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This is the work of Gerard Quain if you have any questions or comments, email
quaingerard@rocketmail.com
If your a publisher or commissioning editor, email quaingerard@rocketmail.com
Blessed
by
Gerard Quain
The heat of the room
The sweating palms
Dark glasses to hide the tell
A heart beating faster and faster
The bet he should never have made
To late to stop, no fools pardon
The adrenalin rush, the bead of sweat
Money heaped in the center of the table
The watching eyes
The lies he now tells himself
Better to have lost the first round
If he had, the drum beating in his chest would now be silent
Is he blessed or damned
One card left to turn
Will he fly, or like Icarus will he burn
Now he flips the card over
Blessed, blessed, blessed
The ace of hearts
And royally flushed is he
Imagination
by
Gerard Quain
What a wonder, the human mind
That can conjure up such fabulous designs
Think of it , if you will
Just look around your town
The skilled hands and minds that gave it fame
The colours of life our mind streams
So vividly it often seems
But the creator of earth
He outshone us all
From the mountains, to the sea
His great work, made a believer of me
A Blank Page
by
Gerard Quain
I love the burnished white of vellum
The willing page, to inscribe with thought
Crocks of gold at the end of the rainbow
Horses leap and prance to my tune
Anything I want can happen
Write with purpose or for fun
Make your blood curdle
Horrify and scare you
Enchant with florid words
Take you places, and test cases
But most of all, I am free to express
My tenderness to those that care
Or rebukes where required
To puncture bloated ego's
The pleasure it gives me cannot be measured
To enchant you if I can
Now that is my master plan