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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