Young Writers’ Space

We welcome stories, poems, jottings, drawings, graphics, cartoons, extracts from your novel. Anything at all!

We are particularly looking for work from 16’s and under for this page though will consider you up to 18. If you are under 18 please send them to

Mums and Dads, Aunties, Uncles,  brothers,  sisters, teachers, youth workers please get in touch if you have creative children or young people in your lives. WE CAN FEATURE THEIR WORK HERE. HOWEVER IT MUST BE THEIR WORK. IF THEY CAN’T WRITE YOU CAN TRANSCRIBE.

Contributions from over 18’s are welcome for other sections of the website. If you are over 18 please contribute to the quarterly showcase via  and take a look at the other website pages. Also use the contact link on the menu for enquiries.

If you are 16 – 18  you can also enter the annual international competition.

In the future we plan  to have a book with all the best contributions from under 18’s.  Please encourage friends and fellow students to submit to our cause to encourage young creative people.  We are very interested in extracts from your novels and long term literary projects.

If you have a flickr account you can now also submit to our group page!

• Young Writers’ Archive


Johnny Ladykiller

©nicolas lignier

©Nicolas Lignier

 It was late, but Johnny didn’t notice, he just knew everything around him was

soaked in black. He slipped his overcoat off of one arm and returned the bent

cigarette to his mouth before slipping out of the other sleeve. After smoothing the

coat over his forearm he groped the wall for the light switch, letting his fingertips

rest over the telltale cold metal plating… (full story here)

© Miller R. Murray, age 18



I was raised by the bullfrogs

that lay idle under the winter sun

and damaged every metal vehicle

that dared honk at them

they taught me to release

my unnaturally low voice,

labeled as so unlady-like

©Paula Katze

so absurd

so disgusting

at least,

that’s what my mother taught me.

but my croaky voice

is my trademark. the throaty

vibrations echo as far as the cows

upstate; my lover swears he can

hear it in his dreams

the bullfrogs taught me that every voice

deserves to be heard by every

succeeding generation and every

word that leaves my lips

must be worthy of all adulation and admiration

no words must be wasted,

no syllable must be thrown away,

no punctuation mark must be disregarded,

no voice should be silenced from the world.

© Patricia P, Age 14



King, listen to my plea:

the crops are dying and people

are crying for the Lord as they flee

the chains that are snaking

the ground, making their way

to the ankles of those who have no refuge

King, look outside your windows

that are graced with stained glass:

the seeds that have been sown

by the blood of our ancestors

now reside in the roots of wilted

bushes and desolate land—

no fruit can be bore

if there are no farmers to till the land

if the stench of death

lingers in the air

King, for once in your reign,

take off your crown, remove the stern

look of authority on your face;

your subjects are on their knees

©Oliver Osvald

they are praying and saying

that they will see paradise soon

your inaction, your inability to act

has resulted in the one and only fact

that your kingdom is falling apart

and what was once the heart of it all

is now the reason for its destruction

© Patricia P, Age 14


Cherry Blossoms

I want cherry blossoms to fall before my eyes, like the graceful raindrops that fall for her.
I want to don the persona of a likable person as if I could hide mine.
I want to sigh because of her love, not because of her absence.
I hold my hand out in the darkness, helplessly hoping for a warm hand, while I recieve that of a

©Cocò Niky

©Cocò Niky

Minds deceive and desire, but souls demand, because they know best.
It wants her to extinguish the fire that is my paranoia kindled by my past.
It wants her to fend off the solitude that I’ve trained like a soldier to ward off the jacks and the
jokers, for she will be my only queen.
It wants her to turn this hopeless game of solitaire into a game of poker, and on the table is my
sanity, my judgement, and my love and hers.
With it, I could buy a sunset, a dinner for two, a feeling of love, and two rings to seal it.
It could all be mine!
No, it could all be ours.
But, this is fantasy.
For now, it’s a spiral back to hell, with a cold shot of whiskey to numb the pain of my words for
her being ripped from my stillbeating
heart and being strewn across campus.
It’s back to the river for me, because no cherry blossoms fall on the Styx.

