TINY SEED JOURNAL

What else to call it when you dropseeds into furrows where only a fewdays earlier crystals of frost shonein the early sunlight? What otherlabel to apply to those who wouldbet…

A Norway Maple nods to a Ginkgowho laughs with a Kousa Dogwoodat a teenage Eastern Redbud whoin angst spits seedpods on a sewer plate stamped 1948 whereimmigrants are a blessing…

1. My hair. Faded, maybe, but yellow all the same. Shaved short enough as to have lost its curl.I am unrecognizable enough to go home now. 2. Sunflowers growing on…

"Yet when I consider how, still a man of the world, In belt and cap I scurry through dirt and dust, From time to time my heart twinges with shame,…

At the edge of the garden I find you— heads puffed from a bed of thorns, the white fluff plucked by finches clinging, sending seeds scattering over fields roadsides hills…

Crouch, with knees and hands tight to spine. Feet planted deep into the earth divine. Breath in, towards the center of my being, Held, felt, nourishing my life, unseen. Full,…

I opened Pandora's seed library. Let go of my fears about dirt. I have no doubt hope and love will work magic, Revealed in a tiny, green sprout. Poem by…

Photograph by Mandy Ramsey Mandy is an artist, mother, photographer, and yoga teacher who loves to create and write. She self -published her first book “Grow Where You’re Planted” in…

From incendiary vaporsCome tales of a caperWhere fire the destroyerBecomes fire the creator Clearing duff to plant the seedSeedling from competition now freedBolts upwards to the celestial raysAnd the painted…

I wonder if the forestremembers me,my wandering thoughts,the feel of our first touch.Absorbed with stories ofroots, peat, bedrock. Water,her own reminder ofperpetual change. A placefor peaceful self-awareness,viscous renewal.I can never…

We’re all ten years old When Old Man Tuolumne Storm, Strolls through the campground. He’s that fat uncle Who spits when he speaks, Cracks his knuckles, Slaps his hammy thighs…

Summer is offering a bonus month, honeycrisp breeze, sunburn on hold. I love you, fake summer, more than the real, just another instance of changing color. Stepping out barefoot, I…

The radio plays back as she named me after an opera. My mother painting me again again. I was her easiest model for practicing various lives on a face I…

A manlooks outthe windowto a viewthat turnshis thoughtsbackto the worn pagesof his youth......whilethe seaof green grasswithers andthe treesdroptheir leaveslike multicolored tears.Their bare armsspread wide openbeckoning himto come outside. Artwork by…

The earth hums, scientistssay, though ears can't hearits wondrous vibrations,the music of deep wavesstrumming the ocean floor.Yet, what stories earthcould tell, they say,if like ancient hunters,ears pressed to the groundfor…

masses of hot pink sweet williamablaze in raised bedsblooms so loudso nakedthe noon sky shies Poem by M.S. Rooney M.S. Rooney lives in Sonoma, California with poet Dan Noreen. Her…

Among the pebbles words scattered like recollections  uncollected…  left for more youthful meanings to toss and redesign… We meet once again. Poem & Photograph by Daisy Wilde Daisy Wilde loves…

We are bewitched by the beauty of water’s scalloped fringe. Standing lake or oceanside,  we gaze,  we fear,  we enter it expeditiously. Beneath our feet the porous foundation shifts. Wind…

Click on the image to read the poem Poem and Illustrations by Carol Wolfe I am an American now living in Dijon, France. After graduating from Drew University with a…