Our website is dedicated to promoting
 the creative talents of poets, writers, 
artists, and photographers all over the world.

Currently Featuring the 2018 Seasonal Issue

Review Submission/Guidelines 
for year round submissions

WELCOME TO

Lilly Press
River Poets Journal
in its 13th Year 
of Publication

A Journal of Poetry/Prose/
Fiction/Memoir/Flash
Art & Photography

Below - Sampling of  Poetry and Art from

The 2018 Seasonal Issue

To view the entire Journal - Select "River Poets Journal PDF " from the menu above.

On that page click on  River Poets Journal Seasonal Issue - 2018.pdf

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Poems by River Poets Journal Contributors
All future rights to material published on this web site are retained
 by the individual Authors and Artists/Photographers

Musical Composition by Sandy Bender
"Half Sleep"

To listen to musical composition 
click  below
This page was last updated: January 7, 2019
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Winter is arriving 

as an afterthought.
Gulls nibble at the nape
of a beach. Scrub pines 
stand lonely sentry duty 
to sea grass and windbreak dunes.

The far-off water 
is like a poem
that no one can 
quite scan.
Then night.

A pale moon 
imbibed with stars: 
separated lovers 
on the margins of their lives.
It is cold now and growing 

colder. Each inbreath 
catches in your throat, 
the sound of each heartbeat, 
new, unannounced,
inevitable as snow.

                  ©Richard Luftig

Snowing in Spring

In the wild open west, flakes keep falling
Like myriad baby angels knocked down from Paradise 

Blurring the landscape behind the vision
Hunting each consonant trying to rise above

The ground. The day is brighter, lighter &
Softer than the feel. Soon there will be

Dirty prints leading to everywhere (or nowhere)
& no one will care how the whole world will collapse
In blasphemy. The missing cat won’t come to 
Trespass the lawn, nor will the daffodil bloom

To catch a flake drifting astray. Nobody bothers even to think
About where the season is held up on its way back, how
The fishes are agitating under the pressure of wintry 
Water, why people wish to see more and more snow 

                                            ©Yuan Changming
Visit the Reading Room for a new Flash Fiction story

"The Widow Vance," by Henry Simpson
On Detachment

This is what it feels like
standing here and looking there: 
A rough sketch of land
looking out across the water;
The emptiness of water
dissolving into shapeless gray;
Gray, the unmarked paper
taking up almost the entire sky.

We try to explain what this is 
to people who cannot understand it,
people unable to find out for themselves
what was written on it.

Words, I have asked for many –
What can you say of stars,
the vast collection of them?
What can you say of eye and heart?
How to explain the wide expanse of 
darkness you go into
before you start to notice?
First, there is nothing;
and then, there is everything.

                             ©Sarah Rehfeldt

The Day After

The day after,
I stood on a beach three thousand miles away.
While your body cooled on a cold steel slab, 
rays of the drunken sun washed over me. 
Children ran screaming along the sandy shore,
their laughter soaked innocence not yet betrayed  
by the knowledge of death.

Desperate to escape the clear blue heat,
I buried my toes deep into the damp sand
and let the waves roll gentle over my feet.
As I felt the water's cool release, 
someone there pressed a button, 
that ignited the spark, 
that lit the flame. 

Quickly you were gone from this place 
(Your big toes and oddly shaped head),
reduced to something less than a memory. 
All that remains now are unwritten stories 
and the tears of your daughter. 
She cried beside your hospital bed.
She hasn’t stopped. 

                                      ©John Kojak
 The Distant Hours

In the distant hours jasmine
sugared the air under a pale
rose sky and I heard a grove
of trees calling to me. I wove           
my way towards it, through                
the meadow dusted with
buttercups, self-sown amid
the tall grass, and somewhere
nearby a shallow brook
chattered over stones and
butterflies sailed the breeze.
I carried a blanket under
my arm and it smelled so
reassuringly of laundry flakes
and potpourri; and when I
sat down enclosed in the tall
grasses I felt so deliciously
alone; a tremulous joy inside
my heart, the chiffon of my
dress that billowed about me,
and a daydream of cotton
scattered from heaven on
this day in spring.

                        ©Bobbi Sinha-Morey


Road to Versailles at Louveciennes by Camille Pissarro  

Montmartre Night by Camille Pissarro  

A Peasant in the Lane at Hermitage Pontoise 
by Camille Pissarro

A part of Groettes Pontoise - Gray Weather 
by Camille Pissarro

Peasant Girl With Stick 
by Camille Pissarro