Tiny Prophecies
@mercurialsilver.com
New online lit journal of hearth, ruin, & whimsy.
Free to submit; poems & tiny fiction.
🏳️🌈 Submit via link below:
www.mercurialsilver.com
Curated by @perilpoet
Free to submit; poems & tiny fiction.
🏳️🌈 Submit via link below:
www.mercurialsilver.com
Curated by @perilpoet
Pinned
Tiny Prophecies is awake—
a little lantern on the internet,
calling for poems, tiny stories,
soft rebellions and quiet hauntings.
It’s free to submit,
and your words still count as gold.
Submissions are open.
Link in bio. 💫✍️
a little lantern on the internet,
calling for poems, tiny stories,
soft rebellions and quiet hauntings.
It’s free to submit,
and your words still count as gold.
Submissions are open.
Link in bio. 💫✍️
A cramped keke ride, a girl named Patience, and a mind tugged between holy songs and haram thoughts on the streets of Monrovia.
A new guest Tiny Prophecy is live:
“Away” by Tarnouh.
Come sit with the guilt, the heat, and the wanting: mercurialsilver.com/blogs/tiny-prophecies/away
A new guest Tiny Prophecy is live:
“Away” by Tarnouh.
Come sit with the guilt, the heat, and the wanting: mercurialsilver.com/blogs/tiny-prophecies/away
Away
A young man riding through Monrovia flirts, jokes, and collects numbers while his faith, lust, and memories of the city’s streets pull at him in equal measure.
mercurialsilver.com
November 26, 2025 at 2:36 PM
A cramped keke ride, a girl named Patience, and a mind tugged between holy songs and haram thoughts on the streets of Monrovia.
A new guest Tiny Prophecy is live:
“Away” by Tarnouh.
Come sit with the guilt, the heat, and the wanting: mercurialsilver.com/blogs/tiny-prophecies/away
A new guest Tiny Prophecy is live:
“Away” by Tarnouh.
Come sit with the guilt, the heat, and the wanting: mercurialsilver.com/blogs/tiny-prophecies/away
Reposted by Tiny Prophecies
This.
These.
That.
Those.
Me.
You.
My
Clothes.
There.
Here.
Where?
Near.
An overture of overthought
echoes echoes
ear ear
to to
ear. ear.
These.
That.
Those.
Me.
You.
My
Clothes.
There.
Here.
Where?
Near.
An overture of overthought
echoes echoes
ear ear
to to
ear. ear.
November 26, 2025 at 7:41 AM
This.
These.
That.
Those.
Me.
You.
My
Clothes.
There.
Here.
Where?
Near.
An overture of overthought
echoes echoes
ear ear
to to
ear. ear.
These.
That.
Those.
Me.
You.
My
Clothes.
There.
Here.
Where?
Near.
An overture of overthought
echoes echoes
ear ear
to to
ear. ear.
We wired the forests, burned the sky, watched the world buckle—
and still had the nerve to call it a dawn.
A forgotten Tiny Prophecy of Ruin tells of "The Thickest Species", by Cole McNamara / perilpoet.
Read the Warning:
mercurialsilver.com/blogs/tiny-prophecies/the-thickest-species
and still had the nerve to call it a dawn.
A forgotten Tiny Prophecy of Ruin tells of "The Thickest Species", by Cole McNamara / perilpoet.
Read the Warning:
mercurialsilver.com/blogs/tiny-prophecies/the-thickest-species
November 25, 2025 at 8:08 AM
We wired the forests, burned the sky, watched the world buckle—
and still had the nerve to call it a dawn.
A forgotten Tiny Prophecy of Ruin tells of "The Thickest Species", by Cole McNamara / perilpoet.
Read the Warning:
mercurialsilver.com/blogs/tiny-prophecies/the-thickest-species
and still had the nerve to call it a dawn.
A forgotten Tiny Prophecy of Ruin tells of "The Thickest Species", by Cole McNamara / perilpoet.
Read the Warning:
mercurialsilver.com/blogs/tiny-prophecies/the-thickest-species
Tiny Prophecies is awake—
a little lantern on the internet,
calling for poems, tiny stories,
soft rebellions and quiet hauntings.
It’s free to submit,
and your words still count as gold.
Submissions are open.
Link in bio. 💫✍️
a little lantern on the internet,
calling for poems, tiny stories,
soft rebellions and quiet hauntings.
It’s free to submit,
and your words still count as gold.
Submissions are open.
