Home & Here Please bring me home: I would rather be with You than here, Jesus. I will not go until You let me. I will not let go still while You lead me. Hallelujah, You are good, Immanuel, You are here. Connor Orrico is a medical student with interests in global health, mental health, and how we make meaning from the stories we share with each other, themes which were recently explored in his publications in Headline Poetry & Press and Dreich Magazine.

Water of Gladness May the love of the Lord, And the beauty of His creation, Become a river and a stream, That they may flow through your heart, And fill it overfull With the water of gladness. (Previously published in Whispers Magazine.) ______________ Strange Act An old man now, I watch to see Which way the wind Will blow, And though I Sometimes hope I'm wrong, I'm thinking that I know. The Book talked of the time We live in now, A long, long time ago. The players are

Another Way of Blooming Response to writing prompt by R. Soos, on Poetry Super Highway: “Pay attention and write a poem today.” One at a time, please: sense the gentleness of evening, understand that you belong. Remember to share your time, joy, hope – even woods and stars need hope. Take turns instead of going down the same old road. Keep your hands to yourselves; unless, of course, you’re helping someone. Look around, something may have started to bloom – or you started to

(dates and peaches, image by AllNikArt, on Pixabay) Put a Little Love Away Behind the box of sun-faded tissues quiet as a lamb light seeps under the blinds, the honey of the sun warming the floor in my room, my eyes still only halfway open, myself barely, gently coming to life like an envelope steamed carefully open. I feel the thumb of God graze the soft curves of my heart, letting in a drop of wisdom to brighten my spirit when I peered at the skies, and it nudged me to put

(lemon tree, image by photosforyou, on Pixabay) Losing Your Parents Their loss is always news even if you’ve written heartfelt elegies already. Among the stones Virginia Woolf packed in her pockets I bet that two of them were for her mother and her father before she walked carefully to the bottom of the world. When your parents close their eyes two moons eclipse your sun and a distinct absence begins to follow you like a timid dog at a certain distance trying not to scare you

Forgetting How easy it is to feel a cold wind dancing across the length of your arm and forget the force of the flames, the blistered braille on the skin. How faded the ecstasy of bone dances in the valley, the heartbeat thump of stomping echoing in the desert sky. How intimate you become with the dust until clouds return in flocks and bathe you in their songs. How deep the ache in the chest until you remember to exhale and breath anew. Based in Modesto, California, Matthew A

Gargantuan Universe birthed from the mouth of light That light found the entire sky one supermassive window of darkness the individual One provided the energy (A “found poem” from the article “83 Gargantuan Black Holes Spotted Guzzling Down Dinner at the Edge of the Universe”, by Stephanie Pappas, on Space.com, 3/19/19) John C. Mannone has poems appearing/accepted in the 2020 Antarctic Poetry Exhibition, North Dakota Quarterly, The Menteur, Blue Fifth Review, Poetry South, Ba