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This is the work of Gerard Quain if you wish to comment or ask questions then email to the following address quaingerard@rocketmail.com
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Rage
by
Gerard Quain
The fire is building
The flame is getting higher
And as the heat emanates
You see her cheeky smile
Her work here is nearly done
She twists the words, with assassin skill
Like an expert fencer, she probes and prods
To get the rage of her foe to the surface
Words cut and slash
Bringing down the ego
Toppling values built over years
And then she smirks
As she walks from the room
Her father now in lather of sweat
This teenage tantrum thrower
Her quest now validated
To create rage and anger
Now she is empress
And feels rewarded and feted
For rage rage and anger
Always beats indifference
To an angry child
Happiness
by
Gerard Quain
The blank page offers me,my only chance of happiness
I have tried the romance thing, the furtive dance
Allowing the wall I carefully built, fall
Letting my emotions run free
Allowing my heart to sing
But you learn from the errors of your ways
To stop, to remove the pain
As you slowly build the wall again
The time I spend filling the page with verbs
Gives me at least control
But when I fall in love
Another piece of my soul always dies
Those words that snipe at your heart
So I decided to be the master
No longer a servant to a foolish myth
As long as I write I will be happy
Always better to spill ink than blood
My emotions I will channel
To true causes big and small
Happiness sought and found
The swans feather never known to let down
The sharpened quill finds its targets
The page, yes the white page knows no bounds
My quest for happiness has found a home
The blank page and my words never again alone
A New Year
by
Gerard Quain
All is lost in the new year's eve haze
Resolutions made in haste
On the steps, beneath the ringing bell
A new year defeated before it began
The lipstick stained collar
Kissed, but by who
The aromatic scent in your nostrils
The empty pockets, no jingle left
Courage, courage, the screaming spirit cries
All secrets told in flashbacks
The waiting worry
The promises made in a drunken stupor
The new year noose takes its grip
Ashes from our past
by
Gerard Quain
Unholy words , said the scribe
But he wrote them anyway
Tabloid history, potted in one word
The ashes of our past made absurd
Tell me, storyteller, the lie
Why greatness is not success
As the winter flames burn impressions
Limpets glued to a tall tale
Sorry, did I say sorry
Sure I wrote it that way
So what, if its not true
Would they buy if they knew
Lauded, a prize winner
A mothers tale coloured
Betraying an honest honest trust
The things we do to earn a crust
Now he is sage
Telling stories of a bygone age
Past overtakes with venom
Content in regret, a blank page
Chatterbox
By
Gerard Quain
What a beautiful concept
A box to put chat in
Another pigeon hole for the common man
Labels fit so easily
When one seriously thinks of it
Just imagine if you will
A box to lock the gossips in
To kill their cackle
To tighten loose tongues
To make them quiver a little less
But not I begin to digress
Sometimes I am guilty of their sin
To rant and rave
To become a slave to the shallow
Listening to their vile attempts
To bring humanity to its lowest ebb
A chatterbox would indeed be handy, in times of woe
To silence the world's myriad foes