© Caelum Lefevers, Age 15


©Thaís Letícia Olivo


If you are happy and you know it
Mix, Mix, Mix

© Maanya Gadeela, Age 2


From Alexia

How I know my heart

I’ve seen my heart

on a very special machine.

Grey, pulsing

 ©Gabriel Arévalo

©Gabriel Arévalo

jelly on my tummy.

They can beat differently.

Different noises,

boom boom,

Bah -bah-bah-bah-boom

like a lion in my chest.

Whooshing, whirring

Bah-boom, bah-boom.

My sound is excitingly rare.

© Alexia Rachael, Age 6


Why Such A Hurry

Tugging on his hand, I groaned, “Hurry, papa,”

He shrugged, his eyes smiling at me

“Why such a hurry?” he questioned

I stopped short, unsure of my words

“Why not?”

He laid his wise fingers atop my head, looking up at the sky

 ©Lorenzo D'Alessandro

©Lorenzo D'Alessandro

“Hear the wind?”

“You can’t hear wind, papa,”


He covered my eyes, and I heard it

Rusting leaves and bird calls

Ah, so this is what the wind sounds like

“Smell the sun?”

“You can’t smell the sun, papa,”

“Try it,”

I sniffed the air, and there it was

Fresh and crisp, the scent of the bright spring sun

Ah, so this is what the sun smells like

“Feel the life?”

I took his hand, engulfing the atmosphere

Warm, wrinkled and calm

Ah, so this is what life feels like

“Why such a hurry?” he repeated

© Abby, age 14



A.R.O Plane Heroes And The White World (full story here)

© Krish Misra

©Krish Misra






© Krish Misra, age 7





Roses are red

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,

© Diogo Costta

No you won’t predict what I shall do,
A pot is brown,
Some chairs are blue,
Clothing is White and are you too?
Leaves are green,
Birds are black,
And do you know whats after that?
But none of this matters,
Not all of all of that,
What matters is you,
And have you any idea what’s inside that?

© Eva Ford, age 9






The following poems written by the children of Class 2 at Henleaze Primary School (Mrs Mumford’s class Year Six class) The poems were all written in response to the following poem by the American poet William Carlos Williams:

This Is Just To Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

Sue introduced the poem during a workshop at the school (for Threshold Prize)
and as the children had been focusing on climate change as a topic
in school she encouraged the children to write “Poems of apology
to the earth”.

I’m really sorry

©Eleanor Leonne Bennett, age 17

©Eleanor Leonne Bennett, age 17


Dear Mr R. Forest,

I’m so very sorry I

bought my new book this weekend.

It was a very good book though,what you might

call a page turner.

I finished it in 2 hours 23 mins.

I’m really sorry I caused more deforestation

and cut down one of your friends.

Lily Cooper




©Islam Didi

Dear Mr. Polarbear

I am extremely sorry for the foolish behaviour, of myself and mankind.

This morning I stumbled out of bed,

I rapidly sprinted around the house!

You see Mr. Polarbear I did not mean you any harm,

but as I arrived, late for school,

I realised what I had done!


I am so sorry and I will never forget the feeling of when I forgot to turn out the lights!

Yours Sincerely,

James Hawker


I’m sorry Earth.


©Ariba Ahmed, age 20

Sorry Earth.

I’ve been so bad

Learning how to drive with dad.

It’s just so fun!

I can’t resist.

I should’ve given you some interest

Sorry Earth.




I’m Sorry


©Islam Didi

I’m sorry that

the other day

I put some paper

in the bin

instead of in the recycling


So I’m asking you to forgive

me World for my

recklessness and waste

it won’t happen again

Promise, pinky promise,

Promise with all my heart


By Hannah



Forgive me


©Ellie Chavez,age 16

This is just to say

I’m sorry for driving

to school today.


It’s just that I

was in a hurry to

get to school.


Please forgive me

my Mum decided to

I tried to change her mind.


She refused to cycle

and forced me into

the car.


Tom Crawford


Dear Mother Nature,


I am so sorry,

©Ariba Ahmed, age 20

for that handful of litter,

but it wasn’t my fault!

I was abducted,

by a ferocious green man,

and you see,

There was nothing I could do,

He turned me upside down,

It drifted out of my pocket,

into the drain!


