — for cats are, to many of us, the most paramount comfort in times of strife and charming, chirping companions every other day of the week. (Did you know a cat’s purr actually helps reduce stress?) This week’s featured poet, Emmalynn Kane of Bennington, shares an imaginary conversation between a beloved old family cat and the new kitten he is imparting his wisdom onto.

An old cat’s wish

Emmalynn Kane, 13, Bennington

“Please take care of my human,”

the old cat whispers to the kitten.

“They are scarred and broken.

Until my return,

take care of my human.”

The kitten is listening attentively,

but she doesn't understand much of what the old cat is saying.

“They never forget your meals, nor cleaning the bathroom.

They always check in on you,

no matter whether you’re under their bed

or sleeping on the living room couch,

or even if you don’t want to be checked on.

They always check in on you.

They always know where to scratch you when you itch,

and they will always make time for you.”

“Please keep my human warm, as they do not possess fur.

Give them company when they feel lonely,

and lick their hand when they are crying.”

“Please take care of my human,

until my return.”

The old cat’s bed sinks with his weight.

The little kitten sniffs around.

Please take care of my human.

The kitten understands.

She cuddles close to the human with a purr.

She keeps them warm like the old cat did.

She keeps them happy like the old cat did –

she will do everything the old cat did, until his return.

Anything for the human.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘An old cat’s wish’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

Spend five minutes listening to the news station of your choice, and the truth becomes undeniable: We are living in a country fractured by politics, the economy and shifting schools of thought. But that is not to say we are without hope of weathering the storm together, and mending bridges along the way. This week’s featured poet, Teddy Owens of Essex, still retains the ideals necessary for just such an undertaking — and plans to help shape the world for the better.

A river of tears

Teddy Owens, 14, Essex

Every day when we stand for the pledge, I feel like a curtain has fallen over me,
holding me down.
I remember who our president is for the next four years.
And I want to cry.
I want to sit down and cry a river of tears.
Because sometimes dread and fear grip me and I want the world to stop and let me be sad.
I want the world to let me cry a river of tears.
Then when I am done, I want the world to know that I am now ready for anything it hurls my way.
I want the world to know that I can do anything I put my mind to.
And that it should not underestimate what this generation can do.
What we will do.
And I believe that to be: try our best to make the world a better place, and never give up.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘A river of tears’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

In an era of climate change, pandemics, and national division, one go-to, responsibility-shifting form of optimism is to proclaim that the upcoming generations will be the ones to find solutions for our current societal ills. On one hand, this can put tremendous pressure on Gen Z and Gen Alpha to solve problems older generations created; on the other hand, should we not reliably encourage the fresh energy and enthusiasm of the young to effect positive reform? And what do they have to say about the years ahead, themselves? This week’s featured poet, Galya Siegel-Bromberg of Thetford, will not tolerate others’ doubt – yes, individually and collectively, they are going to change the world.

You won’t, you can’t

Galya Siegel-Bromberg, 13, Thetford

“What do you want to do when you grow up?”

“I want to change the world.”

“Okay, but what are you going to do?”

“Change the world.”

“You can’t.”

“I can.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

“A little girl like you, you can’t do a thing.”

“Yes, I can.”

“You’re too young to understand.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re not going to change a thing.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“Well, I know that I’m going to change the world.”

“Good luck…”

“Thank you!”

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘You won’t, you can’t’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

Creative expression is the language of the soul. We use visual art to communicate what we see in the mirror or in our dreams, just as we use poetry to voice our desires, fulfilled or dashed, and to translate pure emotion into tangible concepts. This week’s featured poet, Evie Crowell of Milton, demonstrates the catharsis of putting pen to paper to assuage the great swirls of feeling that at one time or another come to engulf the anxious, lovesick or ebullient minds of us all.

Being a poet

Evie Crowell, 14, Milton

Being a poet–– 

I think to be a poet means

to be one to bleed out 

on lined paper 

and express the hurt 

you must feel.

That not everyone is going to

understand the 

“language” we speak 

to communicate. 

That sometimes the words we write 

hit like a truck we didn’t see 

coming.

We write to conquer the fear 

of not being 

understood 

by others. 

Writing our feelings 

is like exhaling a

big breath 

we’ve been holding in

for 

way

too long.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Being a poet’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

There’s no arguing with a title like “The way to a man’s heart is food, they say”; the words can only be expanded upon: The path to nearly anyone’s heart can be reliably carved out with the right steaming alfredo bake or warm-from-the-oven batch of double chocolate chip cookies. This week’s featured poet, Amaris Seville of Cavendish, pours heart and soul into whipping up the perfect dish, shared in good cheer with a hungry and grateful suitor.