Link in bio. 💫✍️
November 24, 2025 at 10:56 PM
Tiny Prophecies is awake—
a little lantern on the internet,
calling for poems, tiny stories,
soft rebellions and quiet hauntings.
It’s free to submit,
and your words still count as gold.
Submissions are open.
Link in bio. 💫✍️
a little lantern on the internet,
calling for poems, tiny stories,
soft rebellions and quiet hauntings.
It’s free to submit,
and your words still count as gold.
Submissions are open.
Link in bio. 💫✍️
There’s a gas station at the edge of town, a cashier, a ham & cheese, and that ache behind the ribs you can’t quite name.
Our first guest Tiny Prophecy is live:
“Inevitable Ham & Cheese” by Joshua Walker (The Last Bard).
Come visit the liminal:
mercurialsilver.com/blogs/tiny-p...
#poetry #journal
Our first guest Tiny Prophecy is live:
“Inevitable Ham & Cheese” by Joshua Walker (The Last Bard).
Come visit the liminal:
mercurialsilver.com/blogs/tiny-p...
#poetry #journal
Inevitable Ham & Cheese
Tiny Prophecies poem, written by Joshua Walker (The Last Bard), set in a liminal gas station, where ham-and-cheese sandwiches, shadows and backward toilets deliver sideways prophecies.
mercurialsilver.com
November 23, 2025 at 11:03 PM
There’s a gas station at the edge of town, a cashier, a ham & cheese, and that ache behind the ribs you can’t quite name.
Our first guest Tiny Prophecy is live:
“Inevitable Ham & Cheese” by Joshua Walker (The Last Bard).
Come visit the liminal:
mercurialsilver.com/blogs/tiny-p...
#poetry #journal
Our first guest Tiny Prophecy is live:
“Inevitable Ham & Cheese” by Joshua Walker (The Last Bard).
Come visit the liminal:
mercurialsilver.com/blogs/tiny-p...
#poetry #journal
Pungent petrichor
wafts up wildly,
licking my nose and
loosening my neck—
rain at last.
wafts up wildly,
licking my nose and
loosening my neck—
rain at last.
March 20, 2025 at 12:43 AM
Pungent petrichor
wafts up wildly,
licking my nose and
loosening my neck—
rain at last.
wafts up wildly,
licking my nose and
loosening my neck—
rain at last.
Compassion is a killer,
and I care too much.
How can I not think about
struggling people everywhere—
in the streets,
in the forest,
in the shelters,
in the houses all around us?
Many don flawless facades,
but some just can't cope.
This world is sad,
and I care too much.
and I care too much.
How can I not think about
struggling people everywhere—
in the streets,
in the forest,
in the shelters,
in the houses all around us?
Many don flawless facades,
but some just can't cope.
This world is sad,
and I care too much.
March 13, 2025 at 2:34 AM
Compassion is a killer,
and I care too much.
How can I not think about
struggling people everywhere—
in the streets,
in the forest,
in the shelters,
in the houses all around us?
Many don flawless facades,
but some just can't cope.
This world is sad,
and I care too much.
and I care too much.
How can I not think about
struggling people everywhere—
in the streets,
in the forest,
in the shelters,
in the houses all around us?
Many don flawless facades,
but some just can't cope.
This world is sad,
and I care too much.
Spring pollen pours in—
a noxious-hazed hay fever
keeps the bees healthy.
a noxious-hazed hay fever
keeps the bees healthy.
March 12, 2025 at 5:47 PM
Spring pollen pours in—
a noxious-hazed hay fever
keeps the bees healthy.
a noxious-hazed hay fever
keeps the bees healthy.
It's my delusion—
let me be weightless
and not bogged down.
No grog, no clog,
no brain backlog.
My face wouldn't frown
when people surround,
donning gowns and crowns—
and no mental breakdowns.
let me be weightless
and not bogged down.
No grog, no clog,
no brain backlog.
My face wouldn't frown
when people surround,
donning gowns and crowns—
and no mental breakdowns.
March 7, 2025 at 6:34 AM
It's my delusion—
let me be weightless
and not bogged down.
No grog, no clog,
no brain backlog.
My face wouldn't frown
when people surround,
donning gowns and crowns—
and no mental breakdowns.
let me be weightless
and not bogged down.
No grog, no clog,
no brain backlog.
My face wouldn't frown
when people surround,
donning gowns and crowns—
and no mental breakdowns.
I swung to please,
not for the love of the game.
Each miss was a silent strike,
and each out, the same.