By Xar


I’m sorry

©Isaac Quirke

I’m very sorry

that I left

the light on

in my bedroom


This was all

a big mistake

I regret my actions

this will never

happen again

please forgive me

Jack Smith


I  am sorry

©Eleanor Leonne Bennett, age 17

©Eleanor Leonne Bennett, age 17

Dear light

I am very sorry

That I left you on when I went

out I am wasting electricity.


It is like I am throwing it

away like your nothing.


Because of this I am

killing polar bears

and other animals.


I am very sorry

please forgive me.



Why did I do that?

©Ariba Ahmed, age 20

Dear Animals,

I’m extremely sorry,

so sorry for poaching

and killing your home.


I should have checked

if it was sustainable,

maybe if I’d read the label.


I’ve encouraged them to

destroy your habitat

and I don’t think it

will stop at that.


Why oh why am I

so stupid

why oh why did I do that.

Matthew Peacock



A foolish toss!


©Danae Méndez Moldoveanu, age 19

Hey Earth,

I threw a recycleable piece

of paper in the normal bin.

I was playing a game of paper

toss. I was aiming for the recycling bin and missed

and I didn’t get it out.

Please forgive me, it

was selfish and irresponsible and is

destroying our forests and

every thing

in it






do it




Why did I do this

I am so sorry

©Colelo Curto, age 18

I left my light on

When I went to have my tea

When I had done this

I turned it off as soon as I realised

I know you are not happy not happy at all

This will not happen ever again

By Loli Baird



I am sorry

©Erin Kae

Dear Animals,

This is a little letter to say

how sorry we are for cutting

down your forests.


I’m sorry I am useless at drawing

but my teacher makes me do it again and again.

Even though I tell it ruins you. I do I do.

It wastes paper and is picking you off

like ducks at a fair.


Pleeeeeeease forgive me.

By Henry


Collaborative poem from the children of Class 3, Henleaze Primary School (Mr Burge’s Class)

by Ariba Ahmed aged 20

has blazing suns crashing

exquisite multicoloured grass

diamond tootsie roses,

clowns eating quavers,

sky aliens, flying cows,

flaming weather beaten mango asteroids,

happy pink ninjas,

a funky platypus laughing flamboyantly,

sagging miniscule realms,

knife twisting gorillas,

a cold vindictive hand.



Stolen Thoughts
Can you picture?
Someone fighting for their life.

©Eleanor Leonne Bennett, age 17

Can you hear?
The screams pounding in my ears.

Can you taste?
The bitterness of tears from pain you can’t express.

Can you feel?
Loneliness that you can’t explain.

Have you ever?
Walked alone for miles.

Shouldn’t you?
Think before you speak.

Couldn’t you?
Give back what you took.

Whether that be,
Or even purity.

Because even now, you still don’t think.

© Samantha Schumer, age 14




A Short Story From Isabella French

Life is so boring. There’s nothing to do. Wait!, hang on a minute, what’s that noise? It is so loud and I

suddenly feel icy old. A Tornado? No, it can’t be.

It’s just a …………………. yes, it is a Tornado!

©Eleanor Leonne Bennett, age 17

Panic! Where am I? I was at home in England, playing in my garden, everything is bright, am I in

the white shirt on the washing line? Or tangled in the toilet paper perhaps? No. It’s the, ….. the

Tornado sucking me up, whirling me around like a washing machine!

I suddenly saw my Dad looking as small as an ant “Dad, Dad!” I called. I managed to look over the

Tornado. “Mum! Mu-, wow! I’m in America!” I looked over the side again and saw (full story here)

© Isabella French, age 7



©Eleanor Leonne Bennett, age 17

A Short Story From Shaylee Rosnes

They tell me I was left on their doorstep when I was a baby, but I don’t believe them. I mean

I know I was adopted because I look nothing like my parents, but left on their doorstep I doubt it.

Although to be quite honest I’m not sure what to believe anymore. My parents never talk about my

real mom. (They were kind enough to tell me that my real father died of cancer right after my mom got

pregnant with me.) So since they never talk about her I’m hoping to at least get her name out of them so

I can go find her myself….(full story here)

© Shaylee Rosnes, age 16