TINY SEED LITERARY JOURNAL

  Poem by Christine Cock Christine worked in conservation for over 20 years. She lives in Florida in the woods and teaches yoga and qigong outdoors. She received her BA…

With the last lazy leaving of the day’s collected warmth, the invisible air lies on my face as lightly as the soft breath of imagined spirits, with darkening night diffidently…

white storks leaving for the west their nests, woven on rooftops electric poles and trees that touch the sky – now empty white storks gliding over lands so close and…

A gang of hummingbirds the West Side Rubythroats divebomb the feeder beaking at one another— “When you’re a Jet you’re a Jet all the way” (don’t love your brother as…

A ruckus in the yard the asymmetry of attack and defense as two crows chase the mourning dove away A scattering of downy feathers below the compact nest sized for…

Photograph by Meg Freer Meg Freer teaches piano, writes poetry and does occasional freelance editing and proofreading from her home in Kingston, Ontario. Her photos, short prose and poems have…

One evening the low slant of sunlight struck a small beech shimmering orange with thousands of monarchs huddled together at the edge of a small opening in the canopy of…

The monarch butterfly moves from zinnia to zinnia, drinks from each blossom, its proboscis a fueling tube filling its fragile body for the long return to Mexico. I walk four…

Upon Smithsonian Museum’s repatriation of Yurok regalia, August 13, 2010 For a hundred years they did not hear the chants of the old men as the moon rose, the forest…

Untamed, unwanted horsetails thrust themselves through shattered fence slats.   Equisetum once grew tall as trees in the Jurassic then spread along the Nile.   I pick the one that…

These pines know our history Our trespassing ways There are no footprints to trace here In the dark, frozen waste Among the debris of cornstalks A trail of kerosene at…

Untamed flowers are scattered amidst legions of trees. Light balances on suspended leaves, shadows mask the underside. Insects crawl unnoticed in crevices between mossy stones. A rill cleaves pine needle…

It’s always sunrise somewhere. The new colors of day dissipate as they travel across the Earth’s bumpy surface, edging back the dark. There’s birdsong, highway hum, insect buzz, chipmunk complaint,…

hair an unborn rain color lips a flower-breath festival eyes a double sunset fingers in winter sift firewood ash to rescue spent nails from common burial feet in spring re-search…

Poem and Picture by Deenaz Coachbuilder I am an educator, poet, artist, environmental advocate, wife, mother and doting grandmother. My books of poems, Imperfect Fragments, and Metal Horse and Shadows…

The ocean at night, the wild horse who found her way. This morning I remember being enamored by powder-blue water in pictures; I remember another horse, dark like a velvet…

Photograph by Greg Clary Greg Clary is a retired college professor who was born and raised in Turkey Creek, West Virginia, and now resides in the northwestern Pennsylvania Wilds. His…

“Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time’s relentless melt.” –Susan Sontag, On Photography When we came home after 2 ½ years on the…

Lungs small as espresso cups sustain the barred owl; perhaps his beak stops some of the arctic air from freezing his sinuses as there he sits, feathers fluffing up as…

I stumble upon an empty milk crate washed up on shore and asking to be a chair, so that’s what it becomes for me as I sit and put the…

    Poem by Benjamin Green Benjamin Green is the author of eleven books including The Sound of Fish Dreaming. At the age of 65 he hopes his new work…

When I found the spring it was cold and clean, rising through old leaves like a dolphin’s brow, the bow of a wave. I cleared away gold and carmine and…

in the forest i am feral, grow matted thick red fur, feel my nose grow inches longer. in the forest i hunt for animals with alarming speed and no fear,…

There is always the ostrich fern when someone else’s endeavor outshines mine, with a smile half-apologetic. I leave my desk for a patch of shade, behind the office, where roots…

She recognizes her. Camouflaged by the brilliance of the light bursting beyond the pulpit. Her familiar. Her outline against eternity, the head, and shoulders, and arm descending. Her hand upon…

Canyonlands National Park 37°59'18.6"N 109°31'04.4"W In dreams I return to this land of stones and stars. When I was here last, I laid on the ground beneath miles of stars,…