RIVEN poetry journal

Riven Poetry Journal

Riven is a bi-annual poetry journal.
We're looking for original, unpublished poems.

To submit: send 3-5 poems via email to: rivenpoetry@yahoo.com

Submission Deadlines: ongoing.
No payment.
Responds from 1 week to 3 months.
Single copies of Riven 1 or 2: $5.00/
or both for $8.95
(make checks payable to Eric Wayne Dickey),
please figure in a dollar for postage.

Send payment to:

Eric Wayne Dickey
5235 SW Blueberry Drive
Corvallis, Oregon 97333

submissions via email to: rivenpoetry@yahoo.com

Riven 1 and 2 will be published by Parke Press
and co-edited by Michael Spring
and Eric Wayne Dickey.

Parke Press in the near future
will consider holding a poetry chapbook contest
and a poetry contest for individual poems.

Take note: Riven 3 will be an online publication. We will consider making print issues with selected poems only when we can afford it. We will only consider email submissions (unless notified)--
Please submit in the body of the email,
and include a short bio.

Thank you!

Now available

Riven 1 contributors

FEATURED POET: Sara Backer, Dorianne Laux, Clemens Starck, Leonard Cirino, Pam Bernard, Tom Sheehan, Janet Buck, Richard Fein, Tara Gilbert-Brever, john sweet, Kenn Mitchell, kris t kahn, William J Neumire, Pam Steele, John Addiego, Amy Minato, Lynell Edwards, Nic Nigro, Jane Blue, Joseph Faria, Sheila E. Murphy, John Grey, Arlene Ang, Duane Locke, Richard Kostelanetz.


Riven 2 contributors

FEATURED POET:Leonard Cirino, John Amen, Jim Boring, Terri Brown-Davidson, Jason Fraley, Taylor Graham, John Grey, Marilyn Johnston, Erin Keane, Igor Kruchik, Alison Lucrezia, Michael P. McManus, eirck mertz, Dean Metcalf, Judith H. Montgomery, Nic Nigro, Joyce Odam, Mary C. O'Malley, Kathyn Rantala, Lois Rosen, C. J. Sage, Lisa Seed, Scott T. Starbuck, Charles Thielman, S.A. Thieman, Cyril Wong, William Woolfitt

sample poems from Riven2

A Small Space

After rubbing stardust from my eyes,
I witness the storm holding its breath.

I realize how much I love the things that hurt me.

Even the weather vane pauses before pointing
toward the country where I was born.

Theories, antonyms keep me busy
while angels sign the cast of my humor.

If love is a horse, good luck saddling it.


by John Amen





Seed

Suited-up in yellow fat,
floating in the surgeon's
jelly jar, you are not yet

identified - lump who slipped
under radar's peerless
eye, hovered motorless,

mute in my constellating
breast, O stealth scout
advancing for your tribe.

Still dazzled in the OR's
cone of scalpel light,
stroking through a milky

amnesia - my stupid
hand's too slow to touch
the label pasted crooked

on the curved glass cylinder
that posts you from your burrow
to the slicer. You're longer

than a lima bean, I think,
as your silhouette drags me
deep under childhood dark:

the abandoned dining room
and emptied chairs, the family's
laughter drifting from the den,

their scraped plates stacked
tidy by the sink. And I,
the solitary child coned

in icy light, sentenced
to remain. Eat. My
palliative glass of milk.

My fork of duty hovering
above the glistening cluster
of small green grenades

that inhabit the dread plate.
The gleaming knife I wield
to slice them into sections

so that I can bear to take
them in, I can bear
to swallow.


by Judith H. Montgomery

meet the editors

eric wayne dickey page
michael spring page
riven 2 selections