The way to a man’s heart is food, they say

Amaris Seville, 14, Cavendish

Searing, frying, sautéing,

wiping sweat off my forehead,

crying because of onions:

the things I do for a boy.

I hope he likes it.

The doorbell rings.

The door opens, he stands with a bouquet in his hands.

He lifts his head and sniffs the air.

“It smells like my mom’s house,” he says.

My body melts, my heart calms.

We laugh, we eat, plates clean, us stuffed.

He sits back and looks into my eyes with such endearment and love.

The way to a man’s heart is food, they say.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘The way to a man’s heart is food, they say’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

Some people hold the opinion that our faults, quirks and mishaps make us who we are. But what does that look like in practice — that extension of compassion for those eccentricities that color our personality and image? This week’s featured poet, Isla Segal of Woodstock, finds enthusiastic praise for and meaning in the not-so-perfect chipped nail polish of another student.

The girl with nail polish like stars

Isla Segal, 13, Woodstock

The girls drum their fingernails

lightly,

not like real drumming —

more like timid rain.

Their nails extend

two nail-lengths past

the end of their nail,

shiny white,

shiny pink,

shiny red if they’re feeling

different.

They tap like timid rain 

on their desks,

on their chins,

on their travel mugs.

Timid

rain:

pat,

pat,

tap.

But the ones I love

are the ones who come into school,

holding school breakfast.

Their nail polish is like stars on their nails.

It’s five days since the perfect polish turned

to broken pieces.

Now they’ve been stars

since I can remember,

and they’re little magenta dots

all over her nails,

and she hasn’t taken them off yet,

and I love her for her stars.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘The girl with nail polish like stars’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

In the depths of our inevitable winter doldrums (those moments we’re not whizzing down Vermont’s picturesque slopes or sipping hot chocolate by the fire, that is), it’s easy to let ourselves daydream about a far-off New England summer, filled with wildflowers and warm breezes…  and juicy berries plucked straight from the bush. This week’s featured writer, Laura Bennett of Chester, recalls with mounting anticipation the annual family tradition of a visit to the local blueberry farm and the scratch-made bars that follow.

Blueberry bars

Laura Bennett, 14, Chester

It’s late August, and Mom packs us all up in the minivan and we set off for the beautiful, scenic drive to Alexander’s Wild Blueberry Farm. For me, this is one of my favorite days of summer. The sweaty, sticky weather doesn’t bother me now — all I can think about is what our blueberry pickup means: a freezer full of tiny, sweet berries ready to be baked into many delicious bars.

The second we get home, my siblings and I dart to the trunk, eager to help my mom unload the bags of fresh berries. To us, the quicker we bring the berries in the house, the quicker we can grab handfuls of the blueberries and shove them into our mouths, covering our tiny lips and fingertips in purple stains. 

The first step in the long-awaited baking process is gathering all our ingredients. We run from cabinet to cabinet spreading the ingredients across the freshly cleared counter: flour, rolled oats, brown sugar, baking soda, butter and most importantly, the blueberries. After making sure we have all the ingredients, we start measuring: one cup of flour, one cup of oats, a two-thirds cup of brown sugar, a

quarter teaspoon of baking soda, one stick of butter,and one-and-a-half cups of blueberries. Then it’s time for the real baking to begin. We dump everything but the butter and berries into a medium-sized bowl, mixing it all together. Next, we add the butter to the bowl, taking turns mashing the whole mixture with a pastry blender until it resembles coarse crumbs. Once we finish our crumble, it’s time to put it in the pan. We measure out a half-cup of the crumble and set it aside. We press the rest of the mixture into the bottom of a nine-by-nine glass pan. After the crumble bottom is nice and packed down, we add in our blueberries, covering the pan with an ocean of teeny, tiny pockets of sweetness. Mom pours the rest of the crumble on top of the berries, evening it out, before popping the bars into a 350-degree oven and starting the 30-minute timer for the bars.

The 30-or-so minutes when the bars are in the oven are my favorite because it means reading the Robert McCloskey classic “Blueberries for Sal.” We flip through the pretty, paper pages covered in beautiful drawings, saying, “Mom, read it again, again!” And as soon as we hear the oven timer go off, we jump up and run through the door to the kitchen. The room is filled with the aroma of toasted oats and sizzling berries, making us all eager to devour the bars. Mom walks to the oven, turning off the repeatedly beeping timer before proceeding to open the glass oven door and pulling out the toasty bars.

“Can we eat them?” we beg Mom.

“Not yet,” she replies, placing the pan on the stovetop. 

