Tadpole Press

some things, I've decided, are better left as fossils crumpled, shaken things you never would have sai

A few months ago, I went to my tribe's powwow on Sugar Island. I've been to other powwows across the US over the years, but this was the first time I've been to the one by my tribe. There was something special about it that felt like coming home. This is how we reclaim our truth. This is the power of owning the narrative. This is why storytellers are our most powerful allies.

the heat that came in waves throughout our homes, our feet, our minds sizzled like slugs caught on the drying, moth-eaten rind

it's the place where lost memories go to die to be reborn and maybe circle back around and around twice or thrice until we forget which side was up where fact left off and fiction gained and truth became the thorn

he told me once      that watching me write          was like witnessing a professional athlete stretching primed before a big race I like to imagine my words like that       all sinew and muscle            stretched taut across the page       with the force of a jaguar ready to run

they say you're only lonesome when it rains something about the gods weeping but I don't think that's true

they say you can see clearer looking backward not a happy poem

This is what fills me with hope: These authors entered a short writing contest. Now their words are published in an international anthology whose profits support humanitarian and sustainability projects. That’s how you go from a contest entry to global impact.

 the consistency of my dreams    has changed        recently

When Mark Fryburg asked for feedback, he had no idea it would lead to rediscovering shared roots, community, and a mutual love of poetry. This is his story.

A poem by Amber Byers: I missed the day the stars aligned and skies were clear enough to see my answer

How great is this, I thought in those fifteen minutes of silent writing time, to be connected with other writers from all around the world,

These tiny poems are freeing because they don't have to make sense. What does it mean to be a gleam in a buffalo's eye? What does it mean to be yesterday? Or a Saturday? What if whatever you wrote made perfect sense and no sense at all?

We believe in the power of stories to drive change. Every episode of the Compassiviste Dialogues podcast is a platform for turning compassion into action. A space where diverse voices come together to inspire, educate, and challenge the status quo.

The keeper of the keys of time had watched over the kingdom longer than time itself. He walked the lands at night, checking every door. What

It was an eternity filled with both the temptation of the unknown and the fear of discovery. She knew that this sip at once would destroy th

You may have noticed that I've started sharing more of my writing on this blog. I'll still offer thoughts on the creative process, but those will be interspersed with pieces I've written that are calling to be shared. This piece, I suppose, is actually both.

Creative living isn't about waiting for the perfect studio, the right materials, or that elusive "someday" when we'll finally have enough

sometimes when I don’t have anything  to say I sit  outside  and stare    at stars just to remember

Clarity in my writing. Clarity in my work. My one word for the year 2025. What are you focusing on this year?

Your creativity isn't gone when it grows quiet—it's just gathering strength for its next beautiful expression. The mango tree in my garden i

Whose life are we living if not our own? This was a last-minute trip and I was hesitant to go at first. But by the end, I was wishing I coul

Do you have a dream to travel the world someday? What if your dream was actually closer than you think? What if someday was today?

We're happy to share the following micro memoir from Mari Mendoza, one of our judges for the Tadpole Press 100-Word Writing Contest.