The dusty diamond drank my soul,
and now I'm empty—never full.
not for the love of the game.
Each miss was a silent strike,
and each out, the same.
The dusty diamond drank my soul,
and now I'm empty—never full.
March 5, 2025 at 11:53 PM
I swung to please,
not for the love of the game.
Each miss was a silent strike,
and each out, the same.
The dusty diamond drank my soul,
and now I'm empty—never full.
not for the love of the game.
Each miss was a silent strike,
and each out, the same.
The dusty diamond drank my soul,
and now I'm empty—never full.
Echoes from time passed
through countless generations,
torched in a house fire.
through countless generations,
torched in a house fire.
March 4, 2025 at 4:16 PM
Echoes from time passed
through countless generations,
torched in a house fire.
through countless generations,
torched in a house fire.
This land was your land,
and this land was my land.
Now, it's possessed by
pied politician—
their egos elected
by the mindless masses.
This land was made for you and me.
and this land was my land.
Now, it's possessed by
pied politician—
their egos elected
by the mindless masses.
This land was made for you and me.
March 4, 2025 at 7:08 AM
This land was your land,
and this land was my land.
Now, it's possessed by
pied politician—
their egos elected
by the mindless masses.
This land was made for you and me.
and this land was my land.
Now, it's possessed by
pied politician—
their egos elected
by the mindless masses.
This land was made for you and me.
Watchers would worry, I wager—
the world of woe we withstand.
the world of woe we withstand.
March 3, 2025 at 3:48 PM
Watchers would worry, I wager—
the world of woe we withstand.
the world of woe we withstand.
Stage suppressive sopranos;
the tumultuous tenors trill—
add accelerating altos, as a
boisterous bass builds.
An overture of overthought
echoes ear to ear.
the tumultuous tenors trill—
add accelerating altos, as a
boisterous bass builds.
An overture of overthought
echoes ear to ear.
March 2, 2025 at 5:39 PM
Stage suppressive sopranos;
the tumultuous tenors trill—
add accelerating altos, as a
boisterous bass builds.
An overture of overthought
echoes ear to ear.
the tumultuous tenors trill—
add accelerating altos, as a
boisterous bass builds.
An overture of overthought
echoes ear to ear.
The taps cough dust,
the rivers choke—
the fields curl black
beneath the smoke.
They drank, they learned,
they grew, they spoke—
we shoveled streams
down steel-bound throats.
the rivers choke—
the fields curl black
beneath the smoke.
They drank, they learned,
they grew, they spoke—
we shoveled streams
down steel-bound throats.
March 1, 2025 at 4:40 PM
The taps cough dust,
the rivers choke—
the fields curl black
beneath the smoke.
They drank, they learned,
they grew, they spoke—
we shoveled streams
down steel-bound throats.
the rivers choke—
the fields curl black
beneath the smoke.
They drank, they learned,
they grew, they spoke—
we shoveled streams
down steel-bound throats.
The earth is afire.
The earth is a flare!
Does anybody care?
The earth is ablaze!
Sizzlin’ a-waze
Got any water to spare?
The earth is a flare!
Does anybody care?
The earth is ablaze!
Sizzlin’ a-waze
Got any water to spare?
February 28, 2025 at 4:25 PM
The earth is afire.
The earth is a flare!
Does anybody care?
The earth is ablaze!
Sizzlin’ a-waze
Got any water to spare?
The earth is a flare!
Does anybody care?
The earth is ablaze!
Sizzlin’ a-waze
Got any water to spare?
Y’know, they are people.
Those “beggars” in the streets—
they used to be children,
snuggled in sheets.
Now, they have no one,
no shoes on their feet.
Their sheets are now tattered,
alone in the streets.
Those “beggars” in the streets—
they used to be children,
snuggled in sheets.
Now, they have no one,
no shoes on their feet.
Their sheets are now tattered,
alone in the streets.
February 27, 2025 at 4:05 PM
Y’know, they are people.
Those “beggars” in the streets—
they used to be children,
snuggled in sheets.
Now, they have no one,
no shoes on their feet.
Their sheets are now tattered,
alone in the streets.
Those “beggars” in the streets—
they used to be children,
snuggled in sheets.
Now, they have no one,
no shoes on their feet.
Their sheets are now tattered,
alone in the streets.
I once watched the thickest species drag an entire planet wide-eyed into destruction.
February 27, 2025 at 6:20 AM
I once watched the thickest species drag an entire planet wide-eyed into destruction.