When the bars have cooled, we each grab a small blue-and-white Corelle plate, waiting for Mom to cut up the bars. Slicing them into perfect squares, she hands one to each of us before placing one on a plate for herself. We head outside to a plaid picnic blanket to eat our delicious bars under the August sun.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Blueberry bars’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

When the holidays end, it’s natural for the low light, chill, and slush of the season to bring us down — and in that state, it can be difficult to remind ourselves that winter is still replete with its own special kind of magic. This week’s featured poet, Astrid Longstreth of West Bolton, extols the beauty of freshly falling snow (whether the white flakes be gently landing in silence or whipping through the air with gusto) and the childlike wonderment that it produces inside us.

Snow does something magical

Astrid Longstreth, 15, West Bolton

Snow does something magical, I think,

creating a blank slate — can I start over now?

It fuels first loves, the paths criss-crossing in a storm, a blizzard that lingers in the memories.

People have been lost to the snow, frozen fingers lost forever — but I think I have been lost to it in a different way.

Falling flakes from skies of gray and wind blowing, fighting against those who would wish to tame it. Snow is free. Snow is magical.

Because if I look out my window on a night where all is dark, and if the snow is falling down, it sweeps me away. 

Maybe everything will be okay?

For one night, one storm, I am lost to the snow, and I think if I got lost inside a blizzard, I might not even feel the cold for being so enchanted with the crystals in my hair, slowly turning it white as if age has caught up to me in minutes. But when the warmth comes and it melts, it reminds me I am still young — but I feel as if I have been alive for centuries as I gaze into flurries that have brushed cheeks and cold that has blushed them, snow that has been here for centuries. 

Snow does something magical, worries forgotten, futures rewritten, hope reignited. 

I am lost to the snow each winter, and when summer comes I wish I could feel its cold kiss once again.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Snow does something magical’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

To a bird or a squirrel, a tree is nothing short of a home; to a child, a tree acts as a playground and a hideout, a stately protector and a sheltering provider of comfort — it is a friend. This week’s featured writer, Quinn Brubaker of Shelburne, eulogizes the memory of a once-revered sidewalk companion now felled, and cut down with it, a little piece of the early childhood it helped shape.

The tree that defines me

Quinn Brubaker, 13, Shelburne

When I was little, we lived in Philly. Seven hours from where we live now, eight counting the time

allotted for rest stops. And a little way down the sidewalk from our house was this tree.

At that time, I was anywhere between ages 2 and 5, I think. I was young. Really young. Barely more than a toddler.

Anyway, I would get upset sometimes. Angry at my brother, frustrated with my cousin, et cetera — mostly petty, little-kid stuff. I think I felt smothered in a way because we lived so close to all our relatives back then and there wasn’;t a lot of breathing room for me, and that’;s always been something I care about: taking breaks. 

So, the tree. I would run to it when I got in one of my moods. I don’t know why. I guess my little self just felt the impulse to run, and I was drawn to the tree. I would go up to that tree and climb it, and sit up there until I felt like I could come back down. Almost every time, I turned to it. I don’t know why I felt so drawn to it. This old, gnarly tree with its knotted bark and coarse roots, stooped low enough for a little kid to climb, just felt so comforting to me.

We moved away when I was 5, all the way up to Vermont, which is where we are now, of course. We visit family back in Philly sometimes, and I requested to stop by our old house recently, just to see if that tree — my tree — was still there.

It wasn’t.

A stump was in the place where the old tree used to stand, hunched over but proud, twisted but

beautiful in its own way.

My amazing tree — the tree that had given me an escape when I most needed it — was gone.

This is deeply personal to me. I just miss it. I miss the solace of me and my tree amid the hustle and bustle of Chestnut Hill. Here in Vermont, there are tons of trees. Forests. I tried to find another tree to talk to, to love, to hold, and yet, nothing.

My tree is irreplaceable.

I wrote this as an ode to it, as the holiday season comes and goes, even if it seems silly — so that I never forget what that tree did for me.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘The tree that defines me’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

True love in its purest form necessitates the acceptance of another’s most glaring flaws and most peculiar idiosyncrasies, both; in fact, it’s often with the acknowledgment of a partner’s quirks and mistakes that affection experiences its speediest growth spurt. This week’s featured poet, Will Helms of Hardwick, identifies the vulnerability inherent in any close relationship, and consciously chooses to see the quiet beauty in tears and small moments.

Where light touches you

Will Helms, 15, Hardwick

Where light touches you, 

I see every little crack in your lips, 

and every tiny hair on the side of your face. 

