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

Currently Featuring the 2016 Seasonal Double Issue

Review Submission/Guidelines 
for year round submissions


Lilly Press
River Poets Journal
in its 10th Year 
of Publication

A Journal of Poetry/Prose/
Art & Photography

Below - Sampling of  Poetry and Art from
The 2016 Seasonal Issue

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

On that page click on "Seasonal Issue - 2016 - pdf"

To purchase the Printed Bound Journal through Paypal, click on the  "Buy This" button

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 on musical note below
This page was last updated: February 4, 2017
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News From A Turkish Village

They would bury the girl
in a grove of cherry trees
and etch in white stone
proof that she was.

In the beachside cafes 
they said she’d been poisoned
by mussels, that her mother

had bundled her possessions
and tossed them into the sea
at dawn, pink and blue 
and the call to prayer

for a village funeral
just after noon. But I knew
her death-truth was elsewhere,

some flank of rocks, some
fact she’d revealed to her father,
her body scarred, 
then scarred again. 

The baby would not be,
would disappear nameless
into the soil with her

where years after 
rows of cherry would make
the horizon white
and she more forgotten.

                                  ©Carl Boon

All Photography below and in the Print Issue by Jeffrey Dunne
Rumors of Their Death Prove Premature

It’s only September but nights grow
like magic beans; does time telescope

exponentially? What happens 
when the lost icons reappear? 

Imagine darkness, riding the wings of a cold front, 
scattering the early adopters who changed 

color first, descended out of sequence.
Was it accident or trickery?

Summer hides on the paths 
along the old aqueduct. 

I swear I saw those telltale Indian Pipes 
growing by the stump of some old oak 

toppled in a winter storm past,
years after the fact a subtle rebirth.

                                     ©Jeff Bernstein

Hurricane Me

Who can comprehend how a wind begins?
In the Caribbean as a ripple 
a wave of a moth's wings or 
a flower plucked near an unnamed star
however it begins it tracks along the 
Gulf Stream gathers the sea 
ahead of it sprawls northward impertinent
packing a wallop they say on the radio
I worry for my gentle house my obedient tools 
my timid basement and so as the wind picks up 
I organize the shelves in my garage
the first drops thump against the roof
I let fall the door 
stand in my driveway 
face southwest
as if to shelter my invalid garage
from this thundering schoolyard bully
a single raindrop hangs from the tip of my nose 
I let it fall into my mouth
salty sweat and Caribbean mist
another raindrop hangs from the tip of my nose 
hands on hips
I blow that drop 
back to the southwest
Who can comprehend how a wind begins?

                                                  ©Bill Gillard

What Love Can Do

Eight year-old me on a June day 1950 in Rochester, New York
On family vacation to Grandpop's home, far from Brooklyn's pavements
Here's a backyard - vegetable garden, flower bed and deep at the end 
The playhouse with shingled roof and glass window

High enough to stand in, low enough to be white knight on that roof 
But the mark that settled it for me -inside floor to ceiling 
Taped magazine pages of the movie stars of those years
Bogart and Bacall, Cagney and Taylor, Gable and Turner

16 year -old Aunt Lorraine 
With your summer sweet smile
Had done her magic -rainbows enter 
My black and white city world

You, dear Aunt tears at my  pains of the years
Knees no longer at easy bend
House keys living a life of their own
Family and friends passing on

But look here inside me the playhouse 
Those photos…Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland
Me at 8 given
A bit of what love can do

                                                    ©Greg Moglia

Now Voyager

Some people
like butterflies alight
wings fluttering
ready for flight.

Some people
are voyagers in a sea of faces
the anchor loosens
and lulls them aimless.

Some people lack the 
sticky substance that
binds them to others
for life.

Some people
are alone
in all ways

                     ©Judith A. Lawrence

Visit the Reading Room for new Flash Fiction Story
 'Transitions," by Judith A. Lawrence
At a Wallace Water Fountain in Paris

That tiny tight-skin liquid-container 
crossing the street in this other country,
where hearts break, where love tinkles
glasses in the leaves, where fawns abound.

I backtrack to us drying off under
a dripping Live Oak. Crossing the street
I see she is anxious about living 
in treadmill boots, itching for fleur-de-lis.  

I remember there 
she is again, that figment, a daydreamer’s infatuation.  
Quick sipping
at a Wallace water-fountain in Paris, 
the space between us evaporates too fast.

                                                           ©W.M. Rivera