TINY SEED LITERARY JOURNAL

I never realized how many ties my home town has on my being. Perched on the edge of the West Coast, Perth, one of the most isolated capital cities in…

Poem by Diana Woodcock Diana Woodcock is the author of seven chapbooks and four poetry collections, most recently Facing Aridity (a finalist for the 2020 Prism Prize for Climate Literature).…

Don’t be afraid of the worms. Sure, the transitional period is smelly, disgusting, and vile, but, in the long run, who wants to be a mummy: “intact” but waxy and…

Poem by Joseph Boyle Joseph Boyle lives in Sacramento, California, with his partner and a pair of tiny dogs. He works as a counselor and spends his free time metabolizing…

The hummingbird feeders came down today, not for filling, but for storing. Do the shadows call? The chorus of wood frogs? The sonorous space the catbirds left when last they…

Poem by Connie Jordan Green   Connie Jordan Green lives on a small farm in East Tennessee. She is the author of two award-winning novels for young people, two poetry…

An experience in humility, not a lesson. Patience, too. Tambien, patiencia. Sometimes the wind, sometime the mist settling on the mistletoe, on our shoulders. Bajareque. In a few minutes, sun,…

Don’t let your dreams dry up in the heat You have to keep them well watered I need to know that there are snow leopards Even if I never get…

You find a feral word scavenging corners of a parking lot ~ spindly serifs, flea-gnawed tail. Musky as a metaphor, she hisses onomatopoeias, but in her amber iris, you recognize…

  Poem and photograph by Nancy Cook Nancy Cook is now retired and an emerging writer. She has been writing blogs since 2010, with much of the writing having nature…

Not just nature, harbinger Tell-tale squawks, echoing “V” in the sky, aimed south Once glimpsed, mesmerizing Shimmering, pixelated, undulating One yet many Leading and following all the same Shapeshifting yet…

The bus clanks and shakes as it takes the turn, puffing down the hill into the darkness. I watch until I see only brake lights blinking at the end of…

Photograph by Mellisa Pascale Mellisa Pascale is a writer and photographer in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. She is fond of New Zealand's native birdlife and the many species, like the takahē, that…

What I didn’t see was the vast length of wing-spread and the slow deep wing-beats planing down in a wide circle legs outstretched, descending to the pond’s edge accordion-folded wings…

  Photograph by Stuart Terman   Physician, previously Assistant Clinical Professor/Ophthalmology/Case Western Reserve in my home city of Cleveland. Married with 4 children, 5 delightful grandchildren. Publications in a number…

Flash Fiction by Gloria R. Buckley Gloria R. Buckley has been published by Pigeon Review, The Write Launch, Formal People Journal, Ephemeral Elegies (twice), Me First Magazine, Rue Scribe, The…

The old oak remembers how you danced around its branches singing childish melodies. It remembers your name, and longs to hear your laughter while you swing within its arms. It…