I see every single cell of skin, 

and the empty space between them: 

the cracks that you seep through. 

I see the columns of shadow along your eyelids cast by your lashes, 

and where tears slide down your temples and into your hair, 

I see the little, shining copies,

the little, crystal streaks.

Where light touches you,

you are set not in shadow

but in gold.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Where light touches you’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

If there is no sunshine without rain, there is no progress without strife. The worst of times can be the best of times to nurture the seeds of hope inside ourselves — for when the cement foundation cracks, just a little, it allows for new roots to spread and buds to sprout up through. This week’s featured poet, Maelyn Slavik of Burlington, weeds out the invasive species in her heart to make room for the blossoming of love.

Droplets forever alive

Maelyn Slavik, 14, Burlington

I’d like to garden

my own heart,

to pull the weeds of sadness

and hate

from the foundation

I sprout from,

to plant seeds of hope

and inspiration

into the soft ground of my love,

that I’ll water with the relationships

poured into my palms

by other hands with their dreams

crusted beneath their nails.

To nestle in bulbs

blushing pink with pride,

with the windburn of laughter

and the scorch of smiles shining,

letting them burrow into the glands,

sinking in their roots

and letting them intertwine

with my soul,

eventually sprouting,

blossoming next to the waterfalls

that keep me alive,

their plump,

fulfilled petals

glistening with dew and mist,

the droplets once given to me

that will never be completely absorbed,

no matter how dusty the floor gets –

because my heart

will forever be alive.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Droplets forever alive’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

Even if the seasons of Westeros functioned like the seasons of Earth, George R.R. Martin would still be right: Winter is always coming, you could say. But it’s finally time to batten down the hatches and hunker in… or, as this week’s featured poet, Rachel Brassard of Montpelier, suggests with both good cheer and urgency, the time has come to stack enough logs for the woodburning stove, wish the geese good luck on their journey, and prepare for a month of family, feasts and festivities before the true cold sets in.

Winter coming

Rachel Brassard, 14, Montpelier

Winter’s coming on fast –  

better chop enough wood. 

Pluck the last fruits of the harvest,

then say goodnight to the garden 

resting under a blanket of leaves and love. 

Gather your loved ones for one last feast 

before the endless snow.

Bid farewell to the birds –

the robins, larks, and geese. 

Give the dog a blanket to sleep on. 

Winter’s coming on fast –

we only have so much time. 

Prepare your yards, gardens, homes, and selves 

for the cold.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Winter coming’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

If a chilly drizzle is reminiscent of spring, a warm breeze of summer, and a cozy reading nook of fall, then a crackling hearth is the temperature and atmosphere of winter. There’s nothing quite like the spit and hiss of a fireplace with holiday music on in the background – or making the holiday music itself. This week’s featured poet, Maelyn Slavik of Burlington, gives us a concert of flames singing behind their grate.

The song-stoked fire

Maelyn Slavik, 14, Burlington

Smoke curls into the air,

twirling,

one thread dipping into another:

a slow waltz

with some quick steps to spark.

The band,

a careful orchestra

with some tricks up its sleeves.

The crackling of symbols

and an electric piano,

the tremolo of sap

still bubbling in logs.

The fizz and hum

of background noises

drawled by basses and cellos,

fingerboards sparkling

with flames,

neatly dusting

the sand-checkered floor

with flakes of ash,

tiny bits of notes.

The conductor sits

in the center,

one clump of paper

and cardboard,

feeding the logs,

the twigs,

soaked in the applause

of waves lapping the shore,

cheering on

the song-stoked fire.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘The song-stoked fire’.

Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.

Fall may be on its way out, but it hasn’t left us quite yet: Brown leaves still swirl at our feet, ready to be stomped on, a light jacket and scarf will still get you where you need to go and the smell of Thanksgiving stuffing is almost tangible. This week’s featured poet, Sara Guidice of Shelburne, extols the late, evanescent delights of the season before the first snowstorm envelops the landscape.

Autumn

Sara Guidice, 14, Shelburne

When the leaves fall and I hear the sound,

I walk above the crunchy ground.

Church bells ring as Thanksgiving awaits,

I think to myself what is there to hate?

I pick the apples from the trees so high,

and watch the kids run where the playset lies.

The crisp autumn breeze, so cold and fright!

I see my own breath in the dark of night.

The cold air carries the scent of pine,

pumpkin pie, sweet and fine.

The moon glows through the night,

days get short and the moon glows bright.

As the soccer season ends, I find myself bored,

but when it all settles in, I will always score.

The time goes by fast, as it always has,

but it’s different now because it didn’t last.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Autumn’.