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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