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This is the first online collection of the poet Gerard Quain

If you have questions about this poetry or about the poet, feel free to contact through the following email address

quaingerard@rocketmail.com

If your a publisher or a commissioning editor of a magazine you can also contact using email address, it is as follows

quaingerard@rocketmail.com

PRISONER OF THE WORLD

by

Gerard Quain

She sits and reads the tabloid

Her name in the front of her in bold dark print

Was this what she wanted to be a prisoner

A prisoner of her own celebrity

She thinks of other days before, the fame

When she was just another human ant

Just working to pay the bills

How she wished for fame then

To be the burning star that blazes a trail across the universe

Then one day her dream came true

She found herself center stage, with a host of new friends

But these fair weather brigade who basked in her reflected glory

Were anything but benign, they had a master plan of their own

To use her as a stepping stone

Her bones would be used as a ladder

She was now going to be tabloid fodder

Had she known what she knows now

Her wishes would have been so different

As she continues to read her life in print

How she wishes, again and again

To be back in obscurity, unknown to the world

Can it ever be the same again, to be just a small town lady

Or is she as all prisoners consigned to somewhere dank and shady

A nether world of infamy and shame

So this is it, what they all strive for

Fifteens minutes, and just a wish to blame

To much for her now

BEING INVISIBLE

by

Gerard Quain

I sit and watch the world pass

Wrapped up against the elements

A door for a home

Against the world all alone

The heaving rush of busy people

Going faster to their destinations

No time to worry about the poor

Averted eyes their noble cure

Sleeping with one eye open

Fearful of the thugs that come out at night

Another day alone passes

Can't afford rose-tinted glasses

The soup runners treat us well

Without them life would be living hell

In the morning, people rush, they walk over me

An invisible man can't make a plea

EYES

by

Gerard Quain

The world is a wonder for the senses

A myriad of shapes, and colours

From the square to the oblong

Or the most beautiful of all the curves of a woman

From fragrant rose, to petals deft

To the glory of the the Taj Mahal

Built for love, with an eye for detail

Such is the power of an indefinable emotion

When the heart desires nothing will sway

When I look at lovers,I understand

When they embrace, or kiss, or touch

All around them disappears

Nothing matters not even years

When on the first occasion they met

It was the eyes that said it all

And still the eyes caress

The very soul of love

Oh I wish I had felt this some point

To make valid my existence

But the eyes that have looked at me

Have always looked with disdain or worse,deceit

No lover will ever enter my realm

I alone at the helm

ILLUSIONS

by

Gerard Quain

Now you see it

Now you don't

The magicians slight of hand

A careful construct of a mastermind

But not all illusions are the same

Some our feeble mind frame

When a boy, I had a crush on a teacher

The very beautiful daughter of a preacher

Every day it grew and grew

Without provocation

But then I woke up, from my mirage, and felt ashamed

It was the nature of youth, so no one could be blamed

As I grew older, more worldly wise

My heart created many illusions, and it does still

But these slight of hand and mind

Hurts me more than you can imagine

The three card trick of emotions

Soon their luster lose

When they leave you alone and confused

But would I give up on the pain

Not on your life, when theirs love to gain

WANTING MORE FROM LIFE

BY

Gerard Quain

Is this it, sitting here on my seat, looking out the window

The world passes, it does not notice me

Why should it, there is no one to blame

Being yourself can be a lousy claim to fame

If I were adventurer, maybe to tango I would go

Across a crowded dance floor, and with my flare, create a space

No one would stand in my way, to fame and glory

Now to step it out with the best

To close eyes and imagine, to sail away

On my dream adventure, I would meet all manner of people

They would ask and bid me to stay, but I would continue on my way

Now at the explorers dinner grand, I am hailed

Sitting in this seat, I see it all

The glory and the fan mail, the constant adulation

Yes I have arrived at my due station, but am I happy

Being yourself should be enough, fame if any,just consolation

THE CYCLE OF LOVE AND PAIN

by

Gerard Quain

World weary, lost in deep troubled thought

Clouds no where to be seen in the sky

But that makes no difference to me

The sun only shines on the hearts of endeavour

But not on mine,my heart has a well built wall

No place for the sun to shed its light

The void in my soul grows wider

A bigger chasm, by the minute, by the hour

Looking enviously at couples in the throws of new romance

Their smugness, as revolting as burnt treacle

The pitfalls of life will sort them out

When the endearing qualities

No longer seem so quaint

When the bitter word overpower

Then they will need a place to hide

A cold sanctuary

Then they will be like me

Alone inside their heads

With only regrets for memories

Victims of the cycle of love and pain

DIFFICULT PEOPLE

by

Gerard Quain

This is a lament, for a youth spent in the wings

Waiting for a change in the order of life

Hoping beyond hope, the people might get better

That they would learn and improve

But there it is, the difficult people making a fuss

The greedy and jealous making life hell

Will we ever learn, to ignore these creatures

Our modern Medusa's with their snake like ways

Many faced but bitter,hurting and harming all they touch

Smiling only when, their worst is done

These fools, want to be the puppet masters

The grey suited that stalk the shadows looking for weakness's

The jealous who diminish humanity

They who are consumed by their own vanity

Those who would remove our right to speak or write

Those who plot and conspire to do harm

Like vultures on a perch waiting for carrion

They who extol the dead

But who make the living go through hell

They who make us all despair

The difficult people are everywhere