Marc Creamore Poems

Oh gentle rain, oh unwanted by the majority rain,
come and bathe mankind’s awol state
of consciousness, bathe the pastures littered
with gravestones,
...

1

This Winter’s sky bears more tears
than the year before —
...

As we draw uncertain breath into sentient lungs,
writing words of plasma, phrases laced in
haunted robes.
...

I stretch my arms to the scented candle of the moon,
hear the echo of a voice that leads me
to the sometimes forgotten pond of my mind
where I am comforted by the ripening voices
...

If only I could wear a bodhisattva’s robe
and plant compassionate seeds into the eyes
of political despots and insensitive bankers.
If only the colour spectrum would address
...

Falling, drifting with a feather’s purpose
down past the echo of breeze kissed trees,
past the reverberation of my children’s
